PART 20 – When I Turned the Calendar to a New Month, I Realized I Could Miss My Son Without Giving Up the Life I Had Chosen

January arrived without much ceremony.

The decorations in the neighborhood gradually disappeared.

The lights came down.

The wreaths were removed.

The streets returned to their ordinary appearance.

I took the Christmas decorations out of my living room.

I packed them carefully.

Walter's favorite ornament went into its usual box.

It was an old decoration with a small crack near the bottom.

He had always insisted it was still perfectly good.

I wrapped it in tissue paper.

Then I placed it on the shelf.

I didn't want to throw it away.

Some things were worth keeping even when they weren't perfect.

After finishing the decorations, I went into the kitchen.

The calendar was open to January.

I wrote down the date of my next visit to the community center.

Then I made coffee.

I had begun enjoying the mornings again.

They were still quiet.

But the quiet no longer felt like something I needed to escape.

I had found a routine.

I visited the center when Clare needed help.

I kept up with the house.

I went shopping.

Sometimes I called an old friend.

And occasionally, I looked at photographs of Walter.

I still missed Adam.

That hadn't changed.

I missed the easy conversations we used to have.

I missed hearing about his work.

I missed seeing the children.

I also missed the feeling that I was part of their plans.

But I couldn't force that feeling to return.

One afternoon, I sat at the table and looked at the old shopping list I had found in the drawer.

Walter's handwriting was still on the back.

Coffee.

Bread.

Milk.

Mustard.

I turned the paper over.

There was nothing important written on the other side.

I folded it carefully and put it back.

Then I thought about the hockey collection.

For years, I had worried about what would happen to those things after Walter died.

I had wondered whether selling them was the right decision.

I had wondered whether I was letting go too much.

Now I understood something I hadn't understood before.

The collection had been part of his life.

But it wasn't the whole of his life.

The thirty-one thousand dollars was helping people.

That mattered.

And I could still remember every shelf, every binder, and every story Walter had told me.

Nothing about the donation erased those memories.

I picked up my phone.

I opened Adam's contact.

My thumb rested over the call button.

I thought about calling him.

I wanted to hear his voice.

I wanted to know whether the children were doing well.

But I didn't want another conversation about the money.

So I closed the contact.

Not forever.

Just for that afternoon.

I would give him time.

I would give myself time too.

Then I put the phone beside the calendar.

I stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the day was cold.

The trees were bare.

A neighbor was carrying groceries toward his house.

I watched him for a moment.

Then I returned to the kitchen.

I had things to do.

There were groceries to put away.

A few dishes to wash.

And a visit to the community center to prepare for.

My life hadn't ended because one Christmas invitation had been withdrawn.

It hadn't ended because Adam disagreed with my decision.

I was still Joanne.

I was still Walter's wife, even though he was gone.

I was still Adam's mother.

And I still had a place in the world.

I turned off the kitchen light.

Then I went about my day.

The End

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