Healing Hearts- By Tatia M. Harris

By Tatia M. Harris

“You bitch! You know my brother did not want this baby. The stress of your pregnancy has killed him! You should have had an abortion like he wanted.”

The hostility and callousness of the statement momentarily distracted me from my grief and I turned my gaze from Martin’s lifeless body laid out on the hospital bed and encountered his sister Lila’s tearful, yet icy stare. I refrained from responding to her cruel remarks, as I always did.

I wished I could reach out and embrace her and share our grief. I was losing a life partner, she was losing a brother, and although we did not have much in common, we were bound by the simple fact that Martin was the rock in both of our lives. The waves of hate radiating off her body kept me from expressing my feelings to her. Instead I cried quietly.

An awkward silence fell as Martin’s father slid his gaze from me and looked down at Martin in disbelief. When Lila was out of ear shot he would probably come to me and apologize for her behavior. He didn’t have the guts to confront her about her abrasive behavior towards anyone who displeased her. For the past five years Lila and I had numerous confrontations because she despised me and made no secret of letting me and everyone else in the vicinity know it. Martin’s stepmother stood silently wringing her hands and shaking her head as she silently recited a prayer. I was standing right next to her but she never asked me if I was okay or acknowledged my presence.

I choked back my sobs and rubbed my stomach drawing comfort from the baby Martin and I had created together. I could not be weak in front of these people. I felt like a part of me was being ripped out. I wanted to scream out in anguish. Instead I had to maintain a stoic front because I felt that I was in a room with enemies and did not know what would happen to me if I fell apart in front of them.

I looked at the closed hospital door and wished that someone from my family would hurry and arrive. I needed an ally because I didn’t know how much longer I could hold myself together.

I stepped closer to Martin’s body and traced his eyebrows, nose and lips. I used to do this when he was relaxing lying in bed or reclining in his favorite chair. I would trace his features and tease him about how “pretty” his face was.

“Damn! You are a pretty man!” I remembered saying. “I know you’re supposed to look at the inner person, but it sure helps that you have such a pretty exterior!”

“Since you are the only person that thinks that, let’s keep it our little secret. I’m not sure that six foot three, 250 pounds equates with pretty. You spread that rumor and I’ll lose credibility with the fellas which means I’ll have to body slam you.”
“Try it. I had my Wheaties this morning,” I said flexing my muscles. “I might be small, but I think I could take you.”

The teasing would lead to a wrestling match, leading to a lovemaking session filled with laughter. It was kind of silly, really, but I guess all lovers had some kind of silly joke that was significant just to them.

Hey, baby,” I whispered caressing Martin’s face as he lay there lifeless, “I wish that you didn’t have to leave me but wherever you are I hope you are at peace.”

“Hmmmph,” I heard Lila mutter. More of Martin’s family and friends began coming into the room, crowding it. They were crying and clutching each other in their grief. I felt so invisible. Suddenly, I heard a loud wailing. Martin’s ex-wife Zora, was being carried into the room by her sisters.

“Ooooh, Martin! My Martin, what am I going to do without you! I can’t live without you! My Martin! Ooooh, my Martin,” she wailed. Like Moses parting the Red Sea for the Israelites, Zora and her sisters parted the people gathered in the room as they made their way to Martin. Zora threw herself on his body, knocking me out of the way and into a wall. Martin’s sister Lila rubbed her back and comforted her as she sobbed hysterically.

“I know, sister, I know. My poor brother just had too much on him, said Lila turning and giving me an evil stare as I struggled to stand up. “I just hope now my brother can find the peace and rest he so desperately needed. His heart was just too big and it finally gave out.” Lila began to wail along with Zora and their cries pierced my heart.
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I woke up gasping for breath. I was dreaming about Martin’s death again. My T-shirt was soaking wet and I pulled it from my body taking deep breaths to slow the rapid beating of my heart and ease the sharp pains searing my chest.

Disoriented, I tried to get my bearings and figure out where the crying was coming from when I realized it was coming from the crib. My infant daughter Nina was crying because it was time for me to get up and feed her.

I went to the dresser opened a drawer and slipped on a fresh shirt. I would shower later, after I fed Nina.

I scooped my squalling daughter from her bed and settled into the rocking chair next to the window. I unbuttoned my shirt and cradled Nina to my chest, allowing her to root and latch onto my breast. As she began to suckle I gently rocked the chair back and forth, thinking.

The door to my room creaked open and I saw my two sons peering in. Harrison, who had just turned ten and 13 year old Giovanni, affectionately called “G”. “Hey Mom,” whispered Harrison, “Do you need some help?”
I felt simultaneously grateful and guilty at my sons’ concern for me. They were so loving and sweet and I know they were worried about me. I had been struggling with depression since Martin’s death and was not doing a good job of overcoming it. I felt as though my older three children were mothering me instead of me mothering them, and I felt like a failure as a parent. I knew I was in bad shape when I realized it felt like my ex-husband was the more stable parent for Harrison, G and my older daughter, Shay. Jeremiah and I had a tumultuous 13 year marriage followed by a bitter divorce. When I first met Martin, one of the reasons I though he was God’s special gift to me was that he was the exact opposite of Jeremiah.

He spoke in even, soft tones rather than loud, angry curses. He didn’t like to argue or hit. He liked holding my hand in public, really listened to what I had to say, and made me feel like I could do anything.

Martin was also my buffer in dealing with Jeremiah. It was just easier for me to hide behind him then to deal directly with my ex-husband. Since Martin’s death, Jeremiah had actually been pretty decent. He spent time with the kids and even had nice things to say to me. So, the fact that Jeremiah was not struggling to get out of bed and make it through each day, or dissolving into tears at the drop of a hat was putting him ahead of me for the first time in the parent game. I was determined to get my act together for my children’s sake, but that was much easier said then done.

“I’m fine,” I said, covering myself with one of Nina’s receiving blankets. “Thank you for asking, sweetie why don’t you boys go back to bed?”

The boys settled on the edge of my bed, fascinated with their new sister.

“We’re okay, Mom. We want to help. Can I burp her and change her when she’s finished eating?” Harrison asked.

I smiled at his enthusiasm. Harrison was such an easygoing child. H accepted change without question and did not ask for much. I often wondered what was going on inside his head and how the choices I had made would affect his life as an adult. Hopefully, he would realize that I was doing the best I could, despite my shortcomings.

“Sure, honey. That would be great. It will give me time to grab a quick shower, thanks,” I said.

G looked on silently. I looked back at him, feeling like I should say something, but it seemed liked the words were stuck in my throat.

The past few years had been rough on him. Like me, G was sensitive and took things to heart. The divorce changed him from a carefree, outgoing child to a more introspective one. Martin’s death changed him from a child into a boy trying to be a man.

Martin was not his father, but he lived with us for five years and during that time G and Martin developed a close relationship.

Sadly, except for my family and a few of my close friends, no one was acknowledging that my children had lost anyone special in their lives. Gee worked through his grief by poring through scrapbooks that I put together for Nina so that she would know who her father was, and trying on the few items of his clothing and shoes that I saved as mementos for my sons.

Nina finished nursing and her eyes closed drowsily. Harrison eagerly leaped off the bed and took her from my arms, expertly putting her over his shoulder. He walked back and forth in a light bounce, on the balls of his feet, as carefully patted Nina’s back and encouraged her to burp.

G gave a little half-smile as he watched Harrison and Nina. “You can go take a shower now, Mom. We’ll change her and lay her back down,” he said. “And we won’t forget to put on her music. Go on, we can handle this.”

I was trying something new with Nina. When she slept or was having time I played classical music. I figured she had probably experienced enough turmoil while she was inside my body, so now she deserved a peaceful, calm environment for as long as possible.

I grabbed a T-shirt and sweat suit and retreated to the bathroom. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and jumped in the shower. I let the steaming hot water beat down on my body.

The shower was a great place to cry. Maybe it was all of the water encouraging my tear ducts to let loose; or perhaps it was the privacy of being in a small space covered by a curtain where no one could see me. Whatever it was, the bathroom had become my own private place to find solace for the past several months.

Lately, however, it was not working. I have a lot of anger, resentment, disappointment and grief bottled up inside me but I can’t get it out. My mother has been getting on my case about being so closed up. “You need to talk about your feelings. That’s one of your problems. If you would share things and discuss problems with your children, you would all be a lot better off. You are crippling yourself and them,” she said to me.

It’s not like I’m not trying. I’ll start to talk about what I’m feeling but the words won’t come out. I tried to explain that to my mother but she doesn’t really understand.

“You’re not trying hard enough; I think it’s just your pride. You don’t want anyone to know how much you are suffering. Look how long you stayed in that bad marriage just because you did not want anyone to know how abusive it was. You need to externalize and not internalize so much. You are going to end up in the hospital if you don’t watch out,” she told me.

Dr. Phil better watch out!! Marie Samuels is hot on your trail. She can analyze a problem and solve it under an hour with the best of them. And while it’s true I stayed in my marriage much too long because of my stupid pride, this was different.

At least with Jeremiah I had understood what was going on. He was a mean, cold-hearted son-of-a bitch who didn’t care about anybody but himself. I did not want anyone to know I was in a bad marriage because I was embarrassed that I was in that situation. I was supposed to be smart, together and in control so I pretended everything was fine so I wouldn’t disappoint my family.

The inability to express my feelings now I can’t explain…and it’s scaring me.

At my mother’s urging, I had tried counseling. I wasn’t thrilled about going, but I wanted to get my mother off my back. Besides, I felt like I owed her. After my divorce, the kids and I moved in with my parents for six months.

Now it was five years later and I was back again, this time with four kids instead of three, and once again I am an emotional basket case. She and Dad are supposed to be enjoying their golden years, not taking care of me. It’s a fact that has she has been quick to point out on several occasions, and while it sometimes hurts my feelings, deep down I know she is right.

I don’t want to have to keep running back home. I want to be self-sufficient and able to take care of myself and the kids. I just can’t seem to get it together.

So, I had found a woman therapist a few months ago because I thought a woman would be able to relate to me better. But I knew the session was not going to be successful the moment I walked in.

The therapist chirped a cheery hello and skipped over to me and gave me a big tight hug.
“I’m Bitsy; we are going to chit chat a little while and see if we can’t get to the bottom of your problems. Okay?”

Maybe it was just the frame of mind I was in, but Bitsy was just a little too damn cheerful. People don’t go to therapists because they are happy, they go because they are having serious mental issues and need some help.

I didn’t come to “chit-chat”, what the hell kind of word was that anyway? Cit-chat was a word that might be used by some Junior League socialite at some damn “tea” to raise money for the poor and disadvantaged. I was here to talk and find out what was wrong with me, and get it fixed as soon as possible. And “Bitsy”? Come on now!That is a name for an ugly little Chihuahua or a teacup poodle dressed in a pink sweater and matching hat.

I took a breath and tried to focus on why I was in the therapist’s office and not get sidetracked by inconsequential matters. Bitsy led me over to two chairs closely positioned next to one another. I was quite disappointed there was no sofa. I was looking forward to lying down on one and closing my eyes while I talked… or at least attempted to talk.

“Okay, honey, tell Bitsy what the problem is,” she instructed me as I sat down. “I gritted my teeth and tried not to focus on the fact that one of my pet peeves is when people refer to themselves in third person.

I explained to her that I felt like I was going crazy. Some of Martin’s friends and family had told me that Martin had appeared in several of their dreams. They joyfully told me how he appeared to them in their sleep to reassure them that he was happy and at peace. I was angry because he had yet to appear in one of my dreams and reassure me that everything was going to be all right in my life. I relayed to Bitsy several recurring dreams that I have involving Martin. One dream was reliving the day he died. Another involves me at a football game, or a basketball game or at the mall. I would see Martin from a distance and run to catch up to him, only when I got up close it wouldn’t be Martin, but a stranger looking at me like I was crazy. Sometimes I would dream the phone was ringing, when I would look at the caller I.D., Martin’s number would show up. When I picked up the phone to answer there would be a busy signal instead of his voice.

I asked Bitsy why was I having all the crazy dreams and everyone else was getting soothing dreams of happiness and peace? I was the one who was living with him and pregnant with his child at the time of his death. I was the one who had a hot plate waiting for him at 10:30 in the evening when he got home from work. I was the one who sat up with him quizzing him for tests and writing his papers for him so that he could be the first person in his family to graduate from college. I was the one who ran around helping him type schedules for his football and basketball teams, analyze game film and pick up players who needed rides. I treated his children just like my own, bought for them when I went shopping for my own kids, and was nice to his family and ex, even though they took every opportunity to create a scene or make me feel bad in private and public. He couldn’t appear in one of my damn dreams to say, “Hey, baby. I’m all right and I appreciate everything you did for me?”

Or better yet, I thought, how about just showing up in one of his family’s dreams to tell them to leave me the hell alone? But more importantly, I wondered aloud to Bitsy, what does that say about me that I’m mad because a dead man is not showing up in my dreams or talking to me? I went to Martin’s grave every day for a month and stood there hoping for a sign, a feeling, anything and nothing ever happened.

I was frustrated because I felt abandoned and I knew that was crazy. Irrationally, I was feeling that Martin loved everybody but me. As I talked to Bitsy I could feel the anger building up inside of me. My chest started to tighten up and I was beginning to have difficulty breathing. I started feeling ridiculous and maybe a little frightened, so I stopped talking and tried to calm down.

I took some deep breaths and put my head between my legs for a moment. “Well, what do you think?” I asked Bitsy.

She seemed more intrigued by the fact that Martin was appearing in people’s dreams than the fact that I was going over the edge.

She asked me how old was martin when he died and when I told her that he had just turned 41, she explained that the fact that he was so young when he died explained why he was wandering around in people’s dreams.

“He has unfinished business, sugar. Just give it time, He will come see you. He just hasn’t made his way to you yet.” Bitsy informed me I must not be “channeling” properly because she had experienced several encounters with people who had “crossed over”.

She suggested that I think about getting a prescription for Zoloft and ended the session.
I went out to the car frustrated. As I drove home I started to cry uncontrollably. I pulled over and called one of my two best friends Nichelle. I was pretty hysterical on the phone and told Nichelle I had finally reached my breaking point.

“Can you meet me at the hospital? I think I need to spend a couple of weeks in the psych ward.” I rolled down the window as beads of seat began forming on my forehead.

“Where are you? Nichelle asked me. I gave her my location and she told me to stay put.

Twenty minutes later Nichelle and my other best friend, Darlene, pulled up to find me in the Big Lots parking lot leaning with my head between my knees with the driver’s side door of my car open. I was drenched in sweat and hyperventilating.

Darlene, who is a nurse, took my pulse and listened to my heart. “You’re having an anxiety attack. You are perfectly normal, friend, you’ve just been through a lot. There are several stages of grief and this is just one of them.”

I was still crying and breathing hard, but I was calming down. I felt better now that my friends had arrived.

Nichelle hugged me. “Honey, it’s only been eight months since Martin died. You just had a baby three months ago and your hormones are still out of whack. You have three other children you are trying to raise and you’re running around trying to do everything for Martin’s kids, I think you are doing too much.”

Darlene agreed with her. “She’s right, friend, you need to slow down.” She gave me a hug too. “And remember, you’ve moved back home.”

Both of my friends made mock horror faces and pretended to scream.

We all started laughing.

“No matter how good your parents are to you, it’s never easy having two women under the same roof,” Nichelle said. “Believe me, I know. I had to move back hoe for a year when I left Mark, and it wasn’t easy.”

We sat in the parking lot for another hour until I felt in control. Darlene drove me home with Nichelle following. We had to stop along the way to pick up my kids from various locations and I stopped to buy dinner for everybody because I felt guilty for having a panic attack.

When we got home and my parents realized Darlene had driven me home I could see the worry in my father’s eyes and the worry and exasperation in my mother’s and I felt even worse.
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I finished my shower and my thoughts and got dressed. When I came out of the bathroom my older daughter Shay and my parents had joined the boys in my room. The sudden silence told me they had been talking about me.

“Hey, Mama,” said Shay as she came to me and hugged me. Now this was definitely different. Although I loved my daughter dearly and was sure that she loved me, hugging each other wasn’t really our style. We were too different and constantly butted heads. I hoped that one day we would be friends and have a close relationship, but we hadn’t reached that point yet.

“Hey, Shay,” I said sneaking a hug back. “What’s up?”

“Welll,” she answered, eyeing my parents, “We thought we would all watch Nina and let you get out for a while. You know, have a little time to yourself.”

“Really?” I asked excitedly. At everyone’s affirmative nod I quickly grabbed my purse and keys and literally flew out of the house. I got in my car and carefully backed out of the driveway. I didn’t want to appear too eager to leave, but I was.

As I left my parent’s subdivision I tried to decide what I was going to do with my unexpected freedom. I popped in India.Arie’s CD and hummed along with her soulful sounds.

I loved her music because it was so deep and heartfelt. Half of the songs she wrote I felt I could have written from my life experiences.

I decided to just drive to nowhere in particular until I got tired and then would stop somewhere and eat. Just to be anonymous for a few hours would be heaven. Here in town, everywhere I went I could hear people whispering, “You know she’s the girl whose fiancé died while playing basketball a few months back.” Then I would get the pitying look, “And she was pregnant at the time, poor thing.”

Or worse, if I happened to have Nina with me and ran into someone Martin knew or coached, I was sometimes greeted with tears and sobs, making me feel even worse.

“I just don’t know how you do it,” people would say to me. “You are a true inspiration.”

‘”Guess what everybody?” I shouted at the top of my lungs inside my car. “I don’t want to be anybody’s freaking inspiration. I want to feel normal again and in control! I want to stop feeling that I want to cry all of the time! I want to stop feeling sorry for myself! I want to be a good parent! I want to stop feeling angry!”

I took a deep breath and let down my window and let the breeze blow through my hair. Damn, that felt pretty good! Maybe I was on to something here.

“Okay, Lord! It’s me! I would like to put in a request if it’s not too much trouble. I want to ask for a regular life with no drama. I’m no Job and I can’t take anymore. I’ve had a bad marriage, an unexpected pregnancy, and the death of a loved one.

I realize that people have it worse off then me. Really, I do, and its probably selfish of me to whine. But if I can whine for just a moment I want to ask for some relief. Not just for me, but for my children and my parents because they suffer right along with me. Could something good happen to me for a change?

Maybe I could get a little credit for the Sunday school class I taught last year? You know the one I’m talking about. It was the worst class in church- unruly, know-it-all seventh graders that no one wanted to teach, but I volunteered to teach those little monsters, “ I said rolling my eyes and laughing at myself but continuing.

“You and I have had our ups and downs, and that’s my fault, but I’m trying to lean on you for a change. I’m tired of waiting for a change and just plain tired.”

My faith had definitely been a journey and several times I had hit the wall of doubt and frustration. I was learning the hard way that bad things did happen to good people.

I knew all the verses to quote in times of need, I read my bible, prayed constantly, tried to tithe faithfully, and be a good person. But I always seemed to be getting hurt. I felt like a black cloud followed me around in life.

I read James Baldwin’s novel, “Go Tell it on The Mountain,” in one of the scenes the main character curses at God and throws his Bible in frustration. I can totally relate to that scene. I feel kind of guilty for thinking like that, but it’s how I feel.

India.Arie’s mournful voice reached out to me as she sang about a man who has died too young. In the song, his wife is remembering him telling her that if anything happens to him she must remain strong and tell their kids that he loved them and was a good man. As she struggles to deal with her grief she holds fast to the strength of their love to get her through.

I thought of Martin and started to cry hard. I knew why I can’t feel and why I’m struggling with his death.

He didn’t want me to go through with the pregnancy and I know he was seeing someone else.

I can’t admit that to anyone!

How in the hell could I be so stupid twice? How could I fall in love with a man and give 200 percent to the relationship and get deceived again?

I thought of the old saying, fool me once shame on you; fool me twice shame on me.

Truthfully, I was really angrier at myself then at martin. I jumped into the relationship too quickly and put him on a pedestal. I figured that because he did not scream at me or hit me, he was perfect, so in truth the relationship had nowhere to go but down. After all, who the hell is perfect?

I began suspecting he had someone else the summer before his death. He was taking late night calls more frequently, and had a few unexplained absences. He always explained that the calls and time gaps were due to coaching kids and talking to their parents. Many of the parents were single mothers who needed extra help with their son or daughter. But I just had this feeling that would not go away.

I tried to talk myself out of it telling myself that I was projecting my bad experience with Jeremiah onto Martin, but it didn’t work. So I began to look for proof… and I found it. I searched through Martin’s gym bag while he was showering one evening and found a love letter from one of the mothers whose son played on one of his basketball teams. Enclosed with the letter was a picture of her posing in a leather outfit. Disbelieving, yet not totally surprised, I then checked his cell phone and noted several calls back and forth between them throughout the day.

I was angry that I found the letter and angry that I had resorted to looking through his belongings and checking his phone. I never wanted to be that kind of woman.

I confronted Martin when he came out of the shower and he denied it, naturally. He said that the woman had a crush on him because she was a single parent and he helped her out a lot with her son.

“We talk a lot, I won’t deny that and I consider her a good friend. But I know how far to take it.

Naturally I was furious, if she didn’t mean anything to him why would he keep the letter and the picture?

He told me I was comparing him to Jeremiah, which wasn’t fair. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I would never do anything to jeopardize having you in my life,” he assured me.

I never felt the same after that. I guess I was a little heartbroken, a little disappointed and disillusioned. I did not bring it up, but I always felt that there was more to their relationship. I just had to decide what to do about it. While I was deciding the fate of our relationship I found out I was pregnant.

Martin was furious, he accused me of deliberately getting pregnant to make sure I was going to keep him and informed me that he did not want me to continue with the pregnancy.

“I’m too old to have another baby. You have a choice, terminate the pregnancy or lose me.”

I was floored. Until the argument about the letter and picture I found, we had never argued. Martin had never even raised his voice to me. I was nothing but good to that man, I thought, and this is how I was rewarded?

I thought long and hard about what I was going to do and even went to my pastor for counseling for several sessions.

I decided that I was going to choose the baby. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I had an abortion. I’m not anti-abortion, in fact in some cases it’s probably the best choice for a woman. I just knew myself and knew I couldn’t do it.

So, I told Martin my decision and waited for the worst. Surprisingly, he came around and decided to accept the pregnancy. He was even ready to set a wedding date. But my feelings had changed. I felt that when I needed him the most he let me down.

I’m not saying he had to be excited about the pregnancy, but giving me an ultimatum changed the depth of my love for him, and I didn’t know how to say it. I was also feeling bad because my kids loved him so much, I loved his kids, and our kids were close to each other. I had worked really hard to make everyone feel like a family unit, maybe too good of a job.

So what was I to do? Two failed relationships and four kids?

I knew I could make it on my own; I just had to figure out how to leave. In the meantime Martin was trying to show me how wonderful and special I was, but I doubted the sincerity. Maybe it was just too little too late. Also, I was tired of dealing with his ex and his family. I felt that having a baby was probably going to bring more drama into the situation and I was ready for some peace and tranquility. I still loved Martin, but sometimes love isn’t enough.

I could still picture the day he died and the last words he said to me: “I really love you, I don’t think you realize how much so I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life showing you.”

He had walked off giving me a little wave and a sweet smile, on his way to play basketball with some friends’ I remember thinking to myself, “I wonder if he really means what he is saying?”

Thirty minutes later I got a frantic call telling me I needed to get to the hospital because Martin had passed out. By the time I arrived at the hospital, he was dead.

I cried for all of the things left unsaid between us. I pulled over into a parking lot and cried until I fell into an exhausted sleep.

“Raquel, wake up. It’s me.”

“Martin?” I exclaimed in disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

I reached out to touch him. He looked good; he had lost weight and looked really healthy and peaceful.

“I came to tell you that I’m sorry for everything, for all the stuff I put you through.”

“What are you saying?” I asked him.

“I’m sorry for everything. Giving you a hard time about Nina, shutting you out, spending too much time coaching. I should have let you know how much you meant to me.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just stared at him. Here was the chance I had been waiting for and I was speechless.

“I’m just sorry things were so tense between us your last few months,” I finally said.

“Me too,” he said hugging me. “You know I always wanted a little girl and she’s beautiful, she looks just like me,” Martin said grinning. I saw Nina in his smile. She looked exactly like him from her dark chocolate skin to the birthmark on her back.

“I’m glad you approve,” I smiled back.

“We were good together, weren’t we? He asked.

I nodded, “We had some good times and I’m glad that you were in my life.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “hey, stop being so hard on yourself, okay? And tell G to quit going to the left all of the time when he makes lay-ups, he’s too predictable. If he will go to the right sometimes and switch it up, he’ll be unstoppable.

Kiss Harrison and Shay for me and let them know I appreciate how they’re taking care of their little sister.”

“Okay,” I said holding his hand.

“I gotta go babe, you know I would have stayed if I could, but I’m happy, really happy where I am.”

Tears were streaming down my face, but I was beginning to feel a great calmness moving through my body.

“I’m glad you’re in a good place,” I said.

“I am,” Martin said and winked at me, “If you need me, just look up in the sky at night. I’ll be the third star from the left of the moon.”

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I woke up and looked up to the sky. It was still daylight, but I could see a star twinkling. I closed my eyes, enjoying the warm breeze that flowed around me. Suddenly it felt like the breeze wrapped me in a big hug. Martin. Maybe?

Whatever it was, I knew I was ready to let the healing begin.