Have you ever lost a loved one? I know I have. Uncle Charlie. My cousin Jimmy. Dad. My grandparents died before I was even born. Somehow, I made my peace with all of them dying. I guess I had already accepted their fate before it happened. They were all vulnerable and mortal. I knew that one day, I’d have to bury my father and attend countless funerals for my uncles and aunts. But I could have never been ready to lose my child.
I met my wife, Sarah, in a bar when I was 22. I was out with my friends, and when the bartender asked me what drink I wanted, I was stuck. He looked at me, expecting a reply, but I had nothing. That’s when I heard her voice – “I think he’ll have a Bloody Mary.” That’s how it started, and I think it defined our relationship perfectly. I was never sure of anything, but she was always there to rescue me. Now, we have been together for fourteen years and married for seven.
She always jokes about how I took so long to propose because I couldn’t make up my mind about her either. It’s not true at all. I had decided to marry her less than a month after we met. No second thoughts about that, but I was afraid. People always tell you it’s not the same once you’re married. Your partner changes, and eventually, love starts fading away. I can say to you today that it is all bullshit, and I adore her today as much as I did when I proposed to her in the same bar we met.
The happiest moment of my life was when I saw my son for the first time. Sarah always wanted a child, and we had countless conversations about all the things we’ll do as a family. When it actually happened, we couldn’t have been happier. We loved him more than anything, and the day we lost him, I knew it would never be the same. It was his birthday. He had just turned six, and we wanted to do something for him. We had planned a whole evening of fun for him. Sarah usually picked him up from school, but that day, I decided to leave early from the office and do it.
I got there a bit late due to traffic, but thankfully, a teacher was there with him. I parked my car near the side of the road. I told my son to get in the car and got out myself to thank the teacher. She asked me about my wife, but before I could answer, there was a collision behind me. Apparently, a truck driver had a heart attack while driving and lost control of the vehicle. Four people died in that accident. I couldn’t believe what I saw. When I turned back, and my car was flipped over, I froze. My whole body turned cold, and I couldn’t move a finger. I couldn’t even breathe.
Sarah was at home waiting for us with a surprise. She called me multiple times to know why we were so late. She texted about how she was getting worried. I know I should have called her. I know I should have been the one to tell her. I should have been there to comfort her, but I didn’t have it in me. How could I tell her that we lost our son? What would I even say? I called her brother instead, and she got to know about it through him. Strangely, she handled it much better than I did. I never saw her cry.
We had a funeral, but that was it. She never mentioned his death, and I told myself it was for the better. I figured talking about it would only make it sadder. My boss suggested I take a break, but I didn’t want it. In turn, I wanted more work. I spent more and more time at the office because the silence at home was killing me. One afternoon, I was in a meeting when I got a call from my son’s school. It was the same teacher that had been with me during the accident. She was concerned about my wife. For the past week, Sarah had been going to the school and waiting outside with other parents.
Later that night, I asked her about it. “I was obviously there to pick up Jacob.”
I didn’t know how to respond. She said it with such conviction that I couldn’t tell her otherwise. I know I should have confronted her that day, but I didn’t. She was always there for me, but the one time she needed me, I looked away. I was a coward. It only got worse from there, however. Sometimes, she would call out to Jacob in the house and then get annoyed when he wouldn’t respond. She bought clothes for him and made plans for all three of us to go on a vacation. I finally decided to talk to her about it. I even found a therapist for the both of us, but it was too late.
One night, when I came back from the office, I heard her humming a song and cooking something in the kitchen. She hadn’t been that cheery since Jacob’s accident. I was going straight to the kitchen, but something in the living room caught my peripheral vision. It was a young boy sitting in front of the TV. His hands were tied to the chair, and his mouth was shut with tape. Before I could approach him, Sarah got out of the kitchen. “Oh, you’re home. Good. I will set up the dining table.”
I asked her about the boy, and she gave me a weird look. “It’s Jacob, obviously.” She had gone too far. I didn’t know what to do. The kid looked like one of Jacob’s classmates. She probably picked him up after school. He looked distressed. I wanted to free him, but then it hit me. What after that? I take the child back to his parents. What do I tell them? Surely, they’ll call the police. What will they do to Sarah? She could go to jail. At least a mental hospital. They wouldn’t understand her grief, only see her actions. My son was gone. I couldn’t lose my wife as well.
Sarah never believed that our son had died. She didn’t see him after the accident. Even at the funeral, we had a closed casket because of the accident. I knew she was in denial, but I didn’t realize it could get this bad. I always thought it was better that I went to school that day and she didn’t have to see the accident. Now that I think about it, I wish it was her. Maybe that would have helped her accept it. That’s what I decided, then. If she just saw our son dying, she would believe he was gone.
We had dinner together after a long time. She fed the boy with her hands and addressed him as Jacob the whole time. He looked confused and scared, but he was probably too hungry to care at that point. After dinner, she decided that “Jacob” should sleep in our room. I could see the boy was too scared to refuse. Lord knows what happened before I got home. I talked to him when Sarah was in the bedroom. Told him not to worry I would take him home tomorrow.
That night, I knew what I had to do. This was my opportunity to be there for Sarah. God had given me another chance, but I am not sure if even he could forgive me for what I did. We all went to bed; Sarah kissed the boy good night and slept. I waited till it was past two. They were both sound asleep. I debated a thousand actions and outcomes in my head, but I knew only one could help us. I could never imagine hurting Sarah, but there was no other way.
I called her name to see if she was asleep. When she didn’t respond, I sat up on the bed. It had to look natural. So I couldn’t use my hands. A pillow should be fine, I thought, and I put the pillow over the kid’s head. He woke up halfway through it, but there wasn’t much a six-year-old could do to fight a grown man. I had to hold his body down so that he doesn’t wake her up, but it didn’t take long before he stopped moving.
The next day I woke up to Sarah’s wailing. Seeing her so sad and upset was tough, but I knew it was for the better. She held the boy and cried for hours. She had never been sadder, but I knew things would be better eventually. Jacob had passed away, and that was the day we buried him. Again.