Part 13

~

Fly, fly, little wing

Fly beyond imagining

The softest cloud, the whitest dove

Upon the wind of heaven’s love

Past the planets and the stars

Leave this lonely world of ours

Escape the sorrow and the pain

And fly again

~

One month later

Grace groaned as she stepped on the scale in her bathroom.

“165? Jesus,” she muttered, making a face as she looked down at her swollen stomach, remembering the days when she weighed only 120 pounds and wondering if she would ever be that thin again.

I popped my head in the doorway, snickering. “Honey, pregnant women do gain weight. It’s not a big deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, but I didn’t think it would be that much. I’ve gained twenty-five pounds just in the last month!”

I shrugged. “Well, the baby’s growing. He’s gonna be a big boy.”

“Well, I’m gonna be a huge girl by the time she’s born!” Grace exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she threw in the “she”. “You’re gonna have to buy me some Tai-Bo tapes so I can get back into shape when this is all over. I hate looking like this!”

I chuckled. Why were women always so concerned about their weight? “You look beautiful, Gracie,” I said, kissing her cheek.

“I do not. “I’m a fat, puffy whale,” she argued.

I shook my head. “You’re perfect,” I insisted, wrapping my arm around her and leading her down the stairs.

***

“Bri, I think I’m gonna go to bed now,” Grace said, later that evening.

I glanced at my watch and frowned. “It’s only seven thirty. Are you all right?”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a headache. I’m tired; I just need to lay down.”

“Well, okay, sweetie,” I said, giving her a sympathetic look. “I’ll be up later.”

“Alright. Night, Bri,” Grace said wearily and left the room.

Moments later, I heard a thud.

“You okay, hon?” I called absently, thinking she had knocked something over. But she didn’t answer me. “Grace?” When she still didn’t call back to me, I stood up, my brow creasing in concern.

I left the den and went up the back staircase to the second floor. “Hey, Gracie?” I called again, as I went up the stairs.

When I reached the top of the stairs, my heart lurched, and I let out a choked gasp. “Grace!”

She was lying on her back in the middle of hall, her body jolting with violent convulsions. Her brown eyes had rolled back into her head, leaving only the whites to show through her half-closed lids. Her fists were clenched tightly together, as were her teeth, and a drop of blood rolled out of the corner of her mouth.

She was having a seizure.

What do I do? What do I do? my mind screamed, stricken with panic.

I didn’t know anything about seizures; I didn’t know how to stop them or help Grace or anything. So I did the only thing I could think of – I ran to the nearest phone and dialed 911.

***

Nearly an hour later, I sat forlornly in the ER of Atlanta’s Memorial Hospital, frantic with worry as I waited for news on Grace.

She had been taken into a trauma room across the hall from where I sat. The door had been shut, and the blinds had been immediately closed, sealing me off from all contact with her. I didn’t even know if she was still alive, let alone what was wrong with her. Icy fingers gripped my heart at the thought that she could be in that room right now, dying, while I sat there in naivety.

Finally, the door to the room opened and closed quickly, and a white-coated woman came out. “Mr. Littrell?” she confirmed, looking at me with serious gray eyes.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding choked.

The doctor perched on the chair next to me. “My name is Dr. Mallory; I’m an ER resident. Grace has been stabilized, and her seizures are under control.”

I let out a long sigh of relief, silently saying a prayer of thanks to the Lord for watching over my wife. However, I sensed there was a “but” coming.

Sure enough, there was.

“But, unfortunately, Grace is suffering from a serious condition called toxemia,” Dr. Mallory continued.

I sucked in a breath. Toxemia? I wasn’t sure exactly what that was, but it sounded bad. “What’s that?” I asked, not at all embarrassed of my ignorance.

“It’s a complication that occurs in some pregnancies. It involves kidney malfunction.”

“Her kidneys aren’t working?!” I cried, my eyes widening.

“Oh no, it’s not that serious. They’re still working, and once the baby is born, they should be fine. But right now, they aren’t filtering toxins out of Grace’s bloodstream as well as they should. This is what caused her seizure. She’s also been suffering from high blood pressure and edema, or swelling.”

I nodded, my heart pounding rapidly. “But she’s going to be okay, right?” I asked.

“I think we’ve caught it in time. What we need to do now though is deliver the baby,” Dr. Mallory said.

“What? The baby?? Now?! But… but she’s only eight months!” I sputtered.

“She’s far enough. Four weeks early shouldn’t be a problem. The longer we wait, the serious the situation will be, for both Grace and the baby. Toxemia can be life-threatening if it’s not treated in time. Grace’s case is quite severe, and we need to get the baby out as soon as possible.”

I nodded shakily, feeling overwhelmed. I had thought I would be excited when the time came for Grace to go into labor, but now I was filled with dread. Grace was very sick, and the baby was going to be a preemie. I was terrified something would happen, and one or both of them wouldn’t make it.

“Once the baby is delivered, will everything be okay? With both of them?”

“I can’t tell you for sure, but that’s the intent. Toxemia usually clears up once the baby is out, and Grace should recover just fine. And as for your baby, most babies that are born at this stage end up developing normally.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling a little better. “Can I see Grace now?”

“Sure,” Dr. Mallory said. “Come right in.” She led me across the hall to Grace’s room, opened the door, and ushered me in.

“She’s been conscious for about ten minutes now, but she’s very weak and disoriented, as all people are after a seizure. I’ve already explained to her what is happening, but I’m not sure she’s really aware of it,” Dr. Mallory explained quietly, just inside the door.

“How long will she be like that?” I asked.

“Maybe a few hours. Maybe shorter. It’s hard to say.”

I nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” I told the doctor. She nodded in reply and left the room to give me some time alone with Grace.

“Gracie?” I asked softly, taking her hand.

Her eyes had been closed, but they fluttered open with the sound of my voice.

“Hey, sweetie,” I said, managing a smile for her. I didn’t want her to catch on to how scared I was. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Grace murmured, her voice slurred. “Is the baby coming now?”

“Pretty soon, Gracie,” I said, forcing myself to sound excited. I smiled down at her, and she gave me a slight, weary smile back.

I only talked to her for a few more minutes, and then she drifted off to sleep, leaving me alone in the room, holding her hand and hoping for the best.

***

I’m not sure how long I sat at Grace’s bedside, but eventually, the door to the room opened, and Grace’s obstetrician, Dr. Rainville walked in.

“Hi, Brian,” she greeted, a tint of sympathy in her voice. “How are you doing?”

I shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” I replied, glancing at Grace. “So… are you going to induce labor now or something?”

“No. We’re going to prepare Grace for surgery. She needs a C-section,” Dr. Rainville said.

“A C-section?” I asked, sighing. This just kept getting worse.

“It’s really the only way to get the baby out fast and effectively. Grace is too weak at this point to deliver naturally, and anyway, that could take twelve hours or more. The sooner the baby is born, the better.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dr. Mallory said,” I replied glumly. “So you’re going to do it now?”

“As soon as we get her ready. We should have her in the OR within the hour,” the doctor said.

I nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “Can I have a few minutes with her real quick?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need. A nurse will be in later to get her prepped,” Dr. Rainville replied and left the room.

“Grace?” I asked, rubbing my wife’s hand. She stirred and finally awoke.

“Brian?”

“Hey, honey, I’m here. Listen, Gracie, I need to tell you something,” I said, squeezing her hand.

“What?” she asked softly.

“You’re going to need a C-section to deliver the baby. Dr. Rainville wants it delivered as soon as possible, and that’s the best way to do it. Do you understand?”

She nodded, nervousness creeping into her dark eyes. “Now?” she asked.

“Yeah. A nurse is coming in in a few minutes to get you ready,” I replied.

“Brian… can you call my mom?” she asked softly.

“Of course, honey. I’ll call her as soon as I leave the room and get her to come down here, okay?”

“Okay,” Grace replied, closing her eyes briefly and opening them again. “I love you,” she whispered.

I bit my lip, feeling the sudden urge to cry. But I did not. Instead, I gave her a wavery smile, replying, “I love you too, Grace. Look, I need to go now, but I’ll see you when your surgery is over. And by then, we’ll have a new baby.”

Grace smiled slightly. “A little girl,” she murmured.

“Boy,” I shot back, grinning.

She smiled again and weakly squeezed my hand. My hand drifted up to her face, running gently through her hair and down her cheek. Then I bent and tenderly kissed her lips. “I love you, baby. See you in a bit.”

“Love you too,” Grace echoed. “See you.”

I would have loved to stay in that room with her forever, but I knew I could not. She had to get ready for her surgery, and I had phone calls to make. So, with that, I flashed her one last encouraging smile and left her room.

***

Twenty minutes later

“… yeah, the doctor told me everything should be fine once the baby’s delivered,” I assured Janet, Grace’s mother.

“Okay. Well, listen, Brian, I need to go and call the airport now. I’ll be there as soon as I can get a flight,” Janet replied hurriedly, from her home in Texas.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll see you when you get here. Have a safe flight.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Janet said and hung up the phone.

I replaced the receiver of the phone and immediately picked it up again to call my own parents. I tried to keep the trembling of my voice hidden as I told my mother what was going on.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can. You just sit tight,” Mom said, her voice taking on the same soothing tone she used on me when I was a kid. Somehow though, in times like this, that was exactly the voice I needed to hear.

“Alright,” I replied.

Suddenly, the door to Grace’s room, which was right across the hall from the waiting area where I sat, burst open, and a nurse ran out. She returned just moments later, Dr. Rainville right at her heels. And then, another batch of doctors and nurses tore in.

My heart leaped in my throat – something was wrong.

“Mom, listen, I have to go now,” I said, trying to sound as calm as possible. “I love you.”

“I love you too, son. See you in a few hours,” she replied.

With shaking hands, I hung up the phone. I wanted to run into Grace’s room and find out for myself what was going on, but I knew that wouldn’t work very well. They wouldn’t let me in.

I didn’t have to wait long though. Just minutes later, the door flew open again, and the group of doctors and nurses, including Dr. Rainville, came bustling out, wheeling Grace with them on a gurney.

I stood in the doorway of the waiting room, watching with wide eyes as they went past.

“Grace!” I called, seeing that she was still awake.

“Brian!” she cried, turning her head to get a good look at me. “The baby!”

“What? What about the-“

But it was too late. They pushed Grace on, ignoring my questions and disappearing down the hall. Dr. Rainville had gone on, but one of the doctors hung back.

“They’re taking your wife up for her C-section now, Mr. Littrell,” he told me.

“Already? I thought it would take longer to get her ready for it,” I said.

“Yes, but we had a… complication.”

My heart sank. The baby.

“My baby… is it going to be okay?” I asked frantically.

“They’re going to deliver it now by C-section, and then they’ll take it from there. Your baby is in good hands, Mr. Littrell. That team up there will do everything possible,” the doctor told me encouragingly.

I nodded, but his words did little to calm me. Nothing would calm me until I was sure that Grace and the baby were safe.

***

An hour later

I sat now in a surgical waiting room, which was smaller and more private than the one in the ER. I was the only one there, and the door was closed, leaving me alone with only my thoughts.

The door suddenly opened, and I looked up anxiously. There stood Dr. Rainville, wearing blue surgical, her mask hanging around her neck.

I started to stand up, but she put her hand on my shoulder and eased me back down. She pulled up a chair to face mine and sat down. And then, she took my hand.

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, realizing the news she was about to tell me couldn’t be good. I studied her lined face, her kind blue eyes, the graying bits of hair poking out from under her surgical cap. She reminded me of my own mother.

“What is it?” I asked, bracing myself for the worst, that Grace and the baby were both dead.

It wasn’t that bad. But almost.

“Downstairs, in the ER, we lost the fetal heartbeat,” Dr. Rainville began, her voice grim. I swallowed hard, waiting for her to continue. “We rushed Grace up to surgery to deliver the baby. When we got him out, he was not breathing and had no heartbeat. We tried everything we could to revive him, but our efforts were not enough. Your baby died, Brian. I’m so very sorry.”

I stared at her blankly. I felt numb. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe… nothing. It seemed so surreal.

Random thoughts began to run chaotically through my mind.

I left the TV on when we left… waste of electricity…. The carpet upstairs is probably a mess… the blood…. I hope Janet doesn’t stay with us… The house isn’t clean… She’ll have a fit.… My mom would have a fit too…. Her house is always clean… I’ll clean up when I get home… Whenever that will be… I need to call the guys too… They’ll want to know… They’ll probably come visit too… I’d rather just be alone…

And then, I thought of one last thing.

She said “him”. I was right – it was a boy.

And with that, I broke down into sobs.

***

Half an hour later, I followed a nurse down the hallway. My heart pounded, and I felt shaky. She was taking me to see him. My son.

“Right in here, Mr. Littrell,” the nurse said gently, opening the door to a small room. I stepped in hesitantly, almost afraid of what I was going to see.

The room was dimly lit, and in the center was a gurney with a sheet over it. Under the sheet was a little lump.

The nurse walked up to the gurney and slowly pulled the sheet back. And then I saw him. My baby boy.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked down on him. He was so tiny and so pale. His skin was an ashy gray-blue tone, not pink, like newborn babies should be.

“Go ahead and touch him,” the nurse said softly. “You can hold him if you want. There’s a rocking chair against that wall. You take all the time you need. I’ll be down the hall at the nurses’ station if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, watching as she left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

My gaze then went to my son again, and hot tears rose in my eyes. Gingerly, I reached out and touched the top of his head. It was soft, silky with a fine layer of dark, wispy hair. Grace’s hair.

I wondered what color his eyes were, if they were the same dark, soulful eyes that made Grace so beautiful, or if they were bright blue, like mine. Now I would never know. I would never know what he would look like when he got older, how he would act, what he would be like. This was the only time I would spend with him. This would be my only memory of him. This and his funeral.

Growing braver, I let my hand drift down his soft little cheek. I picked up one of his tiny hands and examined the five perfect fingers. He had five perfect toes on each of his little feet too. Perfect; he was just perfect.

“I love you, baby,” I whispered to his still little body. He didn’t even have a name yet. Grace and I had discussed names, but we hadn’t agreed on anything. I had to talk to her. The baby needed a name.

I eyed the rocking chair sitting off to one side of the room. Laying the baby’s hand back down carefully, I went and got the chair, pulling it up to the gurney. And very gently, I picked my baby up and held him in my arms.

I thought the first time I got to hold my baby would be one of the best moments in my life. But it was not. It was one of the worst.

Gently, I rocked back and forth, cradling the limp little bundle close to my chest. I would have liked to sing to him, but I could not find my voice to do so.

Instead, I cried.

***

An hour later, I sat at Grace’s bedside, holding her hand and staring blankly into space. Grace had been moved from Recovery to a private room, but she was still unconscious from surgery, and I had been told she wouldn’t be aware of anything for hours. I felt just about as out of it as she was; the only thing I was aware of was pain. Not physical pain, like Grace would be feeling when she woke up, but emotional pain. The pain of losing my own child before he even got to live.

I was suddenly snapped out of my stupor by a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called, and the door slowly opened. I was expecting to see a nurse coming to check on Grace, but instead, I saw my parents.

“Hi, honey,” Mom said, coming in, Dad following along behind her. She looked down at Grace. “How’s she doing?”

“Just came out of Recovery. They said she won’t wake up for awhile yet,” I mumbled.

“And the baby?” Dad asked, smiling.

I felt like I had been slapped. It wasn’t his fault; they didn’t know what had happened. But his words brought me back to the harsh reality I’d been longing to escape.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, her voice rising as she saw my expression. “Brian… the baby… it’s okay, right?”

Tears rose in my eyes, and I shook my head, too choked up to speak.

My parents gasped, and my mother’s blue eyes immediately filled with tears. My father’s hand was over his mouth, and his expression was a mix of shock and grief.

“Son… I’m so sorry,” my dad said, his voice choked with emotion. He bent over and wrapped me in a tight hug.

My mother hugged me too, her tears wetting my shirt. I realized they had to be feeling about as much grief as I was, for it was their grandson.

Feeling a little comfort from their presence, I took a deep, shuddering breath and explained what had happened. When I was finished, even my father was in tears, which made me realize once again how real this was. Dad never cried.

“Oh, poor Grace,” Mom murmured, glancing tearfully at Grace. “Just think how awful it will be for her to wake up and find this out.”

I sighed heavily. “I know,” I whispered. That was one thing I had not figured out yet – how to tell Grace that her baby boy was dead.

***

The next day

Early the next morning, I arrived at the hospital, after no more than two hours of sleep. It had been around one in the morning when I had finally gone home, and I had gone straight to bed, hoping to just fall asleep and escape my misery for the rest of the night. I had no such luck though. I lay awake for hours, finally crying myself to sleep around four and waking up just before six.

Grace’s mother had arrived shortly after my parents had and had been devastated to hear the horrible news as well. I had invited her and my parents to stay at my house, but they had checked into hotels instead, wanting to give me some time alone.

“Good morning, Mr. Littrell,” said one of the nurses from the night before, as I walked past the nurses’ station on the maternity floor, where Grace was.

“Morning,” I muttered, trying to be personal, but not really feeling up to it.

A light rock station was playing on the radio the nurses had at their station. As I walked on past, I heard one of our songs start to play. I realized I still hadn’t called the other guys to let them know what was going on.

I’ll call them all later, I thought. It’s too early now.

With that thought, I continued on my way to Grace’s room, dreading the news I was going to have to give her.

Dr. Rainville was just leaving her room as I arrived.

“How is she doing?” I asked.

“She’s still sleeping, but she should wake up soon. She slept the whole night through,” Dr. Rainville replied.

”So no one’s told her what happened yet,” I said, frowning. I had hoped maybe Dr. Rainville would have told Grace before I had to.

“No,” Dr. Rainville said. “If you’d like one of us to break the news to her, we can. I know how hard it will be for you.”

I shook my head. “No, I should do it,” I said. “She’d probably rather hear it from me than a doctor. No offense.”

Dr. Rainville nodded. “I understand. Well, go on in. Like I said, she should be waking up soon.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I said, and went on into the room.

Grace was still sleeping, as Dr. Rainville had said, but as soon as I sat down beside her and took her hand, her eyelids began to flutter and then opened.

“Brian?” she croaked, her voice hoarse from the breathing tube they had put down her throat for surgery.

“Good morning, sweetie,” I said, smiling down at her.

“Morning already?” she murmured, looking around.

“Yup. You’ve been sleeping ever since you got out of surgery,” I told her.

Suddenly, Grace’s disorientation faded, as she became aware of the night before. “Where’s the baby?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “Can I see our baby now?”

I looked down at her earnest face, my heart breaking inside. She had no idea. She was like any new mother, excitedly waiting to hold her baby for the first time. But unlike most mothers, she would not be able to do so. Her baby was dead.

“Gracie…” I started, my voice cracking as I struggled to hold back tears, “You can’t…”

“Why not?” she asked, her forehead creasing as she frowned in confusion. “The baby’s okay, isn’t it?”

I think she already knew by the look on my face that it wasn’t.

“He died, Gracie,” I said softly, swallowing hard.

Her dark eyes widened and stared into mine with utter despair. I longed to be able to tell her, “Just kidding, baby. He’s right down the hall in the nursery.”

But our baby was downstairs, in the morgue.

***

Three days later

I took a deep breath as I approached the doors to the sanctuary.

“You ready for this?” I asked, leaning over to whisper to Grace, who sat in a wheelchair in front of me.

“I’ll never be ready for it. But let’s just get it over with,” she replied softly.

I nodded and slowly pushed her wheelchair through the double doors, into the dimly lit sanctuary of our church.

It had only been three days since Grace’s surgery, and she was still recovering from it. She had not been discharged from the hospital yet, but they had let her out long enough to go to the funeral. I wasn’t sure she should be there, but Grace had insisted, no matter how hard it was going to be for her.

Now, as I pushed her towards the front of the church, where the tiny casket lay, I prayed it wouldn’t be too much for her. She had not even seen the baby yet; this would be her first and only view of him.

My breath sucked in my throat as I got close enough to see into the casket. There he lay; my son. He looked so beautiful, much better than he had in the hospital. He was dressed in a pure white sleeper, and the mortician had brought some color to his skin, making him look rosy and healthy, not deathly pale, as he had been when I had first seen him.

I helped Grace out of her wheelchair so she could look into the casket as well. When she did, she let out a soft cry, and her knees buckled.

I grabbed her to steady her and started to help her sit back down, but she stopped me.

“Wait, not yet. Let me look,” she protested, her voice cracking. I nodded, sliding my arm around her back to support her as she took a good look at her son.

“Brandon,” she whispered tearfully.

That was the name we had decided upon. Brandon Thomas Littrell.

“God, he’s so beautiful,” Grace murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks. “So perfect.”

“I know,” I said, remembering how I had held him and rocked him and thought the same thing. “He has your hair, Gracie.”

Grace nodded, swallowing hard. She stood there for a few more minutes, until finally, she could take it no longer. She sunk wearily back down in the chair and buried her face in her hands, crying softly.

“Let’s go sit down,” I said gently. “The guests will start coming soon.”

Grace nodded and let me push her over to the first pew. I parked her in the aisle and sat at the end of the pew, right next to her.

Eventually, the guests started arriving. My parents came, and so did Grace’s mother. My bandmates were there – Kevin and Kristin got there first and gave us both tearful hugs. Nick came, and so did Howie and AJ. My brother Harold, along with his wife Tracy and little girl Samantha, were there. A lot of our friends and neighbors from back in Lexington and from Atlanta came.

No fans were there, but I suspected there would be a small crowd of them outside the church by the time we left for the cemetery. We had made sure to have lots of security around, just in case.

And when the funeral was over, I found that there was indeed some fans gathered outside. I was surrounded by bodyguards and security guards, as I pushed Grace’s wheelchair out of the church. I kept my eyes down, hoping the fans would have enough sense not to try to mob us like they usually did.

That day, though, they had nothing but respect for us. I heard no screams, no shouts, nothing but soft crying, not because they were seeing us up close, but because they were truly mourning what had happened.

Still, I half expected at least one especially rabid teenybopper to pester me or one of the other guys for an autograph, but no one did.

The fans, mostly young women and girls, lined the sidewalk of the church, solemnly standing still. Some had their heads bowed, their hands clasped in prayer. Others watched us pass by, tears streaming down their cheeks.

There was lots of security, but none of the guards had to hold the girls back, like they did any other time we made an appearance. They stood calmly and silently, not even attempting to push each other out of the way or try to run up to us. That day, they were there to support us, not to hound us for autographs, pictures, and hugs. They were there not as fans, but as friends.

I wanted to thank them for it, but I could not find my voice to speak. A lump had risen in my throat, and tears had risen in my eyes. But as I reached the limo, I raised my head, gave them a nod of acknowledgement, and climbed into the car. I would thank them at our next press conference.

The limo started up, and we slowly pulled away from the church, on our way to the cemetery to bury our firstborn child.

***

Two days later

“Grace, you need to eat. You know they won’t let you go home if you won’t eat,” I said pleadingly.

“I’m not hungry,” Grace murmured. “I just want to sleep.”

“Gracie, come on. This isn’t healthy. You’re still weak from your surgery; you need to eat.”

“No,” she said stubbornly, closing her eyes.

I sighed heavily. I knew Grace was grieving, but she hadn’t eaten anything in days. Dr. Rainville had told her they would have to hook her up to an IV if she didn’t start eating soon, and then she wouldn’t be able to go home from the hospital.

She had already been there five days and would have been discharged the day before if she had taken better care of herself. But still, she refused to eat, saying she didn’t have any appetite. But it seemed more than that to me. She was acting more like she didn’t have any will to live.

“Baby, I know this is hard, but once you get out of this place, things will start getting better. It’s going to take some time, I know, but you can’t just starve yourself. You have to take care of yourself, get your strength back,” I told her.

“I can’t, Brian,” she whispered, beginning to cry.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” I soothed, running my fingers through her hair. “You can do it. You just have to try. It’s not going to be easy, but I know you can do it. We’ll get through this together, okay?” Grace didn’t reply. “Grace, please. I’m just as upset as you are, and you’re making it worse by acting like this. You have to eat, you have to keep living, not just for you, but for me, and everyone else who cares about you.”

I felt sort of hypocritical telling her these things, for I was feeling just as hopeless as she was. But I knew that I had to be the strong one now, and I was determined to hide my feelings and show her that life could go on, with or without Brandon in it.

“But who will take care of him?” she murmured.

“What?”

“Brandon. Who’s going to rock him to sleep? Who’s going to comfort him when he cries? Who’s going to take care of him up there?” Grace wept.

“God will. He’s up there with God now. God will protect him,” I replied. And then, very softly, I added, “And so will Leighanne.”

***

Lyrics taken from Celine Dion’s “Fly”

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