“I’ll do it today,” she replied.
Over the next week, Kevin decided to do everything.
He sent flowers. I took them directly to the hospital where I worked and treated the nurses who were pushing them around in the waiting room.
He sent cards. I returned them unopened.
He made the children call my number. Once, listen to Tyler’s voice on the voice button.
“Grandma, please, call us again,” he said. “We’re missing you.”
My heart broke.
But I didn’t call again.
Because the problem wasn’t with Tyler and Emma.
It was with their parents.
Kevin played one voice button against another. The first were angry. The last were pleading. The last time I heard, by accident, was when I was reviewing my book club messages.
“Mama,” he said, his voice hoarse and strained. “I know you won’t call again. I know you made a decision, but it’s necessary that you… Now I heard it. I understand what you did, what you said.”
Two months after an incident at the airport, I was introduced by mutual friends to Kevin and Jessica, who had been sent to a private school and had sold their four-bedroom house in a leafy neighborhood with good commuter rail service to the city.
Three months later, I suppose Jessica had taken a job in a minor land surveying case with a motorist’s representative because she couldn’t make it through the end of my stay on her own with Kevin’s salary.
Four months later, I suppose your marriage is having problems. Constant arguments. Jessica blamed Kevin for “fixing everything.” Kevin blamed Jessica for “his devastating mistakes.”
I’m not satisfied with this.
But I also don’t feel guilty.
They had made decisions.
I’m living with the consequences.
As if I were still alive with my past decision to give myself to myself.
After a few months of airport mishaps, you’ll receive a card.
No, Kevin.
From the children.
It’s directed toward a childish letter, Tyler’s Toscas letters, our slightly twisted Chicago zip code. There were dinosaur stickers on the back.
I almost didn’t like it.
But I did.
From there, there was a card written on lined paper.
“Dear grandmother,” he began. “We miss you so much. We don’t understand why we don’t see you anymore. Dad said he made a big mistake and he’s very sad. Mom is crying a lot now. We had to move to a smaller house and now we’re going to a new school. But actually, it’s good because he’s given us new friends. We want you to know that you told us more than anything. We don’t know that my mother thought about us, about us, about our home. She makes tortillas with pieces of chocolate. We know Dad is ambiguous. Can you make a donation so we can have a new vision? We recommend you, Tyler and Emma.
I read that letter three times.
Then I cried.
From the first time since the airport, I allowed myself to cry.
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