The Things We Cannot Say(128)

I step into the family room, and Eddie is on the beanbag, holding the dreidel before his face and twisting the handle slowly, train videos inevitably on the television in the background. His iPad is on his lap. I walk slowly to the seat beside him, and he looks up from the dreidel toward me. It occurs to me how my absence when he woke didn’t seem to faze him at all—and once upon a time, that very same scenario would have guaranteed a meltdown. Still, his green gaze is a little sad, a little concerned, and he clutches the dreidel against his chest and he looks down to his iPad, as if he’s scared somehow, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Hi, baby,” I whisper.

Eddie sits up properly. He swipes to the AAC and hits the repeat button.

Babcia finished.

And then Eddie looks back toward me, calmly waiting for confirmation. A shiver runs down my spine, and I stare at him, trying to understand if he’s saying what I think he’s saying. I hear Wade at the door, and I glance up to see a bleary-eyed Callie still in her pajamas following behind him. I know they’re both probably desperate for news, but my attention magnetically returns to Eddie. He repeats the words again.

Babcia finished.

I start to cry at that, and I hear Callie’s rising hysteria from the door.

“What is he saying? Is he saying she’s dead? Mommy—it’s not true—tell me it’s not true! You just walked in the door and you haven’t said a word—Eddie couldn’t possibly know that!”

I look toward them, and my eyes lock with Wade’s. My throat is so tight I don’t think I could speak even if I tried, but I don’t need to carry our family through this tough moment, because Wade pulls Callie close and murmurs, “There’s a lot more to our boy than meets the eye, Callie.”

“But how could he possibly—”

“I don’t know, honey bear,” Wade interrupts her gently. “I don’t know how he knew, either. But he’s been saying that since he got out of bed at six-thirty, so apparently, he did know.”

“But he can’t...” She’s still protesting when a sob overtakes her, then I guess it sinks in. She covers her eyes with her hands, then blurts, “I’m going to miss her so much.”

Wade scoops her up into his arms and joins me on the couch. We huddle there as a teary trio for a minute, until Eddie stands. I smile sadly at him as he stands awkwardly in front of me. He doesn’t join the hug. Instead, he reaches his hand out and he rests it against my cheek.

This family of mine is messy and it’s different, but in this moment of grief and sadness, we feel closer to a whole unit than we have in as long as I can remember. Life has a way of shattering our expectations, of leaving our hopes in pieces without explanation. But when there’s love in a family, the fragments left behind from our shattered dreams can always be pulled together again, even if the end result is a mosaic.

This family is a work in progress, but even today in our grief, I’m blessed by a growing certainty that we’re moving ever closer to figuring out how the pieces can fit together in a way that works for all of us.



EPILOGUE

I never thought I’d get to return to that hill above Trzebinia, so it feels surreal to be here today—especially with the motley procession I’m walking in.

Eddie is at the front, where he often walks these days. He’s staring down at his iPad, and Wade is close behind him. Eddie is a Google Maps master now, and he navigated us all the way from Krakow, leading us to the point on the map we set up last week when we were preparing for this trip.

Callie is walking behind me, with Father Belachacz from Trzebinia and Rabbi Zoldak, who has joined us from Krakow. Beside them, Mom and Dad walk slowly. Collectively, that part of our little group is discussing the economic boom Poland has been undergoing since it joined the EU. Earlier, I heard the priest ask Callie if she was really only ten years old.

“Well, yes,” she said quietly. “But I do have an IQ in the 150s. It gives me a distinct advantage.”

I’m in the middle of the pack walking alone. I’m breathing it all in again and thinking about how everything looks different here on this second visit, now that I’m here to fulfil Babcia’s last request. The grass is even greener, the poppies in the overgrown fields that much more vibrant.

I’m carrying close to my chest the little wooden box that brought us here today. Within it, Babcia and Pa’s ashes rest, along with that tiny leather baby’s shoe.

Today, the dodgy gates are open, and there are several other cars already here, which surprises me. As we near the clearing, I see that Emilia is surrounded by Agnieszka, Lia and a group of other adults. Some are holding flowers; some have lanterns or candles. Emilia is in her wheelchair, and I approach her and kiss her cheeks.

“So many people,” I murmur to Agnieszka.

“It’s just my brothers and sisters, and a few of their kids,” Agnieszka explains. “I hope you don’t mind—Mama said that Alina needed to be honored by our whole family, since not one of us would have ever been born without her.” As my eyes fill with tears, Agnieszka winks at me. “You’re just lucky we didn’t bring the grandkids or great-grandkids—that would have doubled the group.”

I throw my arms around Emilia’s neck at that, and she whispers some soothing Polish words into my ear. Then I turn and I see the plaque that Emilia arranged in readiness for this day. Beneath the engraving that lists Tomasz Slaski’s name, several other names have been added: