Don't Let Go

Epilogue

I gazed at pink lilies that rested on their sides on the tombstone. I knew that Lizzie had been there recently. She had told me the story behind the lilies, years ago. 

When she was in elementary school, she and Tristan had gotten into a fight. She said she couldn't remember what the fight was even about but that they hadn't been speaking for several days. 

She laughed when she said: "I don't even think we knew the cause back then! We were just stubborn." Then she paused and her eyes glazed over. "Mom and Dad tried to get us to apologize to each other so many times and it never worked. And then -" she paused. At this point I was picturing a young Tristan and a younger Lizzie given each other the silent treatment. "Just when Mom and Dad had given up, he showed up at my bedroom door with pink lilies. And said that it was no fun bothering Bradley without me." A single tear fell down her face, but then a smile spread across her face once more.

"That night, Brad had a girl over for the first time ever. They did their homework at the kitchen table and then went upstairs. Tris and I took ALL of his boxers out of the drawers and threw them around the room." Lizzie let out a laugh. "Then we hid under the bed and waited for Brad to come in with the girl. Hannah, you should have seen his face when they walked in! It's a wonder Brad ever talked to either of us again after that." 

I laughed along with her, picturing the whole scenario in my head. Later that night I wondered when exactly we had started celebrating Tristan's life instead of grieving his death. I guess it's just one of those things that needs to happen. You either learn to celebrate the happy times, or you drive yourself crazy over what-ifs and if-onlys.

I brought myself back to reality and noticed the tombstone itself wasn't as shiny as it once was. The grass around it had grown long and no longer sat uniformly. I knew it was due to to be cut soon but I liked it better this way. The grass had grown to have a mind of its own, the same way Tristan had.

I didn't cry anymore at his grave. I'm not sure when I stopped. I probably ran out of tears years ago. It had been 10 years since he died. The what-ifs and if-onlys did dominate my life in the beginning. If only I was with him that night. If only I got to him quickly when he called. If only, he lived. If only he never went to juvie in the first place. 

I had also been seeing Dr. Redmon for years. And he'd always told me to remember. Remember that those what-ifs and if-onlys have no power, no influence on anything, other than my own sanity. In the beginning he was cautious. Insistent that what had happened wasn't my fault. But I think he soon realized I wasn't listening. He realized I didn't believe him when he said that - or when anyone said that. So his tactics changed. He became more practical, more blunt. He said that it was a shit situation. He actually said that. I remember the shock I felt when he said those words. He said, and I quote, "The world will fuck you over and leave you in pieces and let you stay that way, but it will also let you fight back."

I tilted my head, still gazing at the tombstone. I don't know if I believe that everything happens for a reason. What happened to Tristan was too cruel. The way his life was cut short was too cruel. But as I rested my hand gently on the curve of my belly, I knew that something good had come from so many horrible things. I only wished that Tristan could be there to meet his nephew.

 I felt a vibration in my pocket and pulled out my phone.

"Han?" a soft voice asked.

"Hey - I'll be home in 20 minutes." I said with a sigh.

"Han." he said again.

"Yea?" I asked. There was a short silence.

"Tell him I love him. That I miss him." his words weren't heartbroken anymore, maybe too much time had passed. His voice was jaded instead of the helpless that they once were. The words were just truths, that needed to be spoken.