Page 238 of Off Limits: The Firsts

You were the one who kept me going.

You were my inspiration.

I love you.

Jonah

I hang my head as the sobs hit me. As the words my brother wrote crack every last chain of guilt I’ve grown so damn used to wearing.

It’s just like him to know what I need to hear.

It’s just like him to know that I’m struggling with how to move on in a world without him, and how to throw me a lifeline.

It’s just like him to have one final say so there’s no doubt in my mind how he felt about me.

In time, I know the ache will go away and the sadness will fall dormant, but fuck if it’s not going to always hurt.

I let the tears fall, and when they subside, when I’m all cried out, I lift that crappy beer and take a swig.

My laughter is unexpected, but I can’t help but remember him here that last summer before his accident. How crazy and carefree he was. How much we laughed. How much we loved.

I take the small container sitting beside me that holds my portion of his ashes and slowly pour them into the lake.

I give him what he wanted that day.

To be here when he dies.

To have the sun and the water and the memories.

I’m not sure how long I sit here, but I know she’s here. I know she’s been sitting here this whole time, giving me my space to grieve how I need to, giving me the time to figure this out.

But when I’m finally ready to go, when I get to my feet and turn around, I’m so very grateful to see her here. The blonde hair flying from the breeze and the compassion in her smile.

I know I’m leaving my brother here today, but I’m so very grateful to be walking toward her when I do. And I plan on carrying out my brother’s final instructions.

I’ll live.

For me.

Without regret.

Dekker

1 year later

Excitement fills the air.

I take it all in. The people milling around. The clusters of people sitting in the stands. The special staging area for kids to lose their wheelchairs and gain their sleds so they can skate. The staff in their bright blue shirts helping anyone and everyone who needs assistance.

And then I see him.

Hunter’s standing on the far side of the rink. He’s in the parking zone—a spot he created where parents park their kids’ wheelchairs and then walk away to the stands. It’s where kids can feel like kids. Where they can be entertained by clowns or talk hockey or anything really and have some autonomy. His grin is wide as he sits on his haunches talking to a little girl.

Everything I love about him can be summed up in this one moment—his passion, his drive, his kindness, his love, and his devotion.

The past year has been a hard one for him and so to see this—him—this alive as he immortalizes his brother’s memory, is so heartwarming.

Someone comes over and taps him on the shoulder and hands him a microphone. The opening ceremony is about to start.