Page 78 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

“Yes!” There’s a slight lisp on the S. It’s cute. I’m going to miss it when it’s gone.

Just like Owen used to pronounce ‘no’ as ‘mo’. The way me and Tate would giggle every time he gave us that firm, mo. Then one day, it was just gone.

“Come on, lil miss.” I take her hand in mine, waving to Viv who marks Mabel as picked up.

“See you tomorrow, Mabel.” Viv gives Mabel a finger wave. Mabel returns it, though not quite with the same expertise.

“We’ve gotta hit the store before we go home,” I tell her. “It’s taco night.”

“Mmm!” The high pitch of her sweet voice thaws just a little bit of that ever-present ice that invaded my heart the day the frozen lake claimed Tate. “I love tacos!”

“Me too.” I shove my feet into my pumps and shoot Kelsey a smile. “Let’s see if we can beat Owen home.”

Not one to refuse a challenge, Mabel boogies to my SUV. It’s new and pretty and undoubtedly far bigger than I need for only two kiddos. But I also regularly meet people at their homes for consultations. I can keep the back seats folded down for product samples without mucking with Mabel’s car seat every time I have a home appointment.

I’m blessed Tate had life insurance. If he didn’t, this car would already be gone.

I swallow around another heart squeeze as I watch Mabel wiggle into her seat, and begin to buckle herself in. She hasn’t realized that we’d already be on the road if she just let me do it, but she’s independent, and I give her that space.

With the last click in place, she gives me a toothy grin. “I did it, Mommy!”

“Let me just check.” I quickly tug the string to tighten the straps and lean forward to place a quick kiss on her forehead to distract from the fact I’m correcting any of her hard work. “Perfect.”

“I know.”

I close the door as she starts to poke around in her cup holder for one of her toys, sliding into the driver’s seat.

I’m on the road when Mabel calls, “Mommy?”

My eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “Yeah, sweetie?”

“When is Daddy coming home?”

There is breath in my lungs and then there isn’t.

This is the hardest part. The part no one talks about.

Little kids don’t understand the concept of forever. No matter the ways you explain it to them, the finality of death is something they just can’t wrap their minds around.

In the beginning, she’d asked for Tate daily. There’d been tantrums and tears and then it had all just stopped. I’d thought that was it. It sunk in. She got it.

Then a few months later, while I’d been tucking her in at night, she’d asked when he was coming home. And I understood, for her, he’s just away. For her, one day, he’ll come back from Heaven where we all tell her he went. For her, he’s just visiting a new and beautiful place.

I swallow around the barbed ball of grief and say gently, “Daddy’s in Heaven, baby. When people go to Heaven, they live there forever.”

“Memaw says I’ll see Daddy in Heaven one day.” Memaw. My mom.

“You will, baby.”

“I want to go to Heaven now.” The fairy toy in her hand does a swoop as she plays. “I want to see Daddy.”

I don’t know how to reply.

Fourteen months later and I still don’t know how to do this.

I forget to stop at the grocery store.

“I’m hungry,” Mabel whines as she kicks off her boots. “I want a cookie.”