My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor. I gave myself ten minutes and cried out everything I could, letting the sobs rack me and wreck me, giving in to the utter misery of losing him. This had to be it, right? This had to be the last big moment of pain.

How did we get here? We’d been doing so well, healing, moving forward, and now it was back to square one, feeling like the army walked in and notified us today. Why couldn’t there be a clear path out of this mess? Why did everything have to be so garbled and undefined and utterly fucked up?

Would this end before it broke me into unmendable pieces?

I wanted someone to hold me, to tell me it was going to be okay, to assure me that my life hadn’t ended with Dad’s. I wanted solace, and comfort, and not to think about it for a while. Wasn’t there anyone else who could help carry the weight of this house?

More than anything, I wanted Josh’s arms around me, and that alarmed me more than any of my other desires. But as scary as wanting him was, at least I knew wanting him would never bring me here, he’d never be a soldier, never be draped in a flag.

“Ember?” Gus’s voice came into the bedroom, breaking me out of my pity party.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, thankful I’d started wearing waterproof mascara since Dad was killed, and walked out of the closet. “Hey, little man.”

“Mom is crying again.”

“We got Dad’s stuff this morning, and it’s hard for her right now.”

He nodded slowly. He held out his hand, and I took it, walking downstairs with him. Dad’s things were stacked neatly on the furniture, waiting for Mom to tell us what to do with them.

I found his patrol cap on the coffee table and fought with myself momentarily before I placed it on Gus’s head. It didn’t mean he was going to be a soldier, and I knew that, but it hurt to see the multi-cam pattern on his sweet face.

The diamond of Grams’s wedding band caught my eye in the sunlight. She had lost both her husband and son. Tears watered her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall as she rocked Mom back and forth, like she was trying to absorb some of her pain. I didn’t see how Grams could have room for any more than what she already carried.

I sat down next to my mother, who’d begun hiccupping now that the wailing had stopped. “Mom, do you want us to sort this out or just put it back in the boxes? We don’t have to do this now.”

Her eyes skipped around the room until they landed on the boxes. Then she made her first Dad-related decision. “Return the army gear to the boxes, leave the personal stuff out. One thing at a time, right?”

I forced a smile. “Right.”

We loaded the scrubs and uniforms back into the boxes but left out the pictures he’d taken with him, his shaving kit, and the odds and ends. The computer would make a great door stop. I picked up the hardback copy of his favorite book, Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet. He nearly had the whole thing memorized, and the cover was worn in spots from his hands. I thumbed through the pages, smiling at my favorite passages, feeling the rush of pain as I came across his.

Papers fluttered to the floor before I could catch them. I closed the book and picked them up. Sealed envelopes with names on them: June. April. Mom. August. December. “Mom?” I showed her the letters.

She sucked in her breath and stretched out her shaking hands. I gave the letters to everyone. He’d managed to send a piece of himself from so far away. I heard ripping and tearing as everyone dug into them.

Everyone but me.

If I opened it now, that would be it, and I would never hear from Dad again. I couldn’t accept that.

I tucked mine into my back pocket and went to help Gus. “I got it,” he replied, and took his letter to his room. Everyone had pulled away, experiencing a private moment with Dad.

I finished packing up his things and took the rest to Mom’s room. She might not be up for it now, but eventually she’d want to know where these things went. She’d pulled herself out of this before, and I knew she’d do it again. Until then, I’d stand watch like Dad would want.

I called Sam and stayed the night with my family, curled up in my bed. The sun rose; snow settled in and came down in thick blankets of fluffy white madness.

I walked downstairs to the smell of sausage frying in the pan, and Mom singing. Mom. Singing. I peeked my head around the corner ninja-style, wondering if she’d been snatched and replaced during the night, but no. She was singing “Les Misérables,” which was pretty dang ironic, flipping sausage while Grams scrambled some eggs.

“Good morning, sleepy,” Mom said with a wave of her spatula.

I took a seat at the bar, and Grams handed me a fresh cup of coffee, doctored just the way I liked it. I was afraid to drink, or pinch myself. I was afraid to wake up and find Mom catatonic in bed again, unable to move.

“Looks like we’re getting some snow,” I said harmlessly, testing the waters of normal conversation.

“We’re supposed to get seven inches today, but the airport should be back open tomorrow,” Grams said with a wink. “I booked my flight for tomorrow evening. Would you mind taking me?”

I shook my head. “Happy to do it.” Happy to take her, devastated that she was leaving. I took a long sip of my coffee and watched Mom. She moved with practiced ease, maybe a little stiff in places, but she was here. Her eyes were puffy from crying all day yesterday, but something had changed when she read the letter.

Mom was coming back to us.