It didn't occur to me that if you make an emergency call and report that you believe your stepson is not alive, the news blotter might put it in the 'fainting' category. Fainting... I wish. It took Kaleb four months to address me by name. It was not lack of respect, quite the opposite actually. This was my Kaleb. Shy, silly, quiet, and he didn't want to lack the respect of saying someone's name without the familiarity of informal formalities.
In the wildest of horrible thoughts would I have ever imagined a few short years later, the girls and I would be sitting in a cold, laminate, fake wood, booth at Stewarts, waiting for the coroner to take Kaleb's body away from his bedroom, never to be seen again. Our Kaleb, ours...
I wondered if the person pushing the gurney with him, away from our home would imagine that just months earlier, Kaleb was gleefully excited when we pulled into a go-kart track in the bay. He boldly stood at the window and almost ordered up (and paid for) an hours worth of racing for all six of us to the tune of $400 prior to myself interjecting and suggesting that we start small and not be impulsive. A few months prior to that, he had hosted a day of mini-golf in Myrtle Beach, again, treating his family.
This kid, this quiet gentle kid. Best person to bring to the grocery store because he took his job of protecting me so seriously. I was to carry nothing and it pained me to take that away from him so I would awkwardly watch him carry it all so he could say he did, even though he would never actually say it because that would be taking credit and causing awkward moments of recognition.
Two months prior to his sudden and abrupt departure, Kaleb's dad was sick enough to actually want to seek medical attention. It scared Isabelle. She retreated to her room to quietly cry. I had to go down and collect them to leave and rounded the corner to find Kaleb embracing Izzy. Calming her down, and for once, she was allowing him too. Two years later and Isabelle said she forgot about that when I brought it up. A quiet smile snuck to her lips as she thought about him.
This is year three. Three years and the cruel joke has not been undone. He is still gone.
Kaleb. His name. Saying his name... hearing his name... a quiet, sacred prayer. So much has happened since you left us and I often wonder what you would be saying and doing here in our new house. Wondering which room you would have wanted and if I'd still find you sitting on Haeley's bed talking to her about things that you would talk to nobody else about.
There is not a soul in our family that doesn't feel your absence like a dagger through the heart. Insert soulful and inspirational closing statement here - I'd write it but I can't write something that I don't feel.
