Through Everything

          The funeral had been over for eight days, but sympathy cards were still coming in the mail. The constant flow of visitors had ebbed, for which I was grateful. You can only hear the same words of compassion - as well-intentioned as they may be - so many times before you want to have a nervous breakdown. Adam remained as stoic as the day of the funeral. His refusal to admit that anything had changed worried everyone to no end. And I - I was still sleeping in the guest bedroom, washing dishes in a kitchen that wasn't mine, trying to explain to an infant who didn't belong to me that her mother wasn't coming back.
          It was that night, the night of the storm, that everything began to change.
          I woke to the sounds of Megan crying. Usually Adam got to her before I did, but as I stumbled, half-blind, into her room, I saw that he wasn't there. Maybe, I thought sadly, he has finally given up. Megan had refused to let Adam hold her since the day of the funeral. Instead, she would cry incessantly for "Mama, mama, mama." It broke my heart.
          It was more of the same as I neared her crib. "Mama?" she asked hopefully, sniffling heavily as she attempted to stop crying.
          "No, baby. It's Lizzie."
          "Want Mama!" Megan insisted.
          "Mama went to live with the angels," I replied, feeling myself begin to fall apart as the words left my mouth. Adam would repeat those words to Megan whenever she asked for Hannah, and soon everyone else began to follow suit. I knew it was the right thing to do, but still, it hurt. "Your mama loves you. But she had to go bye-bye. But Daddy loves you, and Nana and Papa love you, and I love you."
          "Wub yew," Megan repeated, tilting her head and blinking at me blearily.
          "Do you want me to hold you?" I asked.
          "Hold yew," Megan replied, stretching out her arms.
          I picked her up and she settled into my arms, resting her head on my shoulder.
          "Do you want your blankie?"
          "Uh-huh, banky," she agreed, snuggling up with the soft pastel blanket when I handed it to her.
          We then proceeded with the familiar routine of pacing up and down the hall.
          "Song," she insisted momentarily, so I began to sing - quietly, so I wouldn't disturb Adam.
          Soon enough, she fell asleep, but I didn't want to put her in her crib just then. The thunder crashed loudly, and I was surprised Megan didn't wake up. She must have been exhausted. I found myself wondering exactly how much of "Mama went bye-bye" the twenty-two month old understood. I'd always heard that children intuitively grasp concepts much more comprehensively than adults imagine they do, and recently I'd wondered to exactly which degree that was true. Megan was only a baby - how much was she capable of perceiving about death? It was ironic that she seemed, at least, to be able to come to terms with it more easily than Adam - but then, was that because she was a baby and didn't understand, or was it because she was capable of a level of understanding that we weren't aware of?
          The thunder rattled the windows again, louder this time. Megan sighed but didn't wake up. I decided it was probably safe to put her back in her own bed and try to get some sleep myself - a glance at the bright red numbers on the clock told me that it was past two am. I put her in her crib and watched her snuggle up with her "banky", still sound asleep. I felt comforted - at least a little bit - when I saw the look of contentment on her adorable baby face. I snuck out of her room, closing the door behind me, and almost screamed when I saw Adam standing right behind me. Intuitively, my hand flew to my heart.
          "You scared me," I whispered.
          "I'm sorry. I was just coming to check on Megan. I heard her crying a few minutes ago."
          "She's alright now. She's asleep. But you can go check on her - she won't wake up for anything. Even the thunder isn't bothering her."
          He nodded. "Wait here for me," he said softly. "I want - I..." he stopped, sighed, and slid silently into her room.
          I stood in the middle of the hallway, hoping this meant he finally wanted to talk about Hannah. Momentarily, he stepped out of Megan's room. Just as he turned to face me, a huge bolt of lightning illuminated everything - for a split second, I saw his face, and I saw something different there. It wasn't the same impassive expression I had come to regard as normal - you know how people say you can read someone's feelings by their eyes? Yes. It was that. He was hollow; depressed, and he was beginning to admit it to himself.
          He ran a hand across his eyes and sighed.
          He held up his hand as if he were about to say something, but then shook his head and looked away from me, letting his hand fall to his side in defeat.
          He leaned against the wall and sunk to the ground in one motion. I crossed the distance between us so I could sit next to him, curling my legs up and resting my chin on my knees.
          "Elizabeth," he tried, but his voice was shaking. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry for -"
          I cut him off gently. "You don't have to, Adam. I know."
          "I know you do," he replied. "I know you do. But I-I have to say something. You know, I always thought I was so strong - and no one could tell me otherwise. But I realize now that the way I have been acting since the funeral is not out of strength, but out of weakness."
          I opened my mouth to object, but he shook his head and kept talking.
          "No, Liz, you know I'm right. I have been acting like a fool with the vain hope that my idiocy will somehow bring Hannah back. But it won't. I've always known that, I've just never been able to admit it until now."
          I didn't know what to say - he was actually beginning to admit that Hannah was gone. It was a huge step - and I was speechless.
          I heard a ragged sigh escape his lips and I realized he was crying. I reached out to touch his shoulder reassuringly.
          "Adam," I began, but then I thought better of it. Maybe there was a reason I couldn't think of anything to say. Maybe then was a time when even words were inappropriate.
          He grasped my hand with his own. I closed my eyes and I, too, let the tears come. I didn't have to say anything. I didn't have to say anything because he knew. As difficult as it would be, I would stick with him through everything. Not just for Megan, or just for him, or just out of obligation; but because I wanted to, because of all that he, my best friend, meant to me.
          I don't know how long we sat there in that dark hallway, holding hands, crying. It didn't matter how long. My whole body was empty; void. When the tears ran out, he turned to look at me, reaffirming my faith that he knew.
          Through everything, precious friend. Through everything.