Catch Me, G-Dogg!

I thought I’d dealt with my feelings 26 years ago. But mostly what I’d done was bury them

- Jeff Dyson, Beaumont, Texas

The pastor was deep into his sermon, but I hadn’t heard a word. I was too busy telling God everything that was weighing on me.

Lord, I’m not up to this. My job is demanding. Looking after a little boy… I can’t do it. I don’t have the energy.

I bowed my head. There was no avoiding the truth, the real reason I was anxious about our daughter Melissa and her son, Winston, moving in with us. Winston was three and a half.

The same age as Blake. I’m still not over him. Please, Lord, there’s so much I don’t want to be reminded of.

I looked up. People were standing for the closing hymn. My wife, Pat, took my hand. She was as worried as I was. Ever since Melissa had called, saying she was getting divorced and needed a place to live, it had been all we’d talked about. It wasn’t just Winston. Pat and Melissa could be like oil and water.

“What about us?” Pat said, the moment we got in the car. “We’ve been raising these four kids for thirty years. I was really loving our empty nest.”

It should have been five kids, I thought. Blake’s death more than 26 years earlier had strained our marriage, but we’d gotten through it and grown even closer. Pat had learned to cope with her grief. I had too. Mostly. But the pain, the sense of loss I felt, was always just below the surface.

Still, what could we do? We weren’t going to leave our daughter and grandson with no roof over their heads. “This won’t be for long, babe,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as Pat. “Melissa’s going back to college to finish her degree. Then she’ll be able to support herself.”

“I know,” Pat said. “But it’s going to be an adjustment. For all of us.”