That night, I had no idea what Ben was going to do to us. I went to see Elliot in his room. We hadn’t spoken since he’d run off. We’d had beans on toast for dinner, eaten in silence, and he’d taken himself to bed without even saying good night. I wanted to try to mend some of the broken pieces of our lives, so I knocked and entered to find him lying curled up in bed. He was wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, the ones he and Beth had picked out together. He had his back to me and I saw him bring his hand to his face. I’m pretty sure he was wiping his eyes.
“How are you doing, little man?”
He ignored me.
“Little man, how are you doing?” I tried again. I sat beside him and put my hand on his shoulder.
He shuddered and said, “Bad.”
“I know it’s hard, but Mummy wouldn’t want to see you like this. She loved your smile, Elliot. She loved to hear you laugh. She never liked to see you sad.”
“I miss her so much, Dad,” he replied.
“Me too.”
A lump rose in my throat and I started to well up.
“Me too,” I croaked.
I sat there for a while, fighting my emotions. I can’t say how many minutes passed, but I stroked my son’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. I felt him tremble, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, because I knew the sight of his tears would destroy me. I railed against a universe that could be so cruel. Were we so important that our happiness had to be stolen? Could we not have gone unnoticed by fate?
We were insignificant creatures whose existence was of no consequence to gods or man.
What had we done to deserve this?
Even as those anguished thoughts overwhelmed me, I knew how pointless they were. Our insignificance was the very reason fate was blind to our happiness.
This was just one of those things. One of those terrible, ugly, brutal things.
“It is what it is,” say the gods, and the universe shrugs and moves on.
In a hundred years our suffering and tears and laughter and happiness will all be forgotten, replaced by another generation whose existences are equally transient and meaningless, and yet deeply meaningful and significant to them and those they love. Our ability to know we are nothing while perceiving we are everything has driven some mad, and it almost broke me during those dark days.
But it didn’t. I took deep breaths and stroked my son until I felt able to continue.
“I’ve got something for you,” I said at last. “I thought you might like to have this.”
I pulled Beth’s silver pendant and chain from my pocket, and Elliot turned round to look. His eyes were raw and streaks of long-fallen tears marked his cheeks. I almost broke down but told myself I had to be brave for him.
“Your mum always wore it. When you were a baby, you used to play with it all the time. Here,” I said, and I leaned down and fastened it around his neck.
The silver glinted in the light of his bedside lamp. He held the pendant and studied the moon, stars, and the word Beth closely.
“She’ll always be with you, little man,” I said, and I pulled him into a hug.
He sobbed and I did too, but I held him and stroked his back until he fell asleep.