It was another hard-to-sleep night. The moon shone through my bedroom window, and I looked up at the sky, wondering what Mama would have thought about today.
When Charlotte got polio, I wondered if it would’ve been different if Mama was here.
And now I was wondering if Buster would still be here if Mama was too.
Even if all of that would be the same, maybe it just wouldn’t hurt so much if Mama was here.
Guess when you can’t hang on to your mama, you hang on to your wonderings. And right then, I was holding on to my wonderings so tight I didn’t hear somebody walk into the room.
“You okay, Pixie?” I didn’t have to turn around to know Grandma was checking on me.
I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “Remember when I pumped my legs so high I fell outta the tire swing and landed on my hands and knees—got them scraped up and bloodied?”
“Sure do.”
“Right before my scabs healed up, I fell again—running down the lane. You said the scab didn’t have time to heal right proper and it broke open too soon. Left me with a scar.”
I heard her footsteps coming closer.
“That’s my heart right now, Grandma. Before the wound could heal from Mama dying, it got ripped open when Charlotte got sick. And now, right when it started healin’ again, it’s ripped all over. I don’t think it’s ever gonna heal.”
She touched my shoulder. “If I recollect, you’re pretty proud of the scars you have on your knees. You’re proud of ’em ’cause you remember the fun you had before you got hurt—not the pain in fallin’. Maybe your heart’s like that. You’ll have your scars there forever, but instead of just remembering the pain when you count ’em, you’ll think of the good times too.”
Grandma rubbed my back. “Let’s try to sleep. Your heart’s too broke right now for words to sink in. But tomorrow, I’ll tell you a little story. Remember, things always look better in the light of day.”
With that, she tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. And though I figured I’d never sleep again, I was wrong.