Chapter 9 – Jensen
1 Week Later
It’s a bright and sunny day as we walk to Dad’s gravesite. Riley is carrying our son, whose little eyes are struggling to stay open.
“Hurry,” I whisper. “He is only awake for such small amounts of time during the day.”
“You’re going to be eating these words when he’s older,” Monica says, pulling James by his hand. “Then you’ll be like, ‘It’s bed time, go to sleep, and he’ll be like, ‘No, I don’t waaaaant to!’”
“Hey!” James proclaims. “That sounds like me.”
“It sure does,” Monica says.
“Well, he certainly makes up for it by waking up at night,” Riley says. “He’s got his days and nights mixed up.”
She holds him up close once we get to the gravesite and gather around. “Don’t you?” she asks him, blowing bubbles with her lips. “Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you? You’re a little night owl! But you’re the cutest little owl there ever was. Yes you are, yes you are!”
I smile at how happy she is. She loves our little boy more than life itself. And so do I.
Ramsey and Monica are at our side. We wait a second for Harlow to help Mom down the hill. Then Harlow and Whitney— always the last to arrive anywhere— scurry down it, apologizing with each step.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat and then taking our son into my arms. “We’re gathered here today for several reasons, Dad. The first is, Riley and I are happy to introduce you to our son, Andrew Michael Bradford.”
Everyone beams at the little creature who manages to stay awake for one more minute before closing his eyes. I carefully pass him back to Riley, who puts him in a baby carrier she’s wearing on her chest. His eyes open again for just a moment before he snuggles up against her and drifts back off into a peaceful sleep.
Everyone claps and makes comments such as, “Ooooh, so that’s what it is.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I tell Dad, and all of them. “Andrew. And we call him Drew for short. We wanted you to be among the first to know. We didn’t tell anyone else until we could come here today, all together.”
“Drew,” Harlow says, laughing. “I love it.”
“What?” Whitney asks, looking at all of our faces. “I don’t get it.”
“When Jensen was little, he colored all over the walls with a magic marker. Now, you have to understand that he was always Mr. Prim and Proper, insisting everyone’s language was right, like a little know it all.”
“Shut up,” I tell him, but I’m chuckling.
“Jensen kept saying he made art on the wall,” Harlow continues. “When Dad saw it, he obviously became upset. He asked all of us one by one, ‘Who drew on the wall? Did you draw on the wall?’”
Now Ramsey is cracking up just as hard.
“When he got to me, I said, ‘No, Dad, I didn’t,’” he says, picking up the story where Harlow left off. “When he got to Harlow, same answer. But when he got to Jensen, and said, ‘Who drew on it it? You drew on it, didn’t you?’ And Jensen gave himself away by saying, ‘No, Daddy, my name’s not Drew! It’s Jensen! Jensen made the art on the wall!”
Now everyone laughs, and I look over at my own sleeping son again, wondering when the day will come that he will inevitably draw on the wall.
“He didn’t want whoever this mysterious ‘Drew’ was to get credit for his artwork,” Ramsey says, laughing.
“Dad was laughing so hard that Jensen didn’t even get into trouble,” Harlow says.
“He was always Dad’s favorite,” Ramsey says. “He never really got into trouble.”
“Guess that’s why I got into so much trouble when I was a bit older,” I say, shrugging.
Riley takes my hand and squeezes it. I’m reminded of the very first day I laid eyes on her— when I was in jail, of all places. I knew then that I had to have her. And now I do.
“From that day on, Dad would tease me and call me Drew,” I say, taking over the story. “Especially when I did anything wrong. He would say, ‘Drew, was that you again?’ And these assholes over here—” I pointed to my brothers— “would say, ‘You better tell on yourself Jensen, or else he’ll think it was Drew, doing everything better and worse than you.’”
Everyone laughs, even Mom. I’m amazed at how peacefully she’s taking this transition. She was apologetic when she came to the next morning and found out she had slept through the birth of her grandson. Riley’s labor had been nearly as quick as its onset, and Drew was born within just a few hours.
We’d been pretty sure we wanted to name him Drew but when he arrived, we were sure of it. His angelic face looked like it was saying, “I’ll never do a thing wrong in my whole life. Blame Drew, not me!”
So we’d spent two days in the hospital and Mom kept coming to try to meet Drew and apologize but we’d not let her in. We explained to her on the phone that it wasn’t personal— we wanted Dad to meet the baby at the same time everyone else did. So now here we are, except earlier today we’d sat down with Mom for a heart to heart. She was so glad we were still talking to her that she’d agreed to anything we’d asked.
“That’s such a beautiful story,” Whitney says. “And what a great name for Mr. Drew. A constant reminder of what an awesome grandpa he had.”
“He really was,” says Mom, and we all turn to look at her, kind of surprised. “Now I would like to tell you the other reason we came today.”
Now we’re all very surprised. Mom rarely comes to visit Dad and we’ve certainly never heard her talk like this before.
We all just stare at her, waiting for her to continue, and not being able to believe our ears.