MY PHONE RINGING WAKES ME from a dead sleep. I roll over and reach for it, knocking it to the floor. As I grab it, I swipe across the screen answering it before I see who’s calling.
“Hello?” My greeting is gravelly and low, so I clear my throat and try again. “Hello?”
“Mr. Benoit?” a female voice on the other end asks.
“Yes.” Her tone and unfamiliar voice puts me on edge, so I sit up in bed and try to clear away the grogginess. “This is Tucker.”
“Tucker,” she repeats. “This is Beth. I’m a nurse at Memorial Hospice.”
“Sophie?” I ask, my heart stopping. “Is Sophie okay?”
“I’m sorry. She passed away just a few minutes ago. Dr. Lydel asked me to call. He was called in at two this morning, due to a shallow breath and low pulse. Sophie never woke up. She was pronounced dead at two-twenty-eight. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss. A hospice worker will be in touch with you in the morning to go over the final arrangements for Ms. Martin.”
Sophie.
“Okay,” I reply numbly.
“Is there anything I can do for you right now?” she asks.
“Uh, no.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No.”
“Call us at any time, if you need someone to talk to or have any questions.”
“Okay.” It’s the only response I can manage.
After the phone goes dead, I sit there, holding it to my ear.
Sophie’s gone.
My throat begins to squeeze, pain radiating from there to my chest.
Sophie’s . . . gone.
Swallowing, I feel the sting in my eyes.
Sammy.
I close my eyes and sink back down on my bed, letting the phone fall to the floor. How am I going to tell her? I’ve thought about this moment quite a bit over the last couple of months, but each time, when I get to the point where I tell her, I hit a block.
How do you tell a little girl her mom is gone?
Reaching way back in my memories, I find the one where my dad told me and Cami. I still remember his words: mama was sick and her body was tired. He told us that she went to heaven and she’s always going to be watching over us.
Cami was crying one night and I remember walking down to her room, but my dad was already in there, comforting her. I slid down the wall beside her door and listened. He told her, when she looks up in the sky, that mama would be there . . . she’s in every star, every cloud. She’s not gone, because she lives on inside us. As long as we keep remembering her, she’ll always be here.
I wipe at my eyes, the tears from my memories, mixed with the tears for Sophie . . . and Sammy. Just as quickly as I wipe them away, they’re replaced with new ones.
Memories of Sophie flash through my mind like snapshots. Somewhere, from the back of my mind, a flash of the girl I met out on tour hits me out of the blue—bright, fearless eyes. Who knew? Who knew that a random night would lead to this.
She changed my life.
Blowing out a hard breath, I pull myself out of bed and walk the short distance down the hall to Sammy’s room. The door is cracked, just like I left it when I tucked her in bed.
Tonight, her three things she’s thankful for were talking to her mom on the phone, playing with Carter, and me reading her a bedtime story.
As I stand there, watching her sleep in the faint light of the moon shining through her window, I wonder if she had any idea that was the last time she’d talk to her mom. I didn’t ask what she and Sophie talked about, but I hope Sophie was able to leave her with a lasting impression of just how much she loves her.
I think about waking her up, but I can’t bring myself to do it. So, I sit down on the floor and lean against the wall, silently praying it’s all going to be okay . . . that she’ll be okay.
My thoughts turn to Sophie as I sit there, watching our daughter sleep. What were her last thoughts? Like, the last one before she drifted off to sleep, never to wake again. I wish I could’ve been there. I know she wasn’t alone, but I wish someone who knew her—loved her—was there for her last breath.
When I first met Sammy, I was jealous of the time Sophie had her . . . all the time I missed out on, but I know in the end, it was Sophie who was jealous. She wanted to be here. She wanted to watch Sammy grow. She wanted to take her to her first day of school. She wanted to be there for her first kiss, first date . . . first heartbreak.
And now, that’s all on me.
What did I do to deserve the privilege of raising Sammy?
I don’t know the answer to that. It’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around it. But I know I’m going to do my best to make Sophie proud and to keep her memory alive for Sammy.
It’s the least I can do.
I wish I could tell her one last thing. I wish I would’ve told her thank you. She didn’t have to find me. She didn’t have to keep Sammy in the first place. She was a young girl, no family, a history of illness. The fact that she was brave enough to take on a baby by herself speaks volumes about her character. I’ll be sure Sammy knows that, one of these days, when she can appreciate the sacrifices her mother made for her.
As the sun begins to rise, Sammy stirs in her bed and I drag myself off the floor, muscles aching from sitting there so long. Walking over to her, I sink down beside her, brushing the curls from her sweet face.
“Daddy?” she mumbles in her sleepy voice and it makes my heart clench.
I swallow hard, praying to God I can get through this without falling apart.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“It’s too early,” she groans, pulling Bubba closer to her. “What’s today?”
What’s today?
It kills me that today will be a day she’ll always remember, even if she doesn’t remember the day or the date, she won’t forget this moment.
“It’s Thursday,” I tell her, making her scoot over, so I can climb in beside her. “I have something I need to tell you,” I begin, but still feeling so lost on the right words to say.
“What is it?” she asks, opening her little eyes and looking up at me with such blind trust. There’s no fear there, no hesitation or uncertainty.
Swallowing again, I close my eyes. “Remember what your mommy told you about where she was going?”
“Heaven,” Sammy says in her matter-of-fact way.
“Right.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Remember what else she told you?” I ask, silently thanking Sophie for giving me this—laying the foundation for this inevitable talk.
“She’s always going to be with me,” Sammy says, pulling Bubba back and pointing to her chest. “Right here.”
“Right. Always, she’s always gonna be right there, and in here,” I say, brushing back her hair. “We’ll always have our memories.”
“And pictures,” she adds, reaching over and grabbing the one off her night stand of her and Sophie.
“And pictures,” I repeat, struggling to hold back my emotions.
We lay there for a moment, in silence, as Sammy looks at the picture of her and her mom. When she looks up at me and sees the tears I no longer can contain, she frowns, reaching up to cup my cheek.
“Mommy’s gone to heaven, Sammy.” I feel the first fracture in my heart when Sammy’s frown turns to sadness and her little face falls. “She’s gone to heaven, but she’ll never leave you.”
Sitting up in her bed, I pull her onto my lap and hold her while she cries.
It’s real and raw and part of me is happy she’s letting it out, because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand. But that was crazy, because Sammy is an old soul. She’s intuitive and empathetic. She’s smart and caring. She’s so much her mother.
I hold her for what seems like hours, but I doubt it’s been even an hour. For a while, I think she’s fallen back to sleep, but then she speaks in a small, sad voice.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
Lifting her off my shoulder, I look her in the eyes—those blue eyes that make me feel like I’m looking into my own soul.
“Your mommy didn’t want to say goodbye because it’s not goodbye. She knows she’ll see you again. One day, when you’re old and grey, you’ll go to heaven too, and you’ll see her again. So, you don’t have to say goodbye.”
Sammy seems to be taking in my words. Her little forehead relaxes from its tensed state of duress and she takes a deep breath, blowing it out and blowing a curl away in the process.
“I’m still gonna miss her.”
“Oh, me too, sunshine.”
Pulling her to my chest, I hug her to me for a while longer.
“What do you want to do?” I finally ask, knowing we can’t stay in bed all day. I mean, we could, but I know she needs to eat and she’d feel better after a shower and getting dressed.
“I want pancakes.”
“Pancakes, it is.”
We’ll take this one thing at a time—one minute, one hour, one day. For now, it’s pancakes, and then we’ll play it by ear.
The last forty-eight hours have been a whirlwind. I’ve barely slept, worried about Sammy, even though she’s been sleeping in my bed or I’ve been in hers. During the day, I find myself unable to take my eyes off her, worried that she’s going to break and I’m not going to be there to pick up the pieces.
Today, we’re burying Sophie’s ashes and planting a tree in her honor.
After talking it over with Dad and Kay, we decided a place out by the barn would be good. One of Sophie’s last requests was to put her ashes somewhere peaceful and give Sammy a place she can visit, if she wants.
I think she’d approve.
She mentioned several times that she loved this place. I know she thought it would be a good place for Sammy to grow up, so I think she’ll be happy here as well.
Micah and Deacon went into Baton Rouge and bought a magnolia tree. Annie said a magnolia is a symbol of beauty and perseverance. That was Sophie. So, here we stand, on the south side of the barn, in full view of the late afternoon sun.
“God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.
Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in for Sammy,
And for all those who knew and loved Sophie.”
Sammy squeezes my hand a little tighter as Sam offers a prayer over the small hole where Sophie’s ashes are now buried.
“In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.
Amen.”
I kneel in front of Sammy, getting eye level with her. “Is there anything you want to say?”
She looks at me and then around the circle at Sam, Annie, Dad, Kay, Cami, Deacon, Micah, and Dani. Then she raises her little chin and looks up at the tree that’s planted and then over to where we placed the small box in the ground.
“My mommy likes it here.” She trails off a little and looks down at the ground. I’m afraid this is all too much and that she’s going to fall apart on me, but she doesn’t. She keeps going. “She likes pretty trees. And she likes heaven. And now she’s with Daddy’s mom. Isn’t that right, Daddy?”
I nearly crumble to the ground at her feet.
“That’s right, sunshine.” I force out the words and nod my head.
For that brief moment, it’s just me and her. I don’t feel the wind or the sun. I just feel the connection between me and Sammy.
One day, I’ll take her to the cemetery down the road where my mama is buried. I’ll tell her how I made it through. Hopefully, it’ll help her heal, knowing she’s not alone and that we have this connection. But for today, I’m going to hold her a little tighter, love her a little harder, and be her soft place to land.
We all gather at Dad and Kay’s for dinner, but the mood is somber. Everyone is tired from the last couple of days. Kay and Annie have been staying over until late into the night, just in case we need anything. And Cami and Dani have been hanging around during the day, with everyone else popping in sporadically.
“I’m gonna take Sammy home,” I tell Cami as we wash up a couple of dishes. “I think she needs to rest, maybe just have some down time.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” She dries her hands and turns around to lean against the cabinet. “I can bring Carter over tomorrow after school, if she’s up for someone to play with.”
“I’m sure she will be. Those two are thick as thieves these days.”
“Yeah, it’s good for her. For him too, especially with this one on the way.”
“Kinda crazy that we’re repopulating the family,” I laugh. “I can’t imagine what it’ll be like in a few years.”
Cami smiles, resting her hands on her round belly. “I doubt Micah and Dani wait too long, and Deacon and I have already talked about another, a little closer together this time.”
“Geez, keep it up and we’ll have enough for a baseball team,” I tease.
“Well, you make beautiful babies,” she says wistfully, watching Sammy and Carter playing in the living room.
“Okay,” I say, tossing the dish towel on the counter. “I’m leavin’ on that note.”
Cami laughs. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Well, just keep your sayin’ to yourself. I’ve got my hands full with Sammy.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not completely true. I do have my hands full, but since calling things off with Piper, I’ve missed her more than I care to admit. Our timing is shit, but it doesn’t mean I still don’t want her—want everything about her, everything with her. She’s been on my mind a lot the last few of days. But I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to call her.
After Sammy and I say our goodbyes, and Kay sends us home with enough food to feed an army, we head out.
Sammy is quiet as we drive down the road. I hear her yawn just as we get to the main road, and by the time we turn down our road, she’s asleep.
When I pull up to the house, I hardly look twice at the car in the drive. I’ve been so used to everyone being in and out, it doesn’t even dawn on me it’s there, until I see someone sitting on the front porch.
“Piper?”