Chapter 6. Searching

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Here are a few more snack-sized appetizers from my book—so you can get a taste of my writing style. (And by the way, the green boxes with orange text that you see throughout these posts are actual excerpts from my chapters.) Bon appétit!

about this chapter

Chapter 6. Searching is about the pain, the sleep deprivation, and the lunacy that follows loss.

surviving

In those early days and weeks, I don’t know how we, David, Joey, and I, keep going, flickering, functioning.

I wonder how long I can survive without sleep. Studies have shown a limit of eight to ten days, but I’ve exceeded the limit.

Sleep deprivation was muddling my memory. And my memories—my ability to unspool his life and recollect every single one of his 3,346 days—were what I needed most.

(from Chapter 6. Rewriting: sleep)

in a dream

After a week or so, Joey returns to school.

After two weeks or so, David returns to work.

To breathe and ease the pain, I lie in the tub every day. I let the water run until it rises and covers my mouth, my nose, my eyes.

No matter how long I stayed underwater holding my breath, my body—or the soul inside it—refused to die. It would come up yawning for air like a gaping fish.

(from Chapter 6. Rewriting: lunacy)

When the water reaches the overflow, I turn over onto my stomach, on my elbows, gaze into the chrome, and see him there. His face. His eyes. We don’t smile or speak or cry. We just stare into each other’s eyes for as long as we can, until the water turns cold and the tub drains.

I keep searching for him. I need to find him. I know he’s somewhere, still alive. So I keep looking.

I find him in a dream. We’re together, two birds flying over a black sea. Passing over seals, striped dolphins, a pod of beluga whales rising to the surface.

Aren’t they amazing?

Sammy?

I want to stay there, in my dream, with him, but I also want to be here with Joey. I want both of my boys. I have to figure out how to live in two places at once.

a tiny miracle

In the morning, before it’s time to leave for summer camp, Joey pulls out his whale puzzle, the one that looks deceptively easy to solve. All you have to do is match their heads with their tails. It’s easy to match a few whales, but impossible to pair them all. For years, we’ve tried, but have never solved it. I wonder why, on this particular morning, Joey has chosen that puzzle to work on. Aren’t they amazing? I want to tell him about the dream I had, but—

“I did it! I DID IT!”

Joey’s shouting startled me. He’d done it, matched and connected all the whales, and he couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a tiny miracle. A moment of levity, a glimmer of hope. Even if was nothing, it was an experience, a connection made in both places, and it was mine to do with it whatever I wanted. That was something.

(from Chapter 6. Rewriting: whales)

I take a picture of the finished puzzle so that one day if we forget this, or it seems impossible again to solve it, I’ll have proof that it can be done—and that we can feel alive again.

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