Even Ari.
One story became another.
Sarah singing off-key while cleaning the kitchen.
Then her crying over animal rescue commercials.
And then Sarah talking to Ari while she was still in her belly because she believed babies recognized voices before they were born.
One story became another.
For the first time since Sarah died, we didn’t avoid saying her name. We welcomed her back into the room.
Claire never interrupted.
She listened.
She laughed at the funny stories.
And she even cried during the tender ones.
When Ari finally climbed onto her lap, Claire wrapped an arm around her carefully.
“So…” Ari whispered. “You still love me?”
Claire never interrupted.
“Very much,” Claire whispered.
“Even if Mommy stays?”
Claire kissed the top of her head.
“I hope she always stays.”
Ari looked confused.
“But where do you go?”
Claire smiled.
“I don’t need your mommy’s place.” She tapped Ari gently on the nose. “I’d like my own place.”
“I hope she always stays.”
***
The next morning, I found Claire standing in the kitchen with an old recipe tin.
“I found this in the back of the cabinet,” she muttered.
Inside were Sarah’s handwritten recipes.
Right on top sat blueberry muffins.
Claire looked at me. “What do you think?”
I understood immediately.
She wasn’t trying to become Sarah.
She was inviting Sarah back into our home.
She wasn’t trying to become Sarah.
We baked together.
