Echoes of Love
Reentering a world without my son
I stand on a road called Middle Street that bisects a park called Alhambra. To my left are a series of playgrounds shaded by a towering live oak tree dripping with Spanish moss. Delighted squeals puncture my brain as toddlers fly through muggy air on swings. I listen with envy as moms chat about healthy snacks their kids will actually eat and the difficulties of bedtime. The clicking of sprinklers watering the yards at the opulent homes that border the park serves as the percussion. To my right is a nearly empty green space and, beyond that, Charleston Harbor. It’s late in the afternoon, and the sunlight casting on the water makes the surface perform a glittery dance. The freshly cut grass and briny air create a familiar perfume.
Alhambra sits at the edge of the neighborhood where we used to live. We took Sam here nearly every day after daycare — a brief outdoor excursion before our fast-paced evening routine. I breathe in, letting the salty air coat my lungs and skin. The denseness of it mingles with my heavy heart, rooting me firmly to the asphalt.
“Go ahead,” I say to Ada and Mae, my 3-year-old twin daughters. They run to the left, to the playgrounds, their tightly woven curls bobbing the same way his did.
