Part Two
And yet, despite all of that—my insomnia, the anxiety, the grief clogging up every corner of my mind—there he was. It was as if the universe had finally decided I’d suffered enough, or maybe it just got tired of my whining, because suddenly, he appeared.
I crawled toward him, tears blurring my vision like raindrops on a windowpane. My hands reached out, trembling, until they touched his face. He was warm. Real. I pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tightly, afraid to let go, afraid this moment was just a fleeting illusion.
“Bubby! Oh, my love. My sweet, beautiful boy. Oh, how I missed you.” I cried, unable to hold it in, even though I knew how much he hated it when I cried. But these tears had been locked up for the past two months, trapped inside a truly broken heart. And right now, in this dream, hugging and holding him, feeling the warmth of his cheeks and breathing in that smell so uniquely Kingston, I had to let them flow.
All the love I had been clutching onto for the last 64 days suddenly had somewhere to go. He was here. Overjoyed at his presence, I clung to him, but a knot of fear tightened around my throat. I had to know how long this would last.
“Can you stay?” I choked out, my voice barely a whisper, fragile like glass. “Do you have to go?”
A bereaved mom friend had once warned me that if you touch them or hold on too long in these dreams, they’ll dissolve into thin air. Her words echoed in my mind, and I froze. I didn’t want to do anything that might disrupt this moment, that might steal away this long-awaited, almost sacred experience. It was so real, so vivid, that I had to preserve it in every way possible.
So, I held my breath, forcing myself to keep my hands to myself, even if just for a moment. I waited, every muscle tense, hanging on his reply. I needed him to stay, to not slip away like smoke. I was desperate to keep him beside me for just a little longer.
He shook his head, his eyes full of love. “No,” he said softly, like a gentle breeze on a warm summer day. “I can stay for a few minutes.”
And so, we talked—really talked, as if no time had passed at all. He filled me in on his plans, even telling me where he’d be for Halloween. Of course, he had plans, even in the next life. It is his second favorite holiday, after all. His voice was still filled with that childlike magic and excitement as he chattered on about his costume and the trip to Great Wolf Lodge.
I reached out and squished his chubby cheeks between my palms, just like I used to. We both burst into giggles, the sound bubbling up like champagne, sparkling and effervescent, as he squished my cheeks right back. I filled them with air and crossed my eyes like a dizzy monkey. “Pop!” Right on cue, he clapped his hands to my puffed-up cheeks, releasing the air with a satisfying smack. We laughed even harder at the sound, a symphony of joy filling the space between us. He always found anything that remotely resembled a fart to be the most entertaining thing in the world.
My laughter quickly turned into tears—I hadn’t laughed like this in what felt like an eternity. I wiped the tears away, trying to catch my breath, my belly aching from that pure, genuine joy that only Bubby could produce. It was as if every sorrow I had been carrying began to lighten, replaced by the warmth of his presence.
Pulling myself together, I sat up and leaned into him, my expression turning more serious for a moment. I touched my nose to his, preparing for our classic kiss attack. I kissed his cheek over and over, pretending to be stuck. “Oops!” I said, my words muffled as my face was smashed against his. He was still laughing. This was our thing, something we had done every day and night for as long as I could remember. God, how I missed this. All of it. I didn’t realize just how much I had missed all of it until this very moment—being able to do our routine just one more time.
As I went in for another kiss attack, he retaliated with a tickle, making me squirm and detach to avoid the onslaught. I sighed, tilting my head and smiling at him, soaking in every second, the love radiating between us like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Kingston looked back at me, slightly overwhelmed by the flood of love. I couldn’t help it; I pulled him in for another big hug and whispered how much I loved him. He hugged me back, his voice soft and certain as he said, “I love you, Mommy.”
“So, I’m really proud of you, ya know?” he said, his eyes shining with that familiar sparkle. “You did it. You found me. I was starting to worry you weren’t getting the signs or that you might stop telling our stories. You really took a lot longer than I thought you would, slowpoke,” he teased, his joy contagious. “I’m pretty proud of myself too, for not giving up on you. You’re hard to teach!”
I rolled my eyes, but he kept going, grinning. “I told you I was smarter, wiser, and faster!”
That familiar humor made me laugh through my tears, the sound echoing in the room like a melody of healing.
In that moment, I flashed back to the nights before he passed away when we’d talk about how he was so much faster and smarter than me, always beating me at everything. During radiation earlier that spring, he had joked that he’d probably have to go to heaven first because I was terrible with directions. “If you go first, Mom, there’s a good chance you’d never make it to heaven,” he’d tease, knowing how I could get lost—even in my own closet.
In that moment, standing in my bedroom—the room we had prepared for him to pass in—beside the shrine I had unintentionally created. Candles flickered softly, casting shadows on the walls, the scent of lavender wrapping around me like a hug. It was all starting to come together, the puzzle pieces clicking into place. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
In that moment, I realized that the more I clung to my sadness and grief, the more I resisted the idea that there’s another plane where we still exist together. Kingston had always been ahead of me, navigating the realms of life and death with an understanding that eluded me. It dawned on me that our bond transcended the physical world; it was woven into the very fabric of the universe, a tapestry of love that connected us through time and space. He had left me clues, breadcrumbs leading me back to him, even when I felt lost and alone. His laughter echoed in my heart, a reminder that every moment we shared was a step toward finding my way back to him.
As clarity washed over me, I felt a profound sense of peace, as if I were catching a glimpse of a larger plan unfolding before me. It was not just about mourning his absence but embracing the love that never truly faded. Kingston was not just my son; he was a beacon of hope, guiding me through the darkness with the light of our memories. Each story we told, each laugh we shared, brought us closer together, transcending the limitations of time. I understood then that my journey was not solely about grief; it was about celebrating the life we had together and honoring his spirit by keeping our story alive. With each word, I was not just reaching back to him but also paving the way for my own healing, reconnecting with the essence of who we were as a family.
I shook off the overwhelming feelings, unsure if I was on the edge of a breakdown or the start of a spiritual awakening. I brought my focus back to him, pulling him into the biggest hug. Holding him close, I rested my head on top of his as we rocked gently back and forth, the rhythm soothing like a lullaby.
In that embrace, I marveled at his old soul and fearless heart. He had always known his fate; it was why he was never upset or afraid. He understood his purpose in this life and accepted it. As much as I hated it, he had told me a thousand times before. I just hadn’t been able to bear believing it.
“You’re such a slow little penguin, Mommy! I left you so many clues!” he chuckled again, shaking his head at me, his laughter a melody that danced around us.
“I’m sorry, Bubbs, you’re right. I was trying so hard to keep up, but it’s a long walk—and you gave me short legs!” I joked, picturing myself as a flightless penguin in his shadow while he spread his wings as wide as that Michael Jordan poster he had always marveled at, the colors so vibrant they almost came to life.
That’s when it hit me: the more I clung to my sadness and grief, the more I resisted the idea that there’s another plane where we still exist together. I had forgotten our soul contracts and past lives, but Kingston never had.
“You kept telling our story; you followed my directions…” His words echoed in my mind, over and over, until suddenly, it all started to make sense. “A bird can only soar so high if he soars on his own wings.” The birds, the stories… Aha! Oh my God, I thought. How could I have missed it?
The medium had asked me if there was a movie we had watched together that might hold special significance. Of course, there were many, but only one came to mind—The Notebook.
It wasn’t just about the birds and the idea of flying away together in death; it was about the story, OUR STORY, HIS STORY. In that movie, do you remember what happened to Allie when Noah told her their story? She came back to him. She remembered who she was and who she was supposed to be.
The realization hit me like a crashing wave, sweeping over me in an exhilarating rush. I don’t know if I gasped out loud in real life, but in the dream, it felt like roaring thunder as everything started clicking into place. The Notebook, it was about the woman finding herself. Through Him and with unconditional love, she was able to remember who she was and who she was meant to be… it was all part of a much bigger plan. Kingston’s plan, maybe? More likely, it was God’s. After all, Kingston did say he was working for God.
The more I followed Kingston’s trail of breadcrumbs, the closer he was able to reel me in. He was guiding me back to him, piece by piece, with each clue. The more I told our stories, the more I talked about him, the more I began to remember.
Only then did I realize my mission: I had to keep telling his story—our story. That was how I would find my way back to him, in this life, in death, and in the next. I was, in fact, having a spiritual revelation, one so profound that it left me breathless.
He looked so satisfied with himself for being “faster” than me, just as he had always claimed. The pride on his face was unmistakable, a blend of joy and victory. I could see it in his eyes, that twinkle of mischief and knowing, as if to say, “See, Mom? I told you I was always ahead.” But beneath that pride was something deeper—a love so vast it filled every corner of the room. He had been waiting for this moment, watching patiently as I struggled, trying to find my way through the dark. And now, finally, I had opened my heart to see what he had been trying so desperately to show me all along, even when he was alive and right in front of me.
Tears stung my eyes as I realized how gently he had guided me, how he had left me so many clues to follow. In every memory, every sign, he was reminding me of the truth he had always known. Each new experience he had taken me through since his death was a challenge to everything I had ever believed. He was showing me that there was more—so much more—beyond this physical world. I could feel my heart cracking open, releasing the sadness and fear, making room for something infinitely more beautiful.
It was heart-wrenching and magical at the same time. In his gaze, I saw the boundless love and wisdom that had been there all along. “This is what I’ve been trying to teach you, Mom,” his eyes seemed to say. “This is what life really is: love and connection that never fades.” And just like that, I understood that his journey wasn’t just about the here and now. It was about the infinite, the eternal.
Kingston was not just my son; he was my guide, my teacher. He had always known what his mission was, even when I had refused to accept it. And now, I could see that every clue, every breadcrumb he left, was meant to lead me here—to this awakening. I had to believe in the magic, in the signs, and in the love that stretched far beyond this life. Only then could I truly grasp the unbreakable thread that bound us together, ensuring that I would always find my way back to him, again and again, in this life, in death, and in every life to come.
As the minutes slipped away like sand through my fingers, I felt the moment drawing to a close, a bittersweet realization settling over me like a warm blanket. Kingston pulled back slightly, looking deeply into my eyes, his expression calm and reassuring. “I’ll see you again in a little while,” he promised, his voice like a soothing balm, wrapping around my heart. I nodded, the weight of his words filling me with a profound peace I hadn’t expected. “I’ll see you later,” I replied, and for the first time, it felt okay. It wasn’t goodbye; it was a promise to meet again.
Then, as Kingston faded from my sight, I heard footsteps approaching, soft but deliberate. I turned to see Jaden and Zuma coming around the corner and through the doorway of the room, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. Kingston was already gone, and they hadn’t seen what I had. They rushed to me, worry etched into their features. “Are you okay?” they asked in unison, their voices overlapping with genuine concern.
I looked up at them, laughter bubbling up through my tears, a mixture of joy and disbelief lighting up my face. “He was here,” I said, my voice filled with awe and wonder. “Kingston was right here.” I could see the doubt in their eyes; they probably thought I was losing it. The idea made me laugh even more, a sound that seemed to break through the heaviness of the moment. They must think I’m turning into my mother, I thought, and an uncontrollable laugh rolled out of me, sending them exchanging worried glances, their brows furrowing in confusion.
And then I woke up. Tears streamed down my face, but they weren’t just tears of sadness; they were tears of triumph and love. I had made it to him. I had found him. As I lay there, my face felt numb, and my hands tingled, echoing the exact sensation I had when he slipped away from me the day he died.
But this time, it didn’t hurt. The tears that flowed from my eyes were not those of grief but of joy, love, and relief. They cascaded down my cheeks, like a river finally breaking free from the dam, flowing from the certainty that he was still with me, guiding me through every story I told and every memory I kept alive. It felt like a promise fulfilled, like a bridge connecting us between worlds, a testament to our unbreakable bond. I smiled through the tears, knowing that our connection was eternal, unwavering, and unyielding. I hadn’t lost him; I had found him again.
In the quiet aftermath, I whispered a prayer, picturing Kingston curled up beside me as I drifted back to sleep. “Near in heart, we are never far apart,” I murmured, the words settling over me like a protective shroud. With that, I closed my eyes, cradled in the warmth of his love, ready to embrace whatever came next, knowing that he would always be with me.