When the morning comes

36 | the purity of a child

When the night had fallen and Aurora's family had left me and Benjamin alone, I took the time to tuck Benjamin in. He allowed, which surprised me. I didn't know if it was the fact that we were here in Italy, instead of home, but he seemed open. Wanting to talk. The anger having faded, even if it was oh, so lightly.

His hair were damp. He had taken another bath. Stared at the ceiling of the room oppositely of Aurora's and mine as he limply laid his arms beside his body, allowing me to do what I wanted to with the covers. I wrapped him up in warm, fuzzy blankets, tucked the covers between his mattress and the wooden frame of the bed. He looked lost in thoughts, but when we made eye contact, he gave me a smile. Somewhat forced.

"I missed nonno e nonna. Thanks, Papà. That we could visit here."

"Just to catch our breaths." I whispered, sitting down beside him with a sigh. "I missed them too."

"I like sleeping here. The toilet isn't so far away. And I don't hear cars. Do you think it will thunder later tonight?"

I smiled a little. Remembering how fascinating he thought the thunder was, rumbling back and forth between the mountains when the shower would hang around there. "Don't think so, Campione. Are you feeling happy?"

Benjamin licked his lips and gave a quick nod, but no further comment. "Did you tell school?"

"Yeah." I tried ignoring the reason they had called me first.

He let out a sleepy sigh, turned onto his side and closed his eyes. I brushed his back with my fingers, drew small figures until I noticed how his breathing became deeper. Slower. Sleepier. When he was in the process of falling asleep, his muscles jerked when I slowly stood up from the bed. Leaving his door ajar, I stepped into the small, but cosy living room.

With my knees pulled up as I sat down on the couch, I stared around, her absence paining me awfully much. I stared down at my socks, plucked away some fluffs. I thought of Salomé, wondered if she still tried to speak to me in some ways. Wondered if she knew my truth. Wondered if it was fair to be mad at her.

It was eerie how heavily emotions could take over your whole body, including the mind. To say I acted out of emotions would be an understatement, but what else could I do.

Gazing at the photos, I took a deep breath and stood up, knowing what I'd been wanting to do ever since Aurora and I had lastly been here, but couldn't when we were in England. With a coat draped over my shoulders as the warm, Italian sun had traded itself for the moon and a chilly breeze, I walked up the hill where the blossom tree stood.

Keeping the door ajar on purpose, I couldn't help but glance behind my shoulder a couple of times to see if Benjamin was okay in there. No other houses were around, really. The one nearest, was one somewhere in the mountains, which you could only see when it was a dark. A small, but bright light betraying where they lived.

With my hands in the pockets of my coat, I walked up, my breathing becoming heavier the higher I walked. For a moment, I couldn't bring myself to look, so I glanced down at the house, the lake, the mountains, the tree. But they always took me back to my daughter. My eyes fell onto the tiny grave beside the blossom tree.

Sitting down before it, I numbly stared at the tombstone Aurora and I had made ourselves. It was a bright, creme colored not too big rock we had found in the lake. Cleaned ourselves. Engraved her name onto it ourselves. A little teddybear. The one we had bought with our first round of baby shopping. Dried flowers. A Saint Mary candle.

Staring up at the dark night, where stars scattered all over the area, I wondered if they were together, making up for the years they had missed together. I thought of God, who had reunited mother and daughter. Somehow, my lips curled into a painful, but somewhat calm smile. As if I knew it was okay, in a way. No matter what I thought or felt, especially towards God.