Not my ex-husband when our son died. Not my family. No one.
Ben lets me be me.
The grieving mother who lost her little boy years before she should have. Who should never have lost him. We sit like that. I’m not sure for how long, as I cry into his shirt. By the time I lift my head again, it’s tear-streaked, snot-stained, and crumpled beyond recognition.
I glance up at him, and he gives me a half smile. Sad, but understanding.
Ben understands loss, but not the loss of a child. He’s seen bereavement in more ways than I can ever imagine with his patients. He’s lost his wife, but not his child.
And that’s different.
And in a way, I think he knows he doesn’t fully understand.
“In the final few weeks,” I whisper. “Mikey wouldn’t let me out of his sight. I went from a mother and a career woman to a comfort blanket—in the best possible way.”
I’m not sure why I’m telling this story. There doesn’t seem to be a reason, but I just feel like he needs to know.
“Then, a few days before I lost him. Before we lost him.” I correct myself. “I went for a shower. In the past, when I went for a shower, he would lie in his bedroom and play with his teddies. Hell, I even let him watch a bit of TV.”
Suddenly, I’m back there. In the apartment, living what would be one of the worst days of my life.
“But this day, he clung to my leg all day,” I continue. “And when I opened the shower door, there he was. Curled up on the bath mat.”
My heart breaks all over again, like it does every time I remember that moment.
“Mummy,” he said. “Stay with me.”
And that was it.
I knew.
I knew we were in the final days. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what was happening, but he knew he wouldn’t see me for long.
Stay with me.
That has haunted me ever since. My little boy looking up at me and pleading.
“I suppose that’s what I’ve been striving for all these years. With Opengate. With the clinical trials. In seeking justice. I’ve wanted families to be able to stay with each other as long as they can.”
“And you achieved it,” Ben says softly.
I shake my head. He pushes a lock of hair out of my eyes, then his thumb runs underneath, clearing leftover tears. So many words left unsaid. He’s trying to convince me he’s right with only a look.
“You did,” he says again. “You stayed with him, Antonia. And he knows he was loved. Don’t ever discount how much that meant to him.”
He ignored my deflection to work, bringing our conversation right back to the root. To my son. Mikey. The boy I feel like I failed.
It’s then that I realize Ben sees me. All of me. Not just the CEO.
And suddenly, in that moment, I accept that in all of this: I’m no longer alone.