Cherish
A Short Story of Loss and Magic
by Victor Uribe

“Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.”—William Blake.

On an evening four months after their young son’s death, Joe and Kathy Sancho sat in a love seat in their home in Naples, Florida.

“Look at this photo from Mexico. We had so much fun there with Pepito,” said Kathy.

Joe gazed at the print. “Oh, yes! Huatulco, remember?” Pause.

They looked at the photos in silence. Her breath caught on a sob. “I wish our son was here.” Joe dried her eyes.

“I do too,” he said. They hugged each other.

“I don’t know how we can live without him.” Kathy’s words only echoed what Joe felt.

***

Joe worried about Kathy’s depression while trying to fight his own. Each day their loss increased. One night, about a week later, as they tried to eat and not look at Pepito’s empty chair, Kathy seemed more upset than usual.

“You should seek help.” Kathy pushed her plate away.

Joe’s sullen gaze met hers. “No one can help. Our son is dead.”

“I love you, I’m concerned. I hoped you would find peace, but you haven’t. It’s more than grief or depression, Joe.”

“I know. But-they’re real.”

“I believe they’re real to you, but-we had a happy marriage. We still love each other. We should talk openly.”

“I can’t help it, Kathy.” Joe didn’t tell her about the knocking on the door. The fear that shot through him, the panic, as if someone was coming to get him. He had installed three dead-bolt locks and still felt someone waiting to attack. He hadn’t seen anybody, but he felt them. How could he tell Kathy he heard voices accusing him of having killed his son. She’d think him mad. “Sometimes, I dream of Pepito-us.” Joe’s voice broke.

He covered his face with his hands. “I feel his death was my fault. I’ve thought of suicide.”

 Kathy stared at him. “Darling. It was an accident.”

“I feel lost. I wish I could bring him back, even for an instant.” Despite his efforts to choke them back, tears ran down Joe’s cheeks.

Kathy wiped them away. “I wish it, too.”

“I was driving. It was my fault.” The anger, never far from the surface, made Joe’s voice rough.

“Joe, if Pepito were here he would say it wasn’t your fault. It was the truck driver’s fault.”

Joe met her eyes and said his deepest fear. “Am I losing my mind, Kathy?”

She moved closer to him. “You’ll be all right, love. We both will-in time.”

Joe wished he believed it.

* * *