Karen hadnt set foot in her sons flat for a long time. She didnt want to, she felt she couldnt. The tears had long since dried up. Grief had settled into a dull, unrelenting ache and a sense of hopelessness.
Her son, Stephen, was twentyeight, never complained about his health. He had graduated from university, held a steady job, went to the gym, and was dating a girl.
Two months earlier he went to sleep and never woke up.
Karen had divorced her husband when Stephen was six and she was thirty. The reason was simple repeated infidelity. He stopped paying maintenance and disappeared. Stephen grew up without a father; Karens parents helped raise him. There were occasional boyfriends, but she never took the step toward remarriage.
Karen worked and earned her own living. At first she rented a small stall in a local market for her own little shop selling frames and glasses. She was an ophthalmologist. After taking out a loan, she bought a premises and became the owner of a respectable Optical, where she also kept her consulting room. She gave advice and fitted spectacles.
Last year they bought Stephen a onebedroom flat on the same block and did a modest renovation. It could have been home, if only they could live in it.
Dust lay everywhere, so Karen grabbed a cloth. While wiping the floor she pushed the sofa aside and a phone fell out from underneath. She couldnt locate it at first, then finally set it on the charger.
Back at her own house, tears in her eyes, Karen scrolled through the pictures on Stephens phone: him at work, on holiday with friends, with his beloved girlfriend.
She opened WhatsApp and at the top was a message from a friend named Dennis. A photograph showed a young woman she didnt recognise holding a little boy. The boy looked exactly like her own Stephen.
Remember when we were hanging out at Lucys Christmas party back at university? She had a friend. I met that friends childshe rents a flat opposite us. The kid is just your little Stephen! Sent it as a memory.
The message had been sent a week before the tragedy, so Stephen had known and said nothing. What a story!
Karen knew where Dennis lived.
The next day, after work, she drove to the house. She recognised the boy instantlyhow could she not recognise her own blood? He was chasing another child on a bike, begging to be given a turn.
Karen bent down and asked, You dont have a bike?
The boy shook his head.
The mother approached, appearing just over twenty, her face obscured by gaudy makeup.
Who are you? she asked.
I think Im the grandmother of this child, Karen replied.
And Im Emily, his mother. Nice to meet you.
Karen took them to a café. The boy, Tommy, got an icecream, and they ordered coffee.
Emily explained that six years earlier she had arrived from a small village at seventeen, enrolled in a college to become a seamstress, and spent the Christmas holidays staying with a friend, Lucy, who was in the same class. Lucys parents were away visiting relatives.
Lucy was friends with Dennis, who had come to celebrate the holiday with his mate Stephen. It was then that Emily and Stephen got together. Stephen left his phone, promised to call, but never did.
When Emily discovered she was pregnant she called him herself. They met, and Stephen was furious, shouting at her. He said respectable girls should think about contraception themselves, handed her some money for an abortion, and told her to disappear from his life forever. She never saw him again.
She didnt finish college, was asked to leave the dorm with her baby, and could not return to the villageher mother was long gone, and her father and brother were heavy drinkers.
Emily now rents a room from an elderly spinster and looks after the child while she works. Almost all her earnings go to the landlord; she cant secure a place in a nursery. She works in a private pie shop, modest pay but enough to get by.
The following day Karen moved Emily and the child into Stephens flat, and a completely different life began for her.
The little boy was placed in a decent private nursery. Karen took on new tasks: buying clothes for Emily and Tommy, and she delighted in looking after him. He resembled Stephen in every wayhis gaze, gestures, even his stubborn streak.
Karen became a mentor to Emily, teaching her how to use makeup properly, dress sensibly, care for herself, cook, and keep the house tidyessentially everything a young woman needs to know.
One evening they were watching television when Tommy hugged his grandmother, pressed close and said, Youre my favourite!
In that moment Karen realised she no longer felt an empty void, and grief no longer pressed on her like a stone. She understood she had returned to a normal life where joy could find a place, all because of that small human, her grandson.
Two years later Karen and Emily walked Tommy to his first day of primary school. Emily now works for Karen and has become her indispensable assistant. She has a boyfriend who is serious about a lasting relationship, and Karen has no objections; life is life, and it must go on.
It seems Karen herself may soon become a married womanan old friend is urging her toward it. Why not? She is attractive, independent, with a lovely figure, a gentle nature, and she is only fiftyfour.
The lesson she has learned is that when loss seems final, opening ones heart to others can bring unexpected joy and a renewed purpose.
