Red Sweater

The cardboard box had been sitting at the bottom of the closet for nearly two years by the time I opened it again. A heavy layer of dust masked the words written on top, but I clearly remembered what they said: Dear Kate. I know you loved it, so here it is; for gorgeous Gabriel. Love from Jen, Ray and Maxie.

———

Jennifer and I had been best friends since we were toddlers. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, went to the same schools and had joint birthday parties every year as children. It seems silly looking back on it now, but we used to promise each other that we’d get married at the same time, become pregnant at the same time and have children that would be best friends, just like us. 

“Pinky promise?” I’d always say, looking solemnly into her eyes and holding out my stubby finger. She’d make the promise right back, vowing that our children would grow up next door to each other and have sleepovers and wear matching costumes on Halloween.

But of course, that wasn’t how it happened.

My best friend went off to college without me; the first time we’d been apart for longer than a week since we were tiny. There, she met her future husband, Ray, forged a career for herself and began to live her own life. A life completely separate from mine. For every text Jennifer would send me about the incredible time she was having, I’d retreat a little bit further into the sheltered cocoon I’d made for myself. I never went to college, or left the town we were both raised in. Instead, I got a job working in a local café and lived with my parents until I was twenty-six.

It was only to be expected that Jennifer started a family before I did. The life we’d spent years fantasising about as children grew more unlikely by the day, until one Saturday morning in early June, she called me to break the news of her pregnancy. I’d never been a crier, but as soon as the conversation ended, I collapsed to the floor of my kitchen and broke down. I felt like my life was a colossal failure in comparison to her picture-perfect one, and the fact that she was pregnant while I’d yet to even find a partner only deepened those feelings of inadequacy.

Maxie was born two weeks before Christmas. I spent the entire holiday period being bombarded with pictures of him in an array of festive outfits that, admittedly, made his bright eyes and chubby cheeks even more endearing. Quite the opposite of my old best friend’s delightful Christmas Day, I was working a long shift at the café. In retrospect, though, offering to work as much as I did that holiday season was the best decision I ever made.

I was twenty-eight by then, and had long since abandoned the idea that I’d ever find the kind of fairytale romance I’d dreamed about as a little girl. My experiences with men had comprised of drunken hookups with strangers and a growing list of failed first dates. But meeting Ben on a freezing morning at the café just before New Year’s Eve felt like coming up for air after a long time spent underwater. I’d never connected with anyone like I connected with him; not since Jennifer left, anyway.

Within two years, we were married, and I was the one ringing Jennifer to tell her that I was finally having a baby. Although our exchanges had become far less frequent over the years, the joy and pride in her voice as we spoke was clearly audible. And when Gabriel was born on July 17th, Jennifer was the first friend I called. It hadn’t worked out exactly as we’d once planned; our sons were born almost three years apart and didn’t live even remotely close to each other, let alone next door. But we arranged to meet up so the boys could play together, even though we knew the future we’d planned had evaporated years earlier.

Maxie and Gabriel’s relationship felt almost like that of cousins – Jennifer never failed to comment on that whenever we made the three hour trip to go and visit them. The weekend after Gabriel’s third birthday, on which we’d taken him to the zoo for the first time, Jennifer and Maxie came to stay for a few nights. While the boys played with Gabriel’s new plastic animal toys, my friend and I sipped white wine and chatted; almost like we hadn’t spent most of the last decade drifting apart. It felt nice. Having Gabriel had cleared my head of the jealousy that used to inhabit it, and I was able to appreciate Jennifer’s friendship again without feeling nauseous with envy. We both watched fondly as the boys messed about with each other, and I witnessed how protective Maxie was over my son. 

“Maxie looks so darling in that red sweater,” I’d told Jennifer, looking at his blonde curls flopping over his forehead as he pushed a toy giraffe across the carpet. “Gabriel would have a tantrum if I tried to put him in something like that.”

“In a year or so when Maxie’s grown out of it, I’ll send it to you for Gabriel to wear,” she’d replied. “Once he’s a bit older, he won’t mind it so much.” She ruffled her son’s hair and smiled down at the children.

Jennifer was true to her word. A few months after Gabriel turned four, a cardboard box arrived on the doorstep. After hauling it inside and opening it, I found an enormous pile of clothes that I knew must have gotten too small for Maxie. Perched on the top was the red woollen sweater I’d commented on, and while I knew it would be another year before Gabriel would grow into it, I brimmed with happiness. I was forced to get Ben to lift the box up the stairs and into Gabriel’s room, where I placed it in the bottom of his closet.

My son, playing with the new toys he’d received for his birthday, hadn’t even noticed the box when we entered his bedroom. His latest obsession was with trains, and he was imitating a puffing steam engine as he pushed a train along the track Ben had built with him. I crouched down to his level and pulled him onto my lap, gazing excitedly into his hazel eyes. “Look, Gabe! Maxie’s sent some of his clothes to you! Isn’t that nice of him?”

Gabriel appeared to be much more interested in the train set than the prospect of new clothes, so I murmured to Ben to stay and play with him while I went downstairs to make my son’s favourite breakfast of orange juice and pancakes cut into train shapes.

———

From my own experiences, I knew that the future was never certain. I knew that the things I was once so confident would become reality, never did. 

But what I could not have known on that morning was that Gabriel would never grow into Maxie’s hand-me-down clothes. He would never get to wear the red woollen sweater that I loved so much. In fact, after my son finished his juice and train pancakes that morning, I never saw him again.

Ben was driving Gabriel to kindergarten like he always did, when a truck came ploughing through a stop sign and smashed into the back of the car. The driver had lost control, and I still remember the desperation and guilt on his face as he apologised profusely to me after the accident. I couldn’t look the man in the eye.

My husband survived the crash with several broken bones and a concussion. But I lost my little boy. And in that, I lost myself.

I’d never had anyone close to me die before. My parents and even my grandparents were still alive when Gabriel died. And although sympathy poured in and I was hugged and kissed more times than I’d ever been in my life, I couldn’t escape the feeling of numbness and depression that enveloped me in its cold arms. After about a year, the coldness gave way to anger. How could my gorgeous, beautiful son have been taken so cruelly? Every time I heard a train go by, or passed the entrance to the zoo, or saw another small child that resembled Gabriel, I wept with fury. And despite being someone who once prided myself on being able to put on a brave face, I could never stop the flow of tears when it started.

Ben and I remained together, but the loss placed such strain on our relationship that I often found myself wondering whether it would be easier to just leave him. Waking up every morning and staring at his face never failed to remind me of our little boy. They had the same nose, and they both smiled frequently in their sleep as if their dreams were amusing them. It was almost impossible to see Ben every day without feeling Gabriel’s loss even more harshly. But I stayed. And over time, in impossibly small increments, we began to heal together.

———

Until now, I had kept the door of Gabriel’s bedroom firmly closed. The thought of standing amongst his things, especially the toy trains and track pieces scattered across the floor in the same way he left them, caused me to hyperventilate and tremble violently. But one morning, almost two years after the accident, I found myself opening the door of the room, then the closet, and then the dusty cardboard box.

Jennifer had been more supportive than I could have imagined after Gabriel’s death. I’ll never forget how she embraced me at his funeral, tears pouring down her already mascara-tracked face. I’ll also never forget little Maxie in his black suit and tie, his eyes fixed sombrely on the ground with his father’s arm wrapped around his crestfallen body. He’s eight years old now, and has grown into a charming young boy. It hurts to think that he probably won’t even remember Gabriel any more, but it hurts more knowing that Gabriel won’t ever get the chance to celebrate his eighth birthday.

Even after two years sitting in a closet, I could smell the aroma of Jennifer’s perfume on the clothes. After speaking hesitantly about the box of Maxie’s outgrown clothes to her over the phone a few nights earlier, I’d decided that I should donate them to a local children’s shelter. I didn’t want to donate the clothes that Gabriel had actually worn in his four short years of life, but he’d never worn these. They weren’t really his. Those children, at least, would be able to wear them.

Closing the box back up, I remembered that the red sweater was still on the carpet beside me. I reached for it and was about to place it back inside when I stopped. I was ready to donate the other clothes, but the sweater meant something to me. Although Gabriel had never worn it, I’d pictured him in it more times than I could count. Tears prickled the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away impatiently. I had a job to do here. I sealed the box back up and stared down at Jennifer’s neat handwriting, wishing that I could go back to the morning of the box’s arrival and keep Gabriel at home, safe, with me that day.

I knew I would never feel like an entire person again. There was a gaping hole in my chest that nothing and nobody would ever be able to fill. But, kneeling on the floor of Gabriel’s bedroom, I held the red woollen sweater close to my heart, and felt the hole close up just a little bit.