Not just with the garage or the memories—but with Mateo. Really help. “I’m not trying to take your place,” I told her.
“Or confuse him. But if there’s room… I’d like to be in his life.”
She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “There’s room.”
So we made it work.
Slowly. We cleaned out the garage together. Turned it into a reading nook and art space.
Mateo painted a mural on the wall—half ocean, half stars. Said it reminded him of Papa. We started doing Sunday dinners.
Just the three of us. Sometimes awkward, sometimes loud, always real. One evening, as I was tucking him in after a movie night, Mateo looked up and said, “Do you think Papa would be happy we’re still hanging out?”
I smiled and kissed his forehead.
“I think he’d be proud of both of us.”
And I meant it. Grief doesn’t come with a map. Neither does forgiveness.
But sometimes, the road winds somewhere better than you expected. If I’d never found that garage door opener, I would’ve missed out on a boy who carries pieces of Vic’s heart—and mine. And I realized: sometimes the people we lose leave behind more than pain.
Sometimes, they leave behind unfinished stories. And if we’re brave enough, we can pick up the pen. If this touched you, or reminded you of someone you’ve loved and lost—share it.
Someone else might need to hear it too. 💛
