Our Son Our son has been gone for a little over four months. We've lost all the hope mustered up from the beginning of it all. We had nothing of his to hold on to; no clues lead anywhere. The detectives, the volunteers, his friends, nobody had any direction of where to look. One day he was there, quietly living, the next gone. And the same quietness haunts me. He was our only son. By now we know he's not coming home. But the search isn't over. I'm not seeking my son; I'm after the truth. My hubby, Drew was out every day looking. His drive lasted longer than mine. By Christmas, I came to the conclusion that this would be one of many winter seasons without presents under the tree with his name, with his empty stocking, with no christmas hymns crawling out of his piano. And I wasn't wrong. "Our son was a good boy," Drew said into the microphone. "Is. He is a good boy. I cannot fathom an enemy of his, nor a person so ungodly to commit such a...such a thing. We ask for your continuing prayers. Paxton would have been seventeen today. Happy Birthday, Pax." I walked to him and gave him a side hug while thanking them for coming to honor my boy. I smiled over at Katherine's mom, and she scornfully turned away to avoid having to return the smile. I suspected more than that too. Katherine was first to go. Then Paxton. We shared the same destinies. Yet, she hated us. As if out boy took from Katherine's murder. Or maybe because Katherine was found dead and Paxton was only missing. The town was frantic. Two occurrences yielded the possibility of a serial killer. Schools closed. Curfews were instated. Fear pro#liferated. But she had no reason to hate me. We both met the same fait, and maybe she just hated the way we were tied to each other now. We were both "The Victims' Parents". She pushed through the crowd and I glanced at Drew, who shrugged. Love him to death, but he was clueless. He saw things in one dimension. Always taking things black or white. Never understanding the complexity beyond that. The palette of slates, and silvers, and gainsboro, and all other shades of grey was unapparent to him. All he had to do was consider the whys and the hows. But Drew only concerned himself with the whats. ("She hate's us, okay." "He's gone, let's look for him." "We're having marital problems, so now what") "She's just reminded of Katherine. That's all." That's not all at all, but I didn't care anymore. His blissfully ignorant world was a joyous escape. He could be aloof to any reality as long as he could make some sensible sense to it. Like a spider focused on making the web and not where the best place to make it is. Or clueless, like a male black widow pampering his pregnant wife. I love my husband, despite my arachnid analogies. But it's been hard living with a man who sees things only one way while I can see far beyond. I could see that Janet was angry at us because we could understand her grief, and she couldn't herself. Our vigil ended and the candles were blown out at once. The smokey air smelt like burning incense. I wanted to be home, to push aside the cake and stare at the empty wrapped boxes. I wanted to celebrate what could have been.