Days passed during the official search. Paul, Ryan’s closest buddy, assisted in planning the endeavor and persistently pushed me to acknowledge the terrible truth that they had perished. The explanation was put together fast. The boat may have tipped due to a rapid current or a rough change in the water. They were taken beside the lake. Everyone agreed on that story. However, the one aspect of the conundrum that I was never able to come to terms with was the fact that their bodies never washed ashore.

I traveled to the lake every day after dropping Lily off at school for a long time. I would sit with both hands on the steering wheel and gaze out at the black ocean as if my intense gaze might compel it to respond. After doing this routine for almost a year, I once got out of the car and yelled all three names into the wind until my throat hurt.

I eventually stopped attending because the place had begun to feel cruel, not because I had discovered serenity. I couldn’t stand to turn a corner and see sunlight memories of the individuals I was never able to properly say goodbye to, so I took down the framed pictures of our lake visits.

Even though I felt totally stuck, life continued to go forward in the meantime. Lily matured. I discovered how to construct a life around my  family’s absence. I paid the rent, cleaned soccer socks, prepared school lunches, and assisted with homework. I assumed that the rest of my days would be like this, so I performed the routine task of remaining upright for the youngster who was still there.

Then, last weekend, Lily discovered her first tiny phone while searching through an old closet box. Everything I believed to be true was destroyed by what she brought into my bedroom that evening.

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