THE YOUNGER SON’S LEGACY
Emmas eyes are fixed on the stark sign above the doors: “Operating Theatre.” The words blur in front of her from hours of waiting, and her heart thunders inside her chest. She fidgets endlessly with Oscars favourite toyher four-year-old sons plastic red tractor, given to him by his beloved dad. Oscar had wanted a blue tractorjust like the one in his favourite cartoonbut over time, he grew deeply attached to this red one, clutching it with his precious, fragile little hands.
At last, a silhouette looms behind the frosted glass; the doors swing open and a weary doctor steps into the hallway. Emma leaps to her feet and hurries to him.
Doctor, please, how is he? How did it go? Is Oscar alright?
The doctor drops his head apologetically, taking off his mask, and answers softly, Mrs Smith, Im so sorry We did everything we could
***
Emma lies curled on Oscars bed, her knees tucked to her chest. The pillow still carries his scent. On the mirror, the print of his biscuit-smeared hand lingersthank goodness she never got around to cleaning it off, as hell never be the one to make those sweet little messes again; hell never nestle his tired head against this pillow.
Another hot tear rolls down her wind-chapped cheek. Grief scorches her from the inside. A healthy heartsomething Oscar was never granted. Her older son, Thomas, is healthy and mostly independenteighteen, just starting at university. But Oscar her precious, unexpected late gift, who turned out to be the greatest loss of all. All the scans had promised a healthy baby, but right before birth theyd discovered Oscars complex heart defect by pure chance. And now, after that radical surgery had gone wrong, her Oscar is gone
***
She drifts into uneasy sleep. Againas every night sinceit happens: Shes in a sunlit field brimming with wildflowers of every colour and shape. In the distance stands Oscar, beaming his ever-bright smile, dressed in his favourite car-print shirt, holding a huge handful of daisies.
Oscar! Sweetheart! Emma cries, but he seems not to hear, just sifting petals thoughtfully through his fingers.
She runs, arms wide, but no matter how fast or far she sprinted, Oscar never seems closer. In fact, he seems to drift further and further away. Emma shouts his name, desperately reaching, but she cannot touch him. Suddenly, Oscar looks up, smiles, and vanishesonly a flurry of daisy petals gently falls to the grass.
Emma stops where the petals settleand there, on the lush green, white petals spell out an address, each letter neat and clear.
***
A ringing phone wakes Emma. She glances at the screen: Thomas.
Yes, darling, her voice is hoarse.
Mum, Im coming home todaycould you make something nice?
Emma attempts a smile. Enough. Nearly three months have passed since Oscar died, but she still has her eldest son. Its timeshe must try to keep going, for his sake if nothing else.
Of course, sweetheart. Pancakes?
Thatd be brilliant, Mum! Im already on the coachsee you soon!
Thomas does his best to visit every weekend, trying to cheer up both his mum and dad. The pain of losing his younger brother eats at him as much as them. But life pushes on, and together, they must bear itas a family.
Emma sighs and drags herself upright, shuffling towards the kitchen. She searches the fridgeno milk left. Her husband, Richard, sits at the table soldering a circuit board in his old laptop. He glances up.
Need something? Going to the shop?
Thomas calledhes on his way, asked for pancakes. Were out of milk. Ill nip to the shop; I could use the air.
Richard raises his glasses, surprised. Youre starting to bounce back, he thinks quietly.
Emma takes her time dressing and heads out. The early spring breeze is gentle on her face, birds sing, the branches sport a greenish shimmer as the first leaves begin to bud. Nature is waking; Oscar will never see his fifth spring, she muses, pushing the sorrow aside and walking towards the local Sainsburys.
***
She grabs a bottle of milk, Thomass favourite honeycomb chocolates, some bread, and chicken, then heads to the tills. Suddenly, the sparkling giggle of a child rings out from the next aisle. Emmas heart contracts with longingthats exactly how Oscar used to laugh. She rushes towards the sound, but only catches sight of a child ducking out of view. Emma knows it cant truly be Oscar, but she follows anyway, accidentally sending a cardboard promotional stand toppling to the floor.
Stooping to tidy it, she freezes. Across the bright white surface, bold red letters spell out the very address she saw in her dream.
Oscar, what are you trying to tell me? she whispers.
She returns home, determined: theres more to this than coincidence. Oscar is reaching out, but with what message? Shell look up the address onlinejust not today. Her eldest is coming home, and she needs to be there for him.
***
That evening, unusually, feels warm and light. Emma even finds herself able to smile at Thomass tales of student life. He tucks into her baking with relish while Emma and Richard watch, grateful for their eldest, now their only child. Soon, night takes the house, and everyone retires to bed.
Exhausted, Emma falls asleep quickly. She wakes deep in the nightthe muffled sound of singing comes from the bathroom. She bolts upright, heart hammeringits Oscars voice, unmistakable, softly singing the theme to his favourite cartoon about a blue tractor. Terrified and trembling, Emma tiptoes towards the bathroom. She gently pushes open the door, half-hoping, half-fearingbut the room is empty. Tears spill down her cheeks.
What did I expect? That Oscar would be in here? Hes gone. Its just my weary mind playing cruel tricks, she scolds herself.
She washes her face at the sink, desperate to regain control. Enough. For Thomas, for Richardshe owes them that. Meeting her own hollow eyes in the misty mirror, she smears soapy suds over the glass, almost in anger. As the bubbles slide down, they merge and separate, remarkably drawing out the same address from her dreams. A sudden chill passes through the room.
She hears, clear as day, a childs whisper: Im waiting for you, Mummy
***
Why arent you asleep? Richard props himself up, blinking in the light from Emmas laptop.
Emma sits at the desk, laptop on her knees, gaze fixed.
Come here, Richard If you feel what I do, Im not losing my mindsomethings really happening.
Richard joins her, heart thundering, as he sees the picture: a little boy, about four, looking wide-eyed from the screen.
George Wilson, age four, the caption reads. Parents died in a car accident three years ago, raised by his grandma, who passed away last year. Hes been at the childrens home for six months.
This address has been following me for days, Emma explains, Oscar keeps leading me here.
She shares her recent dreams, the events at the shop, the singing in the night. After a pause, Richard nods with resolve,
Emma, we have to go.
***
Catherine Turner, the childrens home director, leads Emma and Richard down the long, bright corridor, speaking quickly, nervously: When George arrived, we assumed it would be temporary. Hes a bright, gentle boy, was well cared for by his grandmother. Three times families have tried to adopt him, but he always withdraws, refusing all contact. He says his real mummy and daddy will come for him, and hell know them when he sees them. The last three months, hes had an imaginary friendcalls him Oscar. Just recently, Oscar supposedly told him his family would arrive soon.
Emma and Richard exchange a glance. Could their beloved son be trying to help this little orphan?
Wellsee how you get on together. Maybe youll win him over, Catherine finishes, opening the playroom door.
Emma recognises him at once. Small and thin, George kneels on the carpet among the other children, building a tower from coloured blocks, softly singing Oscars favourite cartoon tune. George turns, flings the blocks aside, jumps to his feet and dashes towards Emma and Richard, shouting,
Mummy! Daddy! I knew youd come!
***
The adoption process rushes forward, helped along by Catherines genuine happiness at Georges change. Learning the Smiths have lost a son moves her deeply. A month later, Emma, Richard and Thomas come to take George home, this time for good. As they leave, George suddenly pulls his hand away.
Mummywait! he calls, glancing down the corridor, Oscar wants to say goodbye!
Emmas heart constricts, but now its a gentle ache; she knows nothing can change the past, but life must go on. Now a new childs future depends on her kindness, and shes readyone little heart has made way for another. She will never stop loving Oscar, but now she must give George all she has.
George dashes to the window at the end of the corridor, pauses, then runs back to his new family. Outside that window, a beautiful white dove suddenly swoops down, circling the home before rising into the sky.
And Emma knows, at last, that Oscars legacy will live on.
