He was my sunshine in human form. Curly black hair that I could never quite tame, big brown eyes full of mischief, and the kindest soul I’ve ever known. On weekends we’d have pancake breakfasts where he’d try (and fail) to flip them himself. We’d watch old Spider-Man cartoons and he’d jump around the living room pretending to shoot webs. He called me “Mommy Hero” because I worked at the hospital.
I still hear his voice everywhere.
---
The week after his death was a blur of agony.
The funeral was small but overflowing with love. His classmates came with their parents, many of them crying. His best friend, Marcus, gave a drawing he’d made of the two of them as superheroes. I buried Randy in the red Spider-Man shirt he loved most. I wanted to scream the entire time. Instead, I stood there numb, clutching the program with his smiling photo on the front.
The school sent flowers. The principal attended but left quickly. The police said they were still investigating but had found “no evidence of foul play.” I asked about the backpack again. They shrugged. “Kids lose things,” one officer said. I wanted to slap him.
Every night I sat on Randy’s bedroom floor surrounded by his clothes, his drawings, his half-finished Lego projects. I slept in his bed some nights just to smell his scent on the pillow. The silence in our apartment was deafening.
Then came Mother’s Day.
I had dreaded it from the moment I woke up. No handmade card. No sloppy cereal. No little arms wrapping around my neck. Just emptiness.
I was sitting on the living room floor in my robe, surrounded by photo albums, when the doorbell rang at 9:07 a.m.
I ignored it.
It rang again. Then knocking—soft at first, then more urgent.
I dragged myself up, wiped my face, and opened the door, ready to tell whoever it was to go away.
A little girl stood on my doorstep.
She was about nine, small and thin, wearing an oversized denim jacket that swallowed her. Her dark hair was in two messy braids. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. In her arms, clutched tightly against her chest, was Randy’s bright red Spider-Man backpack.
