Mom gives a weak little smile as she pulls her suitcase over the threshold.

I look at the small house, the living room is nice. Right when you walk in your faced at a small hallway. If you look to your right it’s the kitchen and to your left is the living room. The whole house is just barely big enough for us.

Mom stands next to me, taking in a small breath.

“It’s nice,” I say, before she can say what it reminds her of.

She nods, and walks down the small hallway. Straight down the hallway is Mom’s room. And to the left of that is the bathroom. My room is a few feet away from Mom’s. I open the door, the room shocking me. I didn’t even know they could be this small. Attached to the wall is a bed, and next to it is a little white night stand. And to add some ocean touches, there is a blue lamp, and the blanket has shells scattered on a light blue back round.

I roll my suit case to the bed and lifted it up. It’s heavy and makes the bed shake.

“Tyler,” Mom calls, her voice soft.

“Yeah!” I call back.

She walks in holding her suit case, “I can’t, do this.”

She’s crying without tears. If we were out in public I’d be the only one who’d know she was crying. It was her voice, the soft, quietness of her voice. And I had learned what it meant after Dad died.

I walk over to her, “Mom,” I whisper, “You can.”

She shakes her head, “Tyler, the therapist was wrong. . . I can’t live with out Matt.”

I pull Mom into a hug. I can’t either, I only wish I could cry. But I can’t I have to stay strong, for Mom.

I keep my hands on her shoulders as I pull away, “Let’s go to the beach,” I whisper.

I grab Mom’s suitcase and roll it into my room.

Mom follows me out the door walking down the three porch steps. I stand at the small wooden gate waiting for three boys and their parents to pass before I open it.

“Hey,” the dad says, lifting a hand.

I smile back, copying his wave.

Once they pass I open up the gate, letting Mom out before me.

She shuts it, Turing around to look at the house across from us. It’s huge, like really huge. Well compared to our little one.

“Pretty,” Mom says, she’s looking at the bright orange roof and the light blue door. It’s a good combination, and good beach colors.

We walk down a Sandy sidewalk, our bare feet making crunching sounds as we walk across it.

We get to the beach the sunsetting on the water making it a rainbow of colors.

Mom walks into the deep blue waves.

She’s thinking about him, I can tell. I watch as she bends down letting the salty blue water glide across her hand.

The first thought that comes to mind when I look at the ocean is Emily.

I miss her, even if we’re not really speaking right now, I still miss her. I miss us.

“Tyler,” Mom motions me to come into the deep blue water.

She’s smiling, a smile that’s not forced not fake, just a real smile.

In her hands she’s holding a small orange shell. It’s swirled and looks like a unicorn horn. It’s about the size of her finger.

“That’s beautiful,” I smile.