Frozen With Grief

I always come back this time of year, when it’s not quite as cold as it normally is. I curse the day we vacationed in Alaska five years earlier. It was a bit warmer than it is now, the ice nearly melting but not quite. We happened upon a small frozen pond. The locals assured us that it was completely safe to walk on. I sniff in sadness as I remember that day. Blake teased me and playfully called me chicken for not following him onto the ice. He jumped up and down to prove how solid it was, but I was uncertain.

He laughed and ran around, pretending he was skating along the smooth surface. I tentatively stepped from the ground to the edge of the frozen water and held my breath. It did seem sturdy, and I didn’t hear any tell tale creaks or cracks. I smiled at Blake as I looked across the pond at him. He reached the center and spread out his arms, grinning from ear to ear.

The next instant he was gone. The ice parted and swallowed him whole. I shrieked his name and ran toward him, my fear of the ice completely forgotten as I watched him disappear before my eyes. I flung myself at the hole, as my arms plunged into the icy water. My already numb fingers tried to grab for him, but he sunk like a stone.

I shake myself from that dreadful memory and wrap my arms around my body. I’m standing in the same spot at the edge of the frozen pond, nearly five years later. My Blake is still there, frozen beneath that icy surface. I was told the pond is deceptively deep, and the water was too cold for divers to look for his body. I asked when they could go down but didn’t expect the response I was given. The pond never completely thaws. Apparently this part of Alaska is always frozen.

“So you’re just going to leave him down there?”

They had all somberly nodded.

As I stand here and look out at the frozen pond, I can’t help but wonder how many others are trapped there along with Blake. Had they also been told by the locals it never thaws? I feel bitter anger at them for allowing us to think it was safe.

Sometimes I fantasize that Blake was pulled into another dimension, where it’s warm and sunny. Problem is he's stuck, but he tries every year to come back to me. I keep staring at the center of the pond, expecting a crack to open, and he jumps through. Tears fill my eyes, yet I don’t bother to wipe them away. Every year I stand here until my teeth begin to chatter.

I’d probably stay longer, but I’m not the only one here.

“Can we go now, Mommy? I’m cold.”

My son’s voice almost startles me. I stare down at his small face, marveling how much he looks like his father. I named him Blake. He was conceived the day his father died, frozen in that pond for all time. I try to smile as I take his small hand, tears running down my cheeks.

“First, I need to tell you about your father. I think you’re finally old enough to know why we come here every year.”

Blake Jr had been only a few months old the first time I came back. I held him in my arms as I cried by this pond. Now he’s just over 4 years old, and I plan on bringing him back every year as he grows up. I want him to know his father. I want him to know where he is buried.