I remember our last goodbye.

You’d volunteered to help get the apartment ready for Carissa. She was expecting my first great-grandchild. You were an Uncle. Most of your friends were out having a good time because it was the last week before school started, your senior year. 

We’d painted and cleaned all week. It was sweltering hot with no air conditioning, but you never complained. Each time Justin or Mitch called, you’d explain you needed to finish the job first. I expected you to ask if you could leave, but you never did.

It was Friday, the beginning of the long Labor Day Weekend. We’d hoped to have the apartment done, but the heat slowed us down. At lunchtime, I went to McDonald’s and bought a bag full of double cheeseburgers, fries, and the largest drinks I could buy. While I was out, I’d planned on getting another gallon of paint at the hardware store, but I forgot. I remember telling you to eat before the food got cold, and I’d be back after I got the paint. 

I looked for a sandwich and fries when I returned, but there were none. I’ll never forget how hard I laughed as you finished off the large coke. Those blue eyes of yours looked at me so innocently and asked, “Nana, where’s yours?” You’d polished off six double cheeseburgers and two large fries.

Late in the day, I heard you on the phone. Justin was begging you to go to the fair, but you never said a word to me. 

When I dropped you off at home, you asked me what time in the morning. I could see in your eyes you wanted to ask me if you could have the weekend off, but you didn’t. My heart melted.

It was the last big hurrah before school. What kind of Nana would be so cruel? Not this one. I reached into my purse and found two twenty-dollar bills. I handed them to you and told you to have a good time. You hugged me so tight, and the smile was priceless.

The following day, I went to the fair with a friend. As we were walking around, I heard someone screaming. “Nana. It’s my Nana.” I turned around, and you shot like a bullet, clearing the distance between us in a flash. You grabbed me and hugged me, swaying me back and forth like a rag doll. Your friends were laughing hysterically, but you didn’t seem to care. I laughed and asked if you were having fun. Of course, you said, “yes.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out another twenty. “Just in case, you run out.” You didn’t want to take it, but I insisted. 

You kissed me and said, “I love you, Nana. You're the best.” 

I told you,  “I love you. Have fun.” I watched as you disappeared into the crowd with your friends. You were on top of the world. 

The following day, at 2:37 pm, I got a frantic call from your Mom. Hysterical, she cried, “The police are here. They say DJ has drowned in the Chicory Ridge pond.” 

It was a construction pond filled with broken cement, tree branches, and anything else the crew discarded. There weren’t any No Trespassing or No Swimming signs posted. Nor had anyone considered fencing off the pond. It was an open invitation for something tragic to happen.

It was a hot day, so you and Justin decided to cool down by swimming across it. Both of you were probably thinking you’d impress the girls. At first, it was a race, but Justin yelled he was going back. You were a strong swimmer, so you kept going. No one will ever really know, but I’m assuming you got tired. You sank to the bottom. When you attempted to push yourself up, the silt sucked you under like quicksand. A young man on a bike stopped and dove into the water over and over to no avail. Two terrified girls screamed from the shore while Justin called his dad and 911. Their lives would never be the same.

By the time I drove the forty-five minutes to Roscoe, the police, fire department, rescue boats, ambulance, and half the neighborhood were gathered at the pond. Your mom’s friends surrounded her. She needed them. 

I was reliving a nightmare, my own son’s death. I walked around to the other side of the pond and stood there as if I expected you to surface and swim ashore. I stayed there until it was dark. I wouldn’t have left then, but your mom sent two police officers to get me. She told them there was no way I would go on my own. She was right. My worst fear was leaving you alone in the water.

I couldn’t fathom our family was losing another child. It couldn’t be happening. I kept thinking if only we’d kept working on the apartment. If only I hadn’t said it was okay. If only you hadn’t been at the pond. If only it weren’t real.

The rescue teams searched the pond for three days. Three torturous days of praying it was all a nightmare, and you weren’t really there. Early in the morning of the fourth day, the divers brought in giant pumps and started to drain the water from the pond. It was my birthday, and I prayed my gift would be finding you. Shortly after eight a.m., your mom called and said it was over and your body was at the morgue. 

Standing there, I didn’t see the mud, your blackened skin, the scratched arms, or your lifeless body; all I could see was your smiling face telling me, “I love you, Nana. You’re the best.” 

If I’d have known that day was our last goodbye, I’d have never let you go.