A Change is Gonna Come performed by Otis Redding, Written by Sam Cooke

When Alex and I got married, my sister-in-law Claire planned me a bridal shower. She hung pictures of Alex and I up, ordered balloons and secretly sent Alex questions and printed them out for the center of the tables. One of the tables had this question on one side: “Where is Steph’s happy place?” Alex’s answer was printed on the opposite side of the cardstock: “At our dining room table.” He was exactly right. That answer is still correct.

Our dining room is where our front door opens up to. It has a window on the South side of the room along with a window and the front door on the West side. The North wall is painted differently than the others with a deep, teal blue color (vs the light blue grey everywhere else) and has a collage wall. There is a permanent hutch in between the two windows and hanging shelves with plants and pictures decorating the West wall. Our table has six chairs and needs a new white paint job, but always has a seasonal tablecloth and centerpiece decoration along with a seasonal candle. 

I think this one room in our house is my “happy place” because it’s where the most sun comes in and because of all the plants and pictures that surround me as I drink coffee and write in my journal each morning. When we have company over, it’s where we spend the most time and where we all sit to share a meal. It’s where I have always imagined having nightly dinners during the week with our children and where Alex and I have shared a lot of memories. Before I moved in, this dining room was actually the living room. And it’s where Alex slow danced with me to Van Morrison when we first started dating. It’s where Miles (the yellow lab. I brought into the relationship) slept while Alex and I went out on dates. The now dining room is actually where Alex proposed to me in 2020.

My happy place is where we have made a memorial table for William too. It holds a sonogram from our twenty-week appointment in a frame that reads “love at first sight.” It also holds the Winnie-the-Pooh book set that was my sister’s (William’s Auntie A’s) growing up, gifted to me at a baby shower, and the ones that Alex read to William starting as soon as he was able to hear while I was pregnant. The table also has a picture of William, his “Beads of Courage”*, and the molds of his right hand and both feet. It’s where his ashes sit with his personalized beanie draping over top of them and where the quilt and anatomical heart patchwork pillow his Auntie Emily made him are displayed. Underneath, in one of the cubbies of the table, there is an old suitcase I found at a thrift store. That suitcase holds all of William’s robes- his “wardrobe” if you will. These were what William wore the majority of his life and I think he would’ve taken them with him if he had the chance.

The room holding William and a lot of his things is also where this song comes into play. Alex had texted me about “A Change is Gonna Come” earlier in the day and I had listened to it intently. Alex is a music lover if I’ve ever met one, but he isn’t a lyrics lover. So, when he told me that the lyrics struck him, I had to listen. I connected my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and listened as I sat in my happy place, next to William.

The lyrics read, “I asked my brother, ‘will you help me please?’…then I asked my dear mother… ‘mother, I’m down on my knees’… It’s been a time that I thought Lord this couldn’t last for very long… but somehow, I thought I was still able to try to carry on. It’s been a long long, long time coming, but I know a change is gonna come.” Those lyrics feel so perfect for my experience. I tend to run to my brother and my mom to help solve problems with me, but with William’s life ending a few weeks before, they were both mourning his loss too- this was something they couldn’t fix for me or make me feel better about. Those lyrics though, are honest and painful, but optimistic. They’re saying, it’s going to get better someday.

Later that same night, after Alex and I had eaten dinner, Alex turned on some music from his phone and we laughed as we danced around the room in a familiar way. Miles has never been a fan of dancing; I think it makes him nervous. He barks and paces around us whenever we do it. Max however (the mini goldendoodle we adopted together a couple years ago) loves it. He wants to join in, so he puts his paws on both of our legs and smiles up at us. We laughed together and were really enjoying a few moments of genuine glee. Next, Alex put on “A Change is Gonna Come” and somehow the dogs knew to let us be for a minute or two. As the slow, soulful song played, I put my head on Alex’s right shoulder, and we silently swayed right in front of William’s things. I caught a glimpse of the picture of my sweet boy on that table and remembered how much I wished a change could’ve come for him. A change different than the one he got; one where he could live a long, meaningful life. I thought about this as I kept my nose pressed into Alex’s collar bone and pictured William where he was now. I think I may have even smiled at that vision.

But at the end of the song, we both ended up sitting on the floor right where our feet were shuffling moments before, and we cried. Alex reached his hand into my lap and held mine. We silently communicated the longing we had for William to be there with us. We had just laughed and enjoyed ourselves in our home, without our son. The dogs we imagined cuddling and protecting William had just danced (in their own ways) with us, but William never would.

And… a change was happening. We were in the middle of the change we got. We were back home with Miles and Max after living in the hospital for three months; William wasn’t suffering anymore; we were laughing after making and eating a homemade meal. Things were better for the most part. But William wasn’t with us and would never be again. In response, we cried together after we laughed. Miles and Max both did as they often do with tears and gave us attention. Miles licked the salty water off of Alex’s face and Max buried his curly head into me like he couldn’t get close enough. 

Grief is unique; it’s individual and Alex and I are no different. We experienced the same 41 weeks of our child growing, but in very different ways. It was the same with William’s life and death. We both watched our son fight, but from different perspectives. And we both have started to take steps forward back into reality, but with different shoes on. There are moments though- when we are on the same page (like when this song played), when we’re feeling the same feeling of longing. There are also moments when we both can share in joy- even though there is a piece of our family missing. In a strange way, I think that’s absolutely beautiful.

*Beads of Courage link: https://beadsofcourage.org