I've been away for so long. Coming back here brings up so many memories. I spent a whole summer here so many years ago, laughing and playing with... I don't even remember their names now, but they were twins, a boy and a girl. I liked them a lot. I wonder if one of them still lives around here.
This was never meant to be my home; this was just a place to escape every so often. But I haven't been here in so long, now it seems more like a prison, or something. Maybe I'm already stuck in a prison and this is the way to break free.
I used to be so angry. That was what kept me away. I had been drifting for so long, lost and alone. I know, they said it was my own fault, and maybe it was, but they could have been there for me... they could have at least tried.
And now, they're both gone and I don't know what to do. What do people do when they never got a chance to say, "I'm sorry"? I guess they find a way to deal with it and move on. Somehow...
No second chances, just this house I had wanted so badly staring down at me now in condemnation. Part of me just wants to burn it to the ground.
You think you want something; you think you know what matters most to you. You think you're standing up for yourself, but it turns out you're just dragging yourself down into the dirt.
If I could go back, if I could really return to how things once were, I would; I swear I would. But I can't do that now. It's too late. Death has removed all my second chances.
All those memories coming rushing back. I won't cry; I promised myself I wouldn't cry.
I wish I could remember the names of the twins. Maybe they could reassure me; maybe they could tell me we weren't as mean to him as my mother said we were.
That was why she gave him the house; it was to spite me for all the mean things she claims I said and did. If I was such a bad kid, how did she think I got that way anyway? Huh, Mom? Whose fault was it really?
Ugh. It wasn't supposed to be this way. All the anger was supposed to be gone. He forgave me, so his will said. This was supposed to be my chance to start anew. But I can't help but wonder if he forgave me truly, or if this was his final act of defiance or revenge or whatever.
Returning to this house now, after all those years of wanting to come back, now it just makes me sick.
I'm sorry, Momma. I'm sorry, Jaime. I just can't go inside. Not yet. I have to return to my car and drive away now. The pain returns too strongly. It's too much for me to bear.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Light
Every night I light a candle hoping you'll come home. I look out my bedroom window and wish upon a star that I might see you again one day.
Mom says it's never going to happen, but I just can't believe that's true. I believe; you just need a candle to light your way.
My tiny little candle, shining out into the darkness: How could it make any difference at all?
Well, in the darkness, a little light seems to go a long way.
Am I wrong? Maybe. But what is life if we don't have hope?
Hope and light, that's what I'm clinging onto. Daddy, please do the same. Your little girl wants you to come home.
Mom says it's never going to happen, but I just can't believe that's true. I believe; you just need a candle to light your way.
My tiny little candle, shining out into the darkness: How could it make any difference at all?
Well, in the darkness, a little light seems to go a long way.
Am I wrong? Maybe. But what is life if we don't have hope?
Hope and light, that's what I'm clinging onto. Daddy, please do the same. Your little girl wants you to come home.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Stars
When I look out at the stars, I wonder about all those far off galaxies I'm always hearing about and whether there could be life in any of them. All those planets in all those systems, there must be another one out there like ours, able to support and sustain life. It wouldn't even have to be particularly intelligent life, though it would be nice if there were creatures out there with whom we could communicate. I suppose its more likely that it isn't particularly intelligent, the life that might be out there. After all, if they were intelligent, wouldn't they have found us by now? We've been searching for them for decades and there's nothing. They can't be any smarter than we are or they would have found us by now.
Well, maybe I'm just being impatient. It will take time, I know that. Technology has only advanced so far. Even with all we've discovered about photons and tachyons and quarions, there's still so much room for improvement. Our probes still only reach out another couple light-years per second. The universe is big. Very big. It will take time to search it all. I just really hoped we'd find something in my lifetime.
My friends think I'm crazy. There's no other life out there, they say. We are alone in the universe, the sole masters of our domain. That's good, they tell me. It means we can do whatever we want with all that space and existence out there. We don't have to share with anyone. No need to establish diplomatic relationships with another planet, which wouldn't even be possible until we could by some miracle come to understand them and there completely alien culture and language. It's better if we're the only ones out there.
But I know I'm not the only one who hopes we find something, someone, out there among the stars. If I were the only one, there wouldn't be all these scientists so much smarter than I am sending out the probes to begin with. They're curious and hopeful, just like I am. They want there to be other life out there, and they know that the odds favor us finding something somewhere, someday, even if it's thousands of years from now.
When I grow older, I'll be right there among them, studying the stars, sending out probes, researching ways to make it all more efficient in the search, but for now, I'm just a child with a dream, wishing upon the far off stars.
So I just keep looking out from my window at night, wondering if there's anything else out there. I see our moons in the night sky, outshining the stars, and wonder if our simple planet of Kanath is all there is, or if there might be something more, someone else, out there in the universe.
Well, maybe I'm just being impatient. It will take time, I know that. Technology has only advanced so far. Even with all we've discovered about photons and tachyons and quarions, there's still so much room for improvement. Our probes still only reach out another couple light-years per second. The universe is big. Very big. It will take time to search it all. I just really hoped we'd find something in my lifetime.
My friends think I'm crazy. There's no other life out there, they say. We are alone in the universe, the sole masters of our domain. That's good, they tell me. It means we can do whatever we want with all that space and existence out there. We don't have to share with anyone. No need to establish diplomatic relationships with another planet, which wouldn't even be possible until we could by some miracle come to understand them and there completely alien culture and language. It's better if we're the only ones out there.
But I know I'm not the only one who hopes we find something, someone, out there among the stars. If I were the only one, there wouldn't be all these scientists so much smarter than I am sending out the probes to begin with. They're curious and hopeful, just like I am. They want there to be other life out there, and they know that the odds favor us finding something somewhere, someday, even if it's thousands of years from now.
When I grow older, I'll be right there among them, studying the stars, sending out probes, researching ways to make it all more efficient in the search, but for now, I'm just a child with a dream, wishing upon the far off stars.
So I just keep looking out from my window at night, wondering if there's anything else out there. I see our moons in the night sky, outshining the stars, and wonder if our simple planet of Kanath is all there is, or if there might be something more, someone else, out there in the universe.
Character
Who am I? Who am I to you? Are you right? Do you know who I really am? I know you do, because I am nothing without what you think of me. Whatever you think I am, that is what I am. I do not exist outside your imagination. I am just a character, a fictional creation. It doesn't matter what my creator intended. What matters is what you, the reader, view me to be. That is what I truly am. I am all things to all people because I am what each of them wants me to be. That is my purpose and my destiny. You give me life. You make me me. So who am I? That's up to you to decide.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
NaNoWriMo -- Day 28
Zach and I were cuddled up on the couch, watching some romantic comedy action flick or something, when Brady walks in, fresh from seeing his old man at the hotel. Now, fresh is definitely the wrong word. Dude looked like a total zombie. I glanced over at him, wondered to myself what was wrong, and heard Zach ask, "Dude, what's wrong?"
Brady collapsed into the chair next to the couch, folded his hands, leaned forward, and staring at the floor mumbled what sounded like, "We have the same father."
Zach paused the movie, twisted himself around on the couch to look at Brady more directly, and asked, "What?"
Brady looked up straight at me and said, "We have the same father."
It took me a second to really comprehend what he was saying, but when I did, I just scoffed. With a nervous laugh I said, "No way. You're crazy."
He just kept staring straight at me. "He knows all about your mom. Her name's Sarah, she used to work for a real estate company, though he doesn't know what she does now. He said she used to smoke, not sure if she still does. When you were born, they had a dog named Rufus apparently? You grew up in a small yellow house on First street. Lizzy, is all of this true?"
I must have been staring at him like he was a ghost or a time traveler or something equally as crazy as the thought that my father would ever in a million years find me. "You live in South Dakota?" I asked, remembering my mom's lame story.
"Yes," Brady said with a timid nod.
"On a pig farm?"
Brady looked confused. "Well, no," he said. "We have chickens and a couple cows, but mostly we grow crops."
I let out a little snort. "Well at least mom was one for two," I muttered.
There was silence for a moment. No one else said a word, but I felt Zach's hand reach up and give my shoulder a supportive squeeze. I felt tears starting to form in my eyes. I hated it.
"What else did he say," was all I could manage.
Brady shrugged. "Nothing really."
"Did he... did he say he loves me?" I don't know why I asked such a stupid thing in front of my boyfriend and his roommate, but there it was, it was out there.
A look of pain and regret immediately crossed over Brady's face. "He was in shock," he said, "I'm sure that..."
I sneered and looked away as I tried to wipe the tears that had started to from without anyone noticing. "Nothing's changed," I said, staring at the paused TV screen. "Let's finish watching the movie."
-----
Lizzy might have said that nothing changed, but I knew every thing had changed, for her and Brady both. We didn't see Brady's father again that trip. He must have just stayed at his hotel and then quietly taken his plane ride back home. I overhead Brady having a phone conversation that certainly sounded like it was with his father, but I was not about to ask him about it. Dude needs his space.
I think Lizzy needs some space, too, and some time, time to figure things out. I'm going to be here for her, supporting her, comforting her if that's what she needs. I have to admit, I've never seen her like this, weak and unsure. She's always so confident, putting on a brave and sure face for everyone. I know it might sound cruel, but somehow, seeing her like this, seeing her humanity, it makes me love her even more. And it makes me hurt for her at the same time.
Christina showed up a couple days later, just before classes started. She knew immediately something was wrong from the way we were all just moping about. It immediately sucked the joy out of her arrival. I felt kind-of bad for her. I guess Brady had tried to put on a strong voice for her over the phone and had waited to tell her in person about what had happened. They went off to his room and had a talk and when they came out again, I saw Chris with tears in her eyes, not even trying to hide them, and she walked straight up to Lizzy and gave her a huge hug.
I thought that was the worst thing that Chris could possibly do, but to my surprise, after Lizzy seemed to get over the initial shock of the hug, she hugged Christina back and started crying, freely and without shame. The two of them just stood there, hugging and crying, and I saw Brady motion to me and we off into our rooms, put on our headphones, and let them have their moment. I would have never guessed that Christina hugging Lizzy like that would do any good, but I guess even after all this time, I can still be surprised by Lizzy's reactions to things. And Christina, this was the second time she'd managed to make things alright with Lizzy, or at least as alright as they could be. That girl really was amazing
-----
I don't know if I'll ever really be alright, but having Christina here makes me feel a whole lot better. I know, I'm being a sappy silly stupid girl, but it's true. Girlfriends are great. I never thought I'd consider Christina my friend when I first met her. From the moment I saw her, I hated her guts. I was jealous and angry and bitter towards her for a long time. Even after we became "friends", I wasn't sure if she was really my friend or if I was just biding my time until I could get back at her. But now, well, I think she really cares. And she shows the emotions that I never have and the support I've never had. I mean, a part of me still hates her for being so good when I know I've been so bad, but I think I need her. I think she's good for me. And even if a part of me does still hate her at times, I think I can really, truly, call her my friend.
-----
A few days after Christina arrived, Lizzy asked me for our father's phone number and I was all too happy to give it to her, but she didn't call him. I know because I called him and nervously asked and he said he hadn't heard a thing from her or her mother. Weeks passed and Lizzy said nothing more about our father. I really wanted to encourage her to talk to him, but Christina thought it was best if I let her be. Lizzy seemed a bit in a funk still, but she was slowly coming out of it. "Just give her time," Christina told me. "She'll come around." After all Christina had done for me and for Lizzy, I trusted that she knew best. I put a lot of faith in her. God, how I loved her.
It was a couple more weeks after that when all four of us were hanging out, Zach was browsing the internet, and then he looked up and said, "Hey there's a beauty pageant next week just a few towns over. Did you know about this, Lizzy?"
She just shrugged. "Maybe I heard about it," she said. "I don't really feel like competing."
I think Zach about fell off the couch when he heard that. At the very least it left him completely speechless, and me, too, but, as usual, Christina knew exactly what to say. "Well maybe we could just go watch," she suggested, "you know, check out the competition and stuff without having to worry about beating them all."
Lizzy smiled at her. "Yeah," she said. "That would be fun."
"Maybe we could invite Bridget, too," Christina suggested. "Make it a girls night out."
Lizzy nodded. "Yeah, that would be fine."
And so it was settled, the girls would go out to visit a pageant without competing. It was the strangest thing ever, well, other than the whole Lizzy and I having the same father thing. But that revelation, I think, was what led to all this, for better and for worst.
-----
The pageant was like totally a riot. I was so glad that Lizzy and Christina invite me along. Chris had been hanging out with Brady and with Lizzy a lot lately, and I had been feeling a little left out. I mean, I'm Lizzy's friend, too. I wanted to help Lizzy, too, just like I had helped Christina in the past. I was happy to be included. So that was a lot of fun. We had a nice dinner before the pageant and then we whispered and giggled all through the pageant. We were sitting in the back so I don't think we were too disruptive. Lizzy made all these predictions about the contestants and she was so spot on that it was scary. Christina seemed a little uncomfortable with some of the comments Lizzy made, but she didn't say anything about it. Lizzy just says things sometimes that might seem mean, but she's just joking around, and it makes her feel better about herself. She needed that. And if that had been all that happened that night, it would have been wonderful.
I wish I could tell you that that was all the happened that night. I wish it with my whole heart and soul. But that wasn't the end of the night. We still had to go home. Christina seemed pretty tired and Lizzy was in a pretty good mood, so she offered the drive. That was cool with me. I was a little on the tired side myself. So we piled into the car and were on our way. Christina was sitting in the front seat and fell asleep almost immediately. Lizzy teased her a little, but she couldn't hear anyway, so the two of us just laughed a little about it as we drove along and then Lizzy started talking about the pageant. I was sitting in the back seat right behind her, leaning with my elbow against the window and struggling a little to stay awake myself. As we went on, Lizzy's talking started to slow down and at one point I heard her yawn.
I couldn't help but yawn myself, and then managed to ask, "You doing okay, Lizzy? Want me to drive the rest of the way."
"Yeah, I'm fine." She said. "Let me just turn up the radio a little."
So she did, and we drove on for a while in silence other than that radio playing. And then, I saw the red light. I didn't think anything of it at first. It was just a red light, a temporary delay on our journey home, but as we grew closer, I felt a little concerned, and then more concerned, that Lizzy wasn't going to stop. "Lizzy," I said at normal volume, and then louder, "Lizzy", and then finally, as we were about to roll into the intersection, "Lizzy!"
I heard a little gasp from the front seat, felt the car suddenly start to jerk to stop, and spun my head to the right as the oncoming headlights illuminated the cab of our car just before crashing into us at full speed as they went dark.
-----
There are no words... I just... I have no words. What can I say? There are no words. Bridget, Brady, Christina's father, even Zach, they could never forgive me. How could they? After what I did... It was an accident, I know it was an accident, Zach tells me it was an accident, but do they really think that? Can they ever trust me again? Who could forgive and trust me again after what happened? Now, after this, my refusal to forgive my father for leaving seemed so petty and stupid. How could I ever expect anyone to forgive me if I couldn't forgive him. I go to my purse, I dig through it as tears stream from my eyes and by some miracle, I manage to pull out the piece of paper with the phone number on it. I dial it on my cell phone as I sit alone in the dark, and when the voice on the other end says, "Hello?" I sob, "Daddy? I need you."
-----
The wonderful and terrible day so many years ago, the day my wife and my beautiful baby daughter died and then the amazing doctors managed to bring my daughter back to life, but not my wife, my beautiful, wonderful wife, Alyse, that day I looked down at that new baby girl, the girl who had cost my wife her life and who had almost lost her own life as well, and tears streamed down my face. I had lost the love of my life and gained a new love, a new baby girl who would remind me of my love Alyse every day of my life, and as painful as that was sure to be, I loved that little baby girl from the moment I first saw her through my tear-filled eyes, and I vowed that I would love her forever, my precious Christina, and I would never see her die again.
-----
This story, my story, it ends the same way it began: with my death. All stories end in death: even mine, even yours. Depressing? Disappointing? I suppose it might seem that way, but to think only about the ending, that's to ignore all that happened along the way. And that's what really matters: who and how you love along the way.
My story is done. Some will be sad, and some will never know the difference, but I hope that those I touched will admit that even if they are sad now, that they were still happy to have known me, that I made a difference in their lives. If they could stand over the shell that once was me on the day of my funeral and know that they were glad to know me, if Lizzy and Zach could be happy together, if Lizzy and her father could be reunited, if Brady could remember all the good times, if Bridget could be the brave, bold, and beautiful young woman I know her to be, and if my father, if my father could find a way to go on, to find love and meaning again, and to remember me and my mother as he makes a new and happy life, well, that's the best way I could think of for my story to end.
Brady collapsed into the chair next to the couch, folded his hands, leaned forward, and staring at the floor mumbled what sounded like, "We have the same father."
Zach paused the movie, twisted himself around on the couch to look at Brady more directly, and asked, "What?"
Brady looked up straight at me and said, "We have the same father."
It took me a second to really comprehend what he was saying, but when I did, I just scoffed. With a nervous laugh I said, "No way. You're crazy."
He just kept staring straight at me. "He knows all about your mom. Her name's Sarah, she used to work for a real estate company, though he doesn't know what she does now. He said she used to smoke, not sure if she still does. When you were born, they had a dog named Rufus apparently? You grew up in a small yellow house on First street. Lizzy, is all of this true?"
I must have been staring at him like he was a ghost or a time traveler or something equally as crazy as the thought that my father would ever in a million years find me. "You live in South Dakota?" I asked, remembering my mom's lame story.
"Yes," Brady said with a timid nod.
"On a pig farm?"
Brady looked confused. "Well, no," he said. "We have chickens and a couple cows, but mostly we grow crops."
I let out a little snort. "Well at least mom was one for two," I muttered.
There was silence for a moment. No one else said a word, but I felt Zach's hand reach up and give my shoulder a supportive squeeze. I felt tears starting to form in my eyes. I hated it.
"What else did he say," was all I could manage.
Brady shrugged. "Nothing really."
"Did he... did he say he loves me?" I don't know why I asked such a stupid thing in front of my boyfriend and his roommate, but there it was, it was out there.
A look of pain and regret immediately crossed over Brady's face. "He was in shock," he said, "I'm sure that..."
I sneered and looked away as I tried to wipe the tears that had started to from without anyone noticing. "Nothing's changed," I said, staring at the paused TV screen. "Let's finish watching the movie."
-----
Lizzy might have said that nothing changed, but I knew every thing had changed, for her and Brady both. We didn't see Brady's father again that trip. He must have just stayed at his hotel and then quietly taken his plane ride back home. I overhead Brady having a phone conversation that certainly sounded like it was with his father, but I was not about to ask him about it. Dude needs his space.
I think Lizzy needs some space, too, and some time, time to figure things out. I'm going to be here for her, supporting her, comforting her if that's what she needs. I have to admit, I've never seen her like this, weak and unsure. She's always so confident, putting on a brave and sure face for everyone. I know it might sound cruel, but somehow, seeing her like this, seeing her humanity, it makes me love her even more. And it makes me hurt for her at the same time.
Christina showed up a couple days later, just before classes started. She knew immediately something was wrong from the way we were all just moping about. It immediately sucked the joy out of her arrival. I felt kind-of bad for her. I guess Brady had tried to put on a strong voice for her over the phone and had waited to tell her in person about what had happened. They went off to his room and had a talk and when they came out again, I saw Chris with tears in her eyes, not even trying to hide them, and she walked straight up to Lizzy and gave her a huge hug.
I thought that was the worst thing that Chris could possibly do, but to my surprise, after Lizzy seemed to get over the initial shock of the hug, she hugged Christina back and started crying, freely and without shame. The two of them just stood there, hugging and crying, and I saw Brady motion to me and we off into our rooms, put on our headphones, and let them have their moment. I would have never guessed that Christina hugging Lizzy like that would do any good, but I guess even after all this time, I can still be surprised by Lizzy's reactions to things. And Christina, this was the second time she'd managed to make things alright with Lizzy, or at least as alright as they could be. That girl really was amazing
-----
I don't know if I'll ever really be alright, but having Christina here makes me feel a whole lot better. I know, I'm being a sappy silly stupid girl, but it's true. Girlfriends are great. I never thought I'd consider Christina my friend when I first met her. From the moment I saw her, I hated her guts. I was jealous and angry and bitter towards her for a long time. Even after we became "friends", I wasn't sure if she was really my friend or if I was just biding my time until I could get back at her. But now, well, I think she really cares. And she shows the emotions that I never have and the support I've never had. I mean, a part of me still hates her for being so good when I know I've been so bad, but I think I need her. I think she's good for me. And even if a part of me does still hate her at times, I think I can really, truly, call her my friend.
-----
A few days after Christina arrived, Lizzy asked me for our father's phone number and I was all too happy to give it to her, but she didn't call him. I know because I called him and nervously asked and he said he hadn't heard a thing from her or her mother. Weeks passed and Lizzy said nothing more about our father. I really wanted to encourage her to talk to him, but Christina thought it was best if I let her be. Lizzy seemed a bit in a funk still, but she was slowly coming out of it. "Just give her time," Christina told me. "She'll come around." After all Christina had done for me and for Lizzy, I trusted that she knew best. I put a lot of faith in her. God, how I loved her.
It was a couple more weeks after that when all four of us were hanging out, Zach was browsing the internet, and then he looked up and said, "Hey there's a beauty pageant next week just a few towns over. Did you know about this, Lizzy?"
She just shrugged. "Maybe I heard about it," she said. "I don't really feel like competing."
I think Zach about fell off the couch when he heard that. At the very least it left him completely speechless, and me, too, but, as usual, Christina knew exactly what to say. "Well maybe we could just go watch," she suggested, "you know, check out the competition and stuff without having to worry about beating them all."
Lizzy smiled at her. "Yeah," she said. "That would be fun."
"Maybe we could invite Bridget, too," Christina suggested. "Make it a girls night out."
Lizzy nodded. "Yeah, that would be fine."
And so it was settled, the girls would go out to visit a pageant without competing. It was the strangest thing ever, well, other than the whole Lizzy and I having the same father thing. But that revelation, I think, was what led to all this, for better and for worst.
-----
The pageant was like totally a riot. I was so glad that Lizzy and Christina invite me along. Chris had been hanging out with Brady and with Lizzy a lot lately, and I had been feeling a little left out. I mean, I'm Lizzy's friend, too. I wanted to help Lizzy, too, just like I had helped Christina in the past. I was happy to be included. So that was a lot of fun. We had a nice dinner before the pageant and then we whispered and giggled all through the pageant. We were sitting in the back so I don't think we were too disruptive. Lizzy made all these predictions about the contestants and she was so spot on that it was scary. Christina seemed a little uncomfortable with some of the comments Lizzy made, but she didn't say anything about it. Lizzy just says things sometimes that might seem mean, but she's just joking around, and it makes her feel better about herself. She needed that. And if that had been all that happened that night, it would have been wonderful.
I wish I could tell you that that was all the happened that night. I wish it with my whole heart and soul. But that wasn't the end of the night. We still had to go home. Christina seemed pretty tired and Lizzy was in a pretty good mood, so she offered the drive. That was cool with me. I was a little on the tired side myself. So we piled into the car and were on our way. Christina was sitting in the front seat and fell asleep almost immediately. Lizzy teased her a little, but she couldn't hear anyway, so the two of us just laughed a little about it as we drove along and then Lizzy started talking about the pageant. I was sitting in the back seat right behind her, leaning with my elbow against the window and struggling a little to stay awake myself. As we went on, Lizzy's talking started to slow down and at one point I heard her yawn.
I couldn't help but yawn myself, and then managed to ask, "You doing okay, Lizzy? Want me to drive the rest of the way."
"Yeah, I'm fine." She said. "Let me just turn up the radio a little."
So she did, and we drove on for a while in silence other than that radio playing. And then, I saw the red light. I didn't think anything of it at first. It was just a red light, a temporary delay on our journey home, but as we grew closer, I felt a little concerned, and then more concerned, that Lizzy wasn't going to stop. "Lizzy," I said at normal volume, and then louder, "Lizzy", and then finally, as we were about to roll into the intersection, "Lizzy!"
I heard a little gasp from the front seat, felt the car suddenly start to jerk to stop, and spun my head to the right as the oncoming headlights illuminated the cab of our car just before crashing into us at full speed as they went dark.
-----
There are no words... I just... I have no words. What can I say? There are no words. Bridget, Brady, Christina's father, even Zach, they could never forgive me. How could they? After what I did... It was an accident, I know it was an accident, Zach tells me it was an accident, but do they really think that? Can they ever trust me again? Who could forgive and trust me again after what happened? Now, after this, my refusal to forgive my father for leaving seemed so petty and stupid. How could I ever expect anyone to forgive me if I couldn't forgive him. I go to my purse, I dig through it as tears stream from my eyes and by some miracle, I manage to pull out the piece of paper with the phone number on it. I dial it on my cell phone as I sit alone in the dark, and when the voice on the other end says, "Hello?" I sob, "Daddy? I need you."
-----
The wonderful and terrible day so many years ago, the day my wife and my beautiful baby daughter died and then the amazing doctors managed to bring my daughter back to life, but not my wife, my beautiful, wonderful wife, Alyse, that day I looked down at that new baby girl, the girl who had cost my wife her life and who had almost lost her own life as well, and tears streamed down my face. I had lost the love of my life and gained a new love, a new baby girl who would remind me of my love Alyse every day of my life, and as painful as that was sure to be, I loved that little baby girl from the moment I first saw her through my tear-filled eyes, and I vowed that I would love her forever, my precious Christina, and I would never see her die again.
-----
This story, my story, it ends the same way it began: with my death. All stories end in death: even mine, even yours. Depressing? Disappointing? I suppose it might seem that way, but to think only about the ending, that's to ignore all that happened along the way. And that's what really matters: who and how you love along the way.
My story is done. Some will be sad, and some will never know the difference, but I hope that those I touched will admit that even if they are sad now, that they were still happy to have known me, that I made a difference in their lives. If they could stand over the shell that once was me on the day of my funeral and know that they were glad to know me, if Lizzy and Zach could be happy together, if Lizzy and her father could be reunited, if Brady could remember all the good times, if Bridget could be the brave, bold, and beautiful young woman I know her to be, and if my father, if my father could find a way to go on, to find love and meaning again, and to remember me and my mother as he makes a new and happy life, well, that's the best way I could think of for my story to end.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
NaNoWriMo -- Day 27
A funny thing happened over the summer. I don't entirely know what to make of it. My father started to take an interest in me. At the start of the summer, he was his usual self: rarely saying more than two words unless it was to describe what needed to be done in the fields that day. But as the weeks went on, he seemed to get softer in a way I had never seen before. Maybe it's because one of my sisters is going away to college this year. I don't really know. But whatever it was, I noticed the change. It was slow, yet shocking at the same time.
The first time I became aware of it was after working in the field with my dad one day. I still help out at the farm when I'm home, even though I'm not sure I'm really needed with all the hired help around. I enjoy it, and dad never seems to mind, so I keep doing it. But on this particular day, he said something I never thought I'd hear him say: "Well done, son."
It took me aback. I hadn't done anything special that day, it was just an ordinary day, but there were the words, hanging in the air. "Well done, son." I wasn't sure what to make of it. Did he mean in the fields today, or was he trying to say something bigger. After I stared at him with my mouth agape for what must have been far too long, he let out a little grunt and said, "Let's go get supper."
He didn't say, "Well done, son," again for several days after that, probably because I had reacted so poorly, but I noticed other changes. Like at dinner, he would say, "Pass the potatoes, please." Normally, my father just says, "Pass the potatoes." There's no please. He's the man of the house and it's expected that if he wants the potatoes to be passed, they will be passed. I looked up at him suddenly again the first time I noticed him say it, but no one else seemed to think it odd, so I shook it off and let it pass.
The strangest thing of all, though, was when he started asking me about school. "So you didn't want to take summer courses this year?" he asked me one evening. This was surprising because he showed interest and also because I hadn't taken summer courses the year before either, but I managed to eek out a, "No, sir." He nodded and gave a little grunt and that was that.
Over the next few weeks, he continued to ask questions from time to time. How were my courses? What was I majoring in again? Had I considered getting an internship? How did I like my roommate? How was my girlfriend doing? When he asked about my girlfriend, I nearly fell out of my chair. I wasn't even certain my father remembered I had a girlfriend, even though she had been to our house last summer, or if he remembered, that he knew I was still dating her. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe it was a lucky guess. But either way, the question really surprised me. "She's good," I said. And I couldn't help but smile. "She's wonderful, in fact."
And then my father did something I never imaged he would do, even if I had known he would do all the other things he would do that summer. He smiled back at me.
After all of these little surprises, the big surprise ended up not being that surprising. Maybe that was the plan all along, to warm me up to this idea that after all these years my father could really be a father. The big surprise came about 10 days before I was to return to classes. My mother was all fretting and worrying and excited and all in a tizzy and all that stuff about my sister going off to college, and she asked my father if he would come with to help her move in. Now, my sister was going to school very close to home, in the "big city" just an hour away, so it would be very easy for my father to skip out a day of farm work and go see her off. I didn't think he would, but still, with all this in mind, and with all the observations of him over this summer, it wasn't as shocking as it should have been when he said, "Yes." He would come help my sister move in.
But that wasn't the big surprise. The big surprise was when he turned to me and said, "Brady, how would you feel about your old man flying out to see you off this year?"
"At college?" I asked.
He shook his head like he was disappointed. "Of course at college, son," he said. "I could fly out and meet you, help you unpack and that, maybe meet that roommate. Zach was his name? It might be... nice."
This was so totally unlike the father I had known grown up that I might have had a heart attack, even at my young age, had this come totally out of the blue. But he had warmed me up all that summer to the idea that somehow, for some reason, he wanted to be a real father, and so I smiled at him, I actually smiled at my father's suggestion, and said, "Yeah, that would be nice."
"Good," he said with a nice firm nod. And that was that. For my senior year of college, my father would be coming down to my school to see me off. Miracles really must be possible, I thought. Unfortunately, if miracles, those surprising positive events, are possible, then unexpected negative events are just as possible.
-----
All my life, I never knew my father, never wanted to know my father, so I told myself. I mean, I was curious about my dad, but I never wanted to meet the jerk. He had been a jerk, a total jerk, to my mom, just leaving her with me, a new baby, for no good reason. Why would I want anything to do with a guy like that? My mom always said that if he ever came back, if I ever saw him again, that I should tell him that I loved him. Well what kind of sense did that make? How could you love someone you never knew? And if it was your father that you never knew, well, I was sure that if I ever did meet him, all I'd be able to tell him was that I hated him.
And then I met Brady's father. I knew Brady had a father, I mean everyone has a father, and I even knew that Brady knew his father growing up. But it's not like I talked to Brady about his family. Heck, I barely talked about family with Zach, why would I talk about family with Brady? I knew Brady had a father and that he lived on some farm, but that was about it. I never knew anything more and I thought to ask. Why would I? There are millions of farms out there. What are the chances that my father went to the same farm where Brady's father lives? Why would that thought even enter my brain? I have better things to think about.
And then I met Brady's father. I was in the apartment hanging out with Zach. We had moved in a week before. Oh yeah, Zach had asked me to move in, and I had said, yeah that would be cool. Zach told me Brady would be living there, too, and I figured whatever. I could deal with that. So yeah, the three of us were going to live together. Cheap rent and all. So Zach and I were there hanging out, and Brady walks in looking all happy like he usually does this days and in walks this older guy behind him. Brady seems a little awkward, but he introduces the guy to Zach. Dude shakes Zach's hand. Doesn't smile or anything, just a hand shake. Then Brady introduces me. Calls me Elizabeth instead of Lizzy for some reason. Whatever. And when Brady's dad shakes my hand, this look of surprise or shock or something comes over him, just for an instant before he pushes it aside, and he lingers with my hand in his just a little too long. But then he seems to shake it off and it's gone. Brady doesn't seem to notice, but when he and his dad go back outside to start hauling stuff in, just before Zach goes after them, I say to Zach, "What was that about?"
He looks confused like he thinks I'm talking about something he did and he says, "What?"
I probably smirk just a little at his cluelessness as I say, "Brady's dad. He looked at me funny and stuff."
Zach shakes his head. "Dude, I don't know," he said, "but he did shake your hand a little long."
"I know," I said.
Zach gives a little smirk himself and then says jokingly, "Let's hope he's not getting a crush on you."
"Stop. Gross," I say as I punch him playfully in the arm.
"Ouch," he says with a smile as he rubs his injured shoulder and then goes out to help Brady and his dad carry stuff. Maybe I would have helped, too, maybe, but I was a little weirded out by Brady's dad, so I just went back to our room, Zach's and mine, and chilled out until they were done moving junk in.
-----
Her name is Elizabeth, and she looks quite a bit like... but it can't be. That's too much of a coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence. I haven't talked to Sarah in years and I haven't since a picture of Elizabeth since she was 10. A lot has changed. So much has changed. I'm sure I'm just imagining things because of the name, and her being around the right age and all, but she's probably not even the right age. She's dating Brady's roommate. She's probably younger than Brady. My Elizabeth would be a good three years older than Brady. No, I'm sure it's not her. It's just an old man's mind playing tricks on him. Why am I getting so soft in my old years? I used to not let any of this sappy crap bother me, back when I was young and it would have been okay to let it bother me. But it's never okay. I just want to connect with my son, if I still can. I know my daughter, my first daughter is lost to me. Right?
-----
I guess Brady's dad decided to stick around for a bit and Brady suggested we all go out for dinner. I guess Brady's dad wanted to meet Zach or something. I wasn't entirely comfortable with going along, but Zach thought I should. Brady's dad still kept looking at me funny. It's not like the "I want you" kind of creepy, it was more like he was afraid of me. I know I can be intimidating, but damn, he's a grown man. No wonder Brady's such a wimp if he's dad's afraid of a little girl. I'm kidding, by the way. Well, mostly.
Anyway, so we go out to dinner, and Brady's dad seems like he's trying really hard to be pleasant and polite and carry on his share of the conversation, but it's really awkward, like he doesn't really know how to behave in social situations. Brady helps him out, though, and Zach does lots of the talking, so it goes okay, I guess. I don't say much, mostly because I'm still trying to figure out what's up with Brady's dad, but as the dinner goes on, he seems to relax a bit.
We're just starting to eat desert when Brady's dad takes a deep breath, looks at me and says, "So Elizabeth, tell me about your parents."
Seems like a strange question to ask the girlfriend of your son's roommate, but whatever. I smirk a little and consider making up some lie about how I have some awesome parents, but that's really not my style, so I decide to tell it like it is: "Well, my mom's not much use to be honest, but she does her best. My jerk of a father ran away when I was an infant, so what can you do." I feel Zach kick me under the table, so I just turn and look at him. "What?" And then when I look back at Brady's father, he looks horrified, and a bit of the smirk fades from my face. I actually feel a little bad. "I'm sorry," I say, "I..."
But he interrupts me before I can go on. "What's your mother's name?" he asks.
I probably sneer again because what does he care. "Her name's Sarah," I say. "Though I don't know why..." I stop short at the look on Brady's dad's face. It's like he's seen a ghost or something.
The three of us just all sit there staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. And then he takes out his wallet, plops a hundred dollar bill down on the table and says, "That should cover most of it. I need to go back to my hotel now." And the guy just up and leaves. Walks right out of the restaurant. I look over at Brady, who looks totally mortified, as well he should. I don't say it, because I have some tact, but all I can think at the time, in reference to Brady's father, is, "What a jerk."
-----
It's her. It's really her. I can't believe it, after all these years... what are the odds? This is so unlike me. I'm a man, damn it. I need to man up and act like one, not like a little girl. But she's my little girl. She was my first little girl, the one I ran out on. It wasn't her fault I couldn't live with her mother, and yet she had to suffer. Clearly she suffered. I never used to care so much, but now, I do. I really do. Back when she was lost, I made myself not care about her or about anything really. But now that I've found her again... what's wrong with me?
-----
After that horrible scene at dinner, Zach, Lizzy, and I managed to finish dessert and pay the bill and after I dropped them off at home (thankfully my father had driven his rental car separately), I went to his hotel to see what on earth was going on. My father is a man of few words, so we just sat there for a while until he finally said simply, "Elizabeth is my daughter from my first marriage."
That was it. It was done. He said it and now I knew and no one else did. I wanted to know why and how and so many other things, but what can you say? Especially now at a time when I saw my father, the toughest most frightening most difficult to please man I had ever seen, here in a moment of weakness. I realized that maybe, after all these years, I really didn't know him at all. And neither did Lizzy.
The first time I became aware of it was after working in the field with my dad one day. I still help out at the farm when I'm home, even though I'm not sure I'm really needed with all the hired help around. I enjoy it, and dad never seems to mind, so I keep doing it. But on this particular day, he said something I never thought I'd hear him say: "Well done, son."
It took me aback. I hadn't done anything special that day, it was just an ordinary day, but there were the words, hanging in the air. "Well done, son." I wasn't sure what to make of it. Did he mean in the fields today, or was he trying to say something bigger. After I stared at him with my mouth agape for what must have been far too long, he let out a little grunt and said, "Let's go get supper."
He didn't say, "Well done, son," again for several days after that, probably because I had reacted so poorly, but I noticed other changes. Like at dinner, he would say, "Pass the potatoes, please." Normally, my father just says, "Pass the potatoes." There's no please. He's the man of the house and it's expected that if he wants the potatoes to be passed, they will be passed. I looked up at him suddenly again the first time I noticed him say it, but no one else seemed to think it odd, so I shook it off and let it pass.
The strangest thing of all, though, was when he started asking me about school. "So you didn't want to take summer courses this year?" he asked me one evening. This was surprising because he showed interest and also because I hadn't taken summer courses the year before either, but I managed to eek out a, "No, sir." He nodded and gave a little grunt and that was that.
Over the next few weeks, he continued to ask questions from time to time. How were my courses? What was I majoring in again? Had I considered getting an internship? How did I like my roommate? How was my girlfriend doing? When he asked about my girlfriend, I nearly fell out of my chair. I wasn't even certain my father remembered I had a girlfriend, even though she had been to our house last summer, or if he remembered, that he knew I was still dating her. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe it was a lucky guess. But either way, the question really surprised me. "She's good," I said. And I couldn't help but smile. "She's wonderful, in fact."
And then my father did something I never imaged he would do, even if I had known he would do all the other things he would do that summer. He smiled back at me.
After all of these little surprises, the big surprise ended up not being that surprising. Maybe that was the plan all along, to warm me up to this idea that after all these years my father could really be a father. The big surprise came about 10 days before I was to return to classes. My mother was all fretting and worrying and excited and all in a tizzy and all that stuff about my sister going off to college, and she asked my father if he would come with to help her move in. Now, my sister was going to school very close to home, in the "big city" just an hour away, so it would be very easy for my father to skip out a day of farm work and go see her off. I didn't think he would, but still, with all this in mind, and with all the observations of him over this summer, it wasn't as shocking as it should have been when he said, "Yes." He would come help my sister move in.
But that wasn't the big surprise. The big surprise was when he turned to me and said, "Brady, how would you feel about your old man flying out to see you off this year?"
"At college?" I asked.
He shook his head like he was disappointed. "Of course at college, son," he said. "I could fly out and meet you, help you unpack and that, maybe meet that roommate. Zach was his name? It might be... nice."
This was so totally unlike the father I had known grown up that I might have had a heart attack, even at my young age, had this come totally out of the blue. But he had warmed me up all that summer to the idea that somehow, for some reason, he wanted to be a real father, and so I smiled at him, I actually smiled at my father's suggestion, and said, "Yeah, that would be nice."
"Good," he said with a nice firm nod. And that was that. For my senior year of college, my father would be coming down to my school to see me off. Miracles really must be possible, I thought. Unfortunately, if miracles, those surprising positive events, are possible, then unexpected negative events are just as possible.
-----
All my life, I never knew my father, never wanted to know my father, so I told myself. I mean, I was curious about my dad, but I never wanted to meet the jerk. He had been a jerk, a total jerk, to my mom, just leaving her with me, a new baby, for no good reason. Why would I want anything to do with a guy like that? My mom always said that if he ever came back, if I ever saw him again, that I should tell him that I loved him. Well what kind of sense did that make? How could you love someone you never knew? And if it was your father that you never knew, well, I was sure that if I ever did meet him, all I'd be able to tell him was that I hated him.
And then I met Brady's father. I knew Brady had a father, I mean everyone has a father, and I even knew that Brady knew his father growing up. But it's not like I talked to Brady about his family. Heck, I barely talked about family with Zach, why would I talk about family with Brady? I knew Brady had a father and that he lived on some farm, but that was about it. I never knew anything more and I thought to ask. Why would I? There are millions of farms out there. What are the chances that my father went to the same farm where Brady's father lives? Why would that thought even enter my brain? I have better things to think about.
And then I met Brady's father. I was in the apartment hanging out with Zach. We had moved in a week before. Oh yeah, Zach had asked me to move in, and I had said, yeah that would be cool. Zach told me Brady would be living there, too, and I figured whatever. I could deal with that. So yeah, the three of us were going to live together. Cheap rent and all. So Zach and I were there hanging out, and Brady walks in looking all happy like he usually does this days and in walks this older guy behind him. Brady seems a little awkward, but he introduces the guy to Zach. Dude shakes Zach's hand. Doesn't smile or anything, just a hand shake. Then Brady introduces me. Calls me Elizabeth instead of Lizzy for some reason. Whatever. And when Brady's dad shakes my hand, this look of surprise or shock or something comes over him, just for an instant before he pushes it aside, and he lingers with my hand in his just a little too long. But then he seems to shake it off and it's gone. Brady doesn't seem to notice, but when he and his dad go back outside to start hauling stuff in, just before Zach goes after them, I say to Zach, "What was that about?"
He looks confused like he thinks I'm talking about something he did and he says, "What?"
I probably smirk just a little at his cluelessness as I say, "Brady's dad. He looked at me funny and stuff."
Zach shakes his head. "Dude, I don't know," he said, "but he did shake your hand a little long."
"I know," I said.
Zach gives a little smirk himself and then says jokingly, "Let's hope he's not getting a crush on you."
"Stop. Gross," I say as I punch him playfully in the arm.
"Ouch," he says with a smile as he rubs his injured shoulder and then goes out to help Brady and his dad carry stuff. Maybe I would have helped, too, maybe, but I was a little weirded out by Brady's dad, so I just went back to our room, Zach's and mine, and chilled out until they were done moving junk in.
-----
Her name is Elizabeth, and she looks quite a bit like... but it can't be. That's too much of a coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence. I haven't talked to Sarah in years and I haven't since a picture of Elizabeth since she was 10. A lot has changed. So much has changed. I'm sure I'm just imagining things because of the name, and her being around the right age and all, but she's probably not even the right age. She's dating Brady's roommate. She's probably younger than Brady. My Elizabeth would be a good three years older than Brady. No, I'm sure it's not her. It's just an old man's mind playing tricks on him. Why am I getting so soft in my old years? I used to not let any of this sappy crap bother me, back when I was young and it would have been okay to let it bother me. But it's never okay. I just want to connect with my son, if I still can. I know my daughter, my first daughter is lost to me. Right?
-----
I guess Brady's dad decided to stick around for a bit and Brady suggested we all go out for dinner. I guess Brady's dad wanted to meet Zach or something. I wasn't entirely comfortable with going along, but Zach thought I should. Brady's dad still kept looking at me funny. It's not like the "I want you" kind of creepy, it was more like he was afraid of me. I know I can be intimidating, but damn, he's a grown man. No wonder Brady's such a wimp if he's dad's afraid of a little girl. I'm kidding, by the way. Well, mostly.
Anyway, so we go out to dinner, and Brady's dad seems like he's trying really hard to be pleasant and polite and carry on his share of the conversation, but it's really awkward, like he doesn't really know how to behave in social situations. Brady helps him out, though, and Zach does lots of the talking, so it goes okay, I guess. I don't say much, mostly because I'm still trying to figure out what's up with Brady's dad, but as the dinner goes on, he seems to relax a bit.
We're just starting to eat desert when Brady's dad takes a deep breath, looks at me and says, "So Elizabeth, tell me about your parents."
Seems like a strange question to ask the girlfriend of your son's roommate, but whatever. I smirk a little and consider making up some lie about how I have some awesome parents, but that's really not my style, so I decide to tell it like it is: "Well, my mom's not much use to be honest, but she does her best. My jerk of a father ran away when I was an infant, so what can you do." I feel Zach kick me under the table, so I just turn and look at him. "What?" And then when I look back at Brady's father, he looks horrified, and a bit of the smirk fades from my face. I actually feel a little bad. "I'm sorry," I say, "I..."
But he interrupts me before I can go on. "What's your mother's name?" he asks.
I probably sneer again because what does he care. "Her name's Sarah," I say. "Though I don't know why..." I stop short at the look on Brady's dad's face. It's like he's seen a ghost or something.
The three of us just all sit there staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. And then he takes out his wallet, plops a hundred dollar bill down on the table and says, "That should cover most of it. I need to go back to my hotel now." And the guy just up and leaves. Walks right out of the restaurant. I look over at Brady, who looks totally mortified, as well he should. I don't say it, because I have some tact, but all I can think at the time, in reference to Brady's father, is, "What a jerk."
-----
It's her. It's really her. I can't believe it, after all these years... what are the odds? This is so unlike me. I'm a man, damn it. I need to man up and act like one, not like a little girl. But she's my little girl. She was my first little girl, the one I ran out on. It wasn't her fault I couldn't live with her mother, and yet she had to suffer. Clearly she suffered. I never used to care so much, but now, I do. I really do. Back when she was lost, I made myself not care about her or about anything really. But now that I've found her again... what's wrong with me?
-----
After that horrible scene at dinner, Zach, Lizzy, and I managed to finish dessert and pay the bill and after I dropped them off at home (thankfully my father had driven his rental car separately), I went to his hotel to see what on earth was going on. My father is a man of few words, so we just sat there for a while until he finally said simply, "Elizabeth is my daughter from my first marriage."
That was it. It was done. He said it and now I knew and no one else did. I wanted to know why and how and so many other things, but what can you say? Especially now at a time when I saw my father, the toughest most frightening most difficult to please man I had ever seen, here in a moment of weakness. I realized that maybe, after all these years, I really didn't know him at all. And neither did Lizzy.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
NaNoWriMo -- Day 26
The Grand Canyon is beautiful. I remember coming here so long ago, nearly 22 years ago, back before Christina was born, back before her mother died, back before the pain and the heartache and the joy. I wish, oh how I wish, my one true love had been here to share it all with me, the joy of raising our beautiful daughter, of seeing her stand here today with a proud look on her face as she looks out over the vastness of the Canyon. The wind blows her long golden hair away from her face and she closes her eyes for a moment as she enjoys its coolness refreshing her against the hot desert sun. My love, how I wish you could be here to witness this, that I had not lost you so long ago. Some might say twenty years is plenty long to get over such a heart-wrenching lose. I think an eternity is still not long enough. Seeing our beautiful daughter every day of her young life, seeing her grow to look so much like you, the sparkle in her eye and in her mind, reminding me of all I'd lost and yet of all I'd gained, it was almost too much to bear. But I carried on because I love her even as I love you, and as I always will.
Time can never cure me fully, love, but I know now is the time to pass something on to her, that precious thing I thought would never again see the light of day, my last memory of you, the thing I never shared with anyone before because to do so would be to finally realize, once and for all, that you are gone. Christina, she is her mother's daughter, but she is not you, and she never will be. I hope she realizes that when I give this to her, I'm not asking her to fill your shoes, I'm just asking her to gain a deeper understanding of who you were, and in gaining that, to truly find her own path.
-----
My father took many gorgeous pictures today, but there was a sadness in his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong, he admitted to me that this was where he had taken my mother on their honeymoon. I had never known that before, had never thought to ask. My father had shown me many pictures of my mother over the years, including the first picture he ever took of her, the picture I believed to be the most precious of all, but perhaps those photos of their first trip together as husband and wife were even more precious still.
I can't understand the bond marriage creates, I really can't. It seems such a strange thing, that one day you would be single and the next you would be wed. Why should it make such a difference? Yet I feel for my father, it must have made all the difference in the world. Why else would he show me photos from before and from after, but not from during that sacred transformation? I never thought to ask before because there was so much else he shared, but now I wonder why. I was never really religious, and neither was my father. Spiritual, maybe, believing in a high power, but not religious or superstitious or anything like that. But now, being here with him, seeing all this beauty and realizing all the things he never told me, I wonder if there is so much more I don't really understand.
My father gave me a gift this evening. I'm afraid to read it yet, but I know that one day I will. It's a book, an unfinished book, that my mother had started when she was pregnant with me. I was going to be her next great novel, before she died giving birth to me. My father says that even he hasn't read more than a few pages of it. She shared much of her work with him, but not all, and he could never bring himself to read this manuscript in its entirety, or in as much of its entirety as there is. Now, he says, he feels that is a blessing, because now he can give it as a gift to me, a piece of my mother that only she and I will share, a special bond, a piece of her that only I will know and carry on. If I choose to share it with others, he said, that would be my choice, but he's giving it only to me, and he wants me to have it, so that I can see another part of who she was.
I asked him if he was scared, giving me something she had written that he hadn't read. How did he know it would be safe for me? He just smiled and said that trust outlives death and that whatever my mother was writing, she was writing while I was growing inside of her and surely that joy and anticipation would spill over into what she wrote, though he warned me it was possible there might be a little fear as well, though. "You're an adult now, though," he said. "This is something you have a right and a privilege to. If you'd rather never read it, do the same thing I did, keep it a mystery, I'd understand, but I think you have a right to that choice and I don't want to feel compelled to make that choice for you."
So there the book sits, on the nightstand beside me bed in this 3.5 star hotel, waiting for me to get up my nerve to open it and read it. Will I like what it has to say? All my life, I've had this beautiful, perfect view of my mother, given to me from my father. Now he's given me something real: incomplete words from her own hands, unpublished, seen by no one living. Do I really have the strength to accept such a gift? Only time will tell. And I'm still young. I have all the time in the world, right? I suppose that's what my mother thought, too...
-----
Christina seemed a lot more somber when I talked to her on the phone today. She just got back from her trip to the Grand Canyon, so I expected her to be overflowing with excitement and stories about all the beautiful things she saw. But instead, the first thing she told me was about this book her father gave her, some of the last words her mother wrote before she died. "What do you think?" she asked me. "Should I read it?"
It gave me a certain amount of comfort and honor to hear her ask for my thoughts, but I knew immediately that this was not a decision I could make for her, or that I could even help her make. And I told her as much.
She sighed. "I know," she said. "My father basically said the same thing."
With another sigh and a brief pause, she seemed to lighten a bit, and then launched into all the stories I had been expecting to hear from the start, but I know the thoughts of her mother's writing still lingered with her. Would she read those precious words? Could she read the precious words? If I had lost a parent and the survivor had given me such a gift, would I be able to read those words? If I ever discovered my father had written something no one else had read, I'm not sure I could stop myself, whether he was living or dead. But Christina's situation is different. Everyone's situation is different. I don't know what she'll do, and that's okay. I'll love her no matter what she decides.
-----
"To my precious son or daughter: I don't know when you'll be born or even what we'll decide to name you when you arrive. We've got some options, but your parents are spontaneous and have decided to wait until the last minute to really decide. We're spontaneous and excited, but also a little scared. The doctors have told me I'm at high risk in this pregnancy and there's a chance that one or both of us won't make it to the other side alive. I pray with all of my heart that if only one of us survives, that it will be you. I've lived my life, young though it may be, and I've found my love, though I know he will be devastated if I have to leave him. I know he knows how I love him, and I know how he loves me. We tell each other every day. And I know that he will love you, no matter what may happen.
I'm also as certain as I can be that he will never read these words should I pass away. But maybe he'll pass them on to you. If I'm wrong and he does read them, I want him to know what he already knows: that I love him with all my heart and that I love you, my precious son or daughter, too, and that he should tell you so every day. But if I'm right and he doesn't read this, then these words are for you. I don't know you yet, but I know you are special, and I know you'll do great things, and I know that your father will always be there for you. And I'm there for you, too. Maybe you didn't realize it, but I was always there. My spirit lives on in the love your father will surely show to you.
If I am wrong about any of this, then I am sorry, but I know I'm not. I will always love you. He will always love you. And you will be bold and smart and beautiful and likely will chance the world in a way I never could. Whatever you choose to do, you'll be great, and I'll be so proud of you.
Love you always. From your mother, Alyse."
I cried when I read those words on a page glued in to the middle of the book my father had given me. I know she was right, that he never read them. He surely would have told me if he did. How could she have known him so well, known what would happen? How could she have been so brave to continue on with her pregnancy even knowing it might cost her her life? My father had never told me that part. But now I knew, and somehow, I didn't think it right to tell him I knew. The tears just kept coming. Summer vacation was almost over, and it was almost time to go back to school and see Brady again. I should be happy, excited, but now, I just felt sad. But yet, somehow, there was a sense of peace. I had never spoken to my mother, and I have no memories of her speaking to me, not a single word. But here was something she had written directly to me and to me alone. How could she have known? In my mind, these words, and how they had all come to pass, it was nothing short of a beautiful, wonderful miracle. Some might see it as terrifying and cruel, but I will always choose to see it as beautiful.
Time can never cure me fully, love, but I know now is the time to pass something on to her, that precious thing I thought would never again see the light of day, my last memory of you, the thing I never shared with anyone before because to do so would be to finally realize, once and for all, that you are gone. Christina, she is her mother's daughter, but she is not you, and she never will be. I hope she realizes that when I give this to her, I'm not asking her to fill your shoes, I'm just asking her to gain a deeper understanding of who you were, and in gaining that, to truly find her own path.
-----
My father took many gorgeous pictures today, but there was a sadness in his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong, he admitted to me that this was where he had taken my mother on their honeymoon. I had never known that before, had never thought to ask. My father had shown me many pictures of my mother over the years, including the first picture he ever took of her, the picture I believed to be the most precious of all, but perhaps those photos of their first trip together as husband and wife were even more precious still.
I can't understand the bond marriage creates, I really can't. It seems such a strange thing, that one day you would be single and the next you would be wed. Why should it make such a difference? Yet I feel for my father, it must have made all the difference in the world. Why else would he show me photos from before and from after, but not from during that sacred transformation? I never thought to ask before because there was so much else he shared, but now I wonder why. I was never really religious, and neither was my father. Spiritual, maybe, believing in a high power, but not religious or superstitious or anything like that. But now, being here with him, seeing all this beauty and realizing all the things he never told me, I wonder if there is so much more I don't really understand.
My father gave me a gift this evening. I'm afraid to read it yet, but I know that one day I will. It's a book, an unfinished book, that my mother had started when she was pregnant with me. I was going to be her next great novel, before she died giving birth to me. My father says that even he hasn't read more than a few pages of it. She shared much of her work with him, but not all, and he could never bring himself to read this manuscript in its entirety, or in as much of its entirety as there is. Now, he says, he feels that is a blessing, because now he can give it as a gift to me, a piece of my mother that only she and I will share, a special bond, a piece of her that only I will know and carry on. If I choose to share it with others, he said, that would be my choice, but he's giving it only to me, and he wants me to have it, so that I can see another part of who she was.
I asked him if he was scared, giving me something she had written that he hadn't read. How did he know it would be safe for me? He just smiled and said that trust outlives death and that whatever my mother was writing, she was writing while I was growing inside of her and surely that joy and anticipation would spill over into what she wrote, though he warned me it was possible there might be a little fear as well, though. "You're an adult now, though," he said. "This is something you have a right and a privilege to. If you'd rather never read it, do the same thing I did, keep it a mystery, I'd understand, but I think you have a right to that choice and I don't want to feel compelled to make that choice for you."
So there the book sits, on the nightstand beside me bed in this 3.5 star hotel, waiting for me to get up my nerve to open it and read it. Will I like what it has to say? All my life, I've had this beautiful, perfect view of my mother, given to me from my father. Now he's given me something real: incomplete words from her own hands, unpublished, seen by no one living. Do I really have the strength to accept such a gift? Only time will tell. And I'm still young. I have all the time in the world, right? I suppose that's what my mother thought, too...
-----
Christina seemed a lot more somber when I talked to her on the phone today. She just got back from her trip to the Grand Canyon, so I expected her to be overflowing with excitement and stories about all the beautiful things she saw. But instead, the first thing she told me was about this book her father gave her, some of the last words her mother wrote before she died. "What do you think?" she asked me. "Should I read it?"
It gave me a certain amount of comfort and honor to hear her ask for my thoughts, but I knew immediately that this was not a decision I could make for her, or that I could even help her make. And I told her as much.
She sighed. "I know," she said. "My father basically said the same thing."
With another sigh and a brief pause, she seemed to lighten a bit, and then launched into all the stories I had been expecting to hear from the start, but I know the thoughts of her mother's writing still lingered with her. Would she read those precious words? Could she read the precious words? If I had lost a parent and the survivor had given me such a gift, would I be able to read those words? If I ever discovered my father had written something no one else had read, I'm not sure I could stop myself, whether he was living or dead. But Christina's situation is different. Everyone's situation is different. I don't know what she'll do, and that's okay. I'll love her no matter what she decides.
-----
"To my precious son or daughter: I don't know when you'll be born or even what we'll decide to name you when you arrive. We've got some options, but your parents are spontaneous and have decided to wait until the last minute to really decide. We're spontaneous and excited, but also a little scared. The doctors have told me I'm at high risk in this pregnancy and there's a chance that one or both of us won't make it to the other side alive. I pray with all of my heart that if only one of us survives, that it will be you. I've lived my life, young though it may be, and I've found my love, though I know he will be devastated if I have to leave him. I know he knows how I love him, and I know how he loves me. We tell each other every day. And I know that he will love you, no matter what may happen.
I'm also as certain as I can be that he will never read these words should I pass away. But maybe he'll pass them on to you. If I'm wrong and he does read them, I want him to know what he already knows: that I love him with all my heart and that I love you, my precious son or daughter, too, and that he should tell you so every day. But if I'm right and he doesn't read this, then these words are for you. I don't know you yet, but I know you are special, and I know you'll do great things, and I know that your father will always be there for you. And I'm there for you, too. Maybe you didn't realize it, but I was always there. My spirit lives on in the love your father will surely show to you.
If I am wrong about any of this, then I am sorry, but I know I'm not. I will always love you. He will always love you. And you will be bold and smart and beautiful and likely will chance the world in a way I never could. Whatever you choose to do, you'll be great, and I'll be so proud of you.
Love you always. From your mother, Alyse."
I cried when I read those words on a page glued in to the middle of the book my father had given me. I know she was right, that he never read them. He surely would have told me if he did. How could she have known him so well, known what would happen? How could she have been so brave to continue on with her pregnancy even knowing it might cost her her life? My father had never told me that part. But now I knew, and somehow, I didn't think it right to tell him I knew. The tears just kept coming. Summer vacation was almost over, and it was almost time to go back to school and see Brady again. I should be happy, excited, but now, I just felt sad. But yet, somehow, there was a sense of peace. I had never spoken to my mother, and I have no memories of her speaking to me, not a single word. But here was something she had written directly to me and to me alone. How could she have known? In my mind, these words, and how they had all come to pass, it was nothing short of a beautiful, wonderful miracle. Some might see it as terrifying and cruel, but I will always choose to see it as beautiful.
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