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Silent but deafening moments.
Then he pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it onto my kitchen counter. “I’m done,” he says softly.
My grip loosens on the door. Scraping my teeth together, I glance at the index card sitting on my counter scribbled with familiar handwriting.
“I’m done trying to fight this,” he confesses, his tone full of remorse and acquiescence. “I’m done living in the past, wishing I could change it. I’m done ostracizing my son when I already know what it feels like to lose one. I’m done being angry and hateful when I have so much to be thankful for. I’m done trying,” he tells me, finally meeting my eyes. Finally seeing me for the first time in two years. “I want to start doing. I want to start living again.”
Emotion swells in my heart and stings my eyes. I drop my hand from the door and close it behind me—as if I know, without a doubt, I won’t be needing to run. I take a few careful steps forward, turning my attention to the index card, trying to read it through blurred tears.
Andrew follows my gaze. “I’ve reread that damn card every single morning since Samantha wrote it,” he says painfully. “It’s haunted me.”
My eyes trail back to him as I come to a full stop.
“I ran into your boss last week when I went golfing,” he continues. “Pauly. He told me he’s been trying to convince you to go to New York—to take a job transfer that would better your career and potentially change your life. He doesn’t understand why you won’t do it.”
I drop my head and close my eyes.
“But I know why.” Andrew runs a palm down his face, shaking his head. His cheeks fill with air as he blows out a breath. “I’ve lost so much, Brant…so much,” he murmurs, voice hitching. Grief steals his words for a moment as he tries to regroup. “But so have you. And because I’m choosing to wallow in this limbo of wishing I could change the past and wishing I can shape the future, all I’m really doing is not choosing what’s right in front of me. I’m not choosing what matters, and that’s my family. That’s my children. That’s you.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes, then track down his cheeks. “Yes, we’ve all lost, but until I choose forgiveness, until I choose healing…we’re all just going to keep on losing. And I’m real damn sick of losing.”
I inhale sharply, my chest constricting and my heart racing. “I’m sick of losing, too.”
He swipes away the wet tears, nodding his head. Then he lets out a broken sound—or maybe it’s a healing sound—and closes the gap between us, pulling me into a bone-crushing embrace.
My eyes squeeze shut as I hug him back, wrapping my arms around the man I’ve missed for two long years. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”
Andrew breaks down. He drops his forehead to my shoulder and sobs, and we linger like that, as if we’re making up for all the hugs we’ve missed out on. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispers raggedly, still holding me tight. “I’m not saying everything is fixed or erased, and I’m not saying this will be easy for me. I can accept things for how they are while still struggling to understand them. Just bear with me, Son.”
Hearing him call me “son” pulls hot tears from my eyes, and my throat stings with sentiment as I ask, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…go to New York, Brant.” Andrew gives my back a sharp smack, then pulls away, still gripping my shoulders. He looks me in the eyes, and for a swift second I see Theo. I see their paralleled blessing shining back at me. “And whatever happens after that, happens. It’s what’s meant to be.”
Hope blinds me like the first light of day—a light in the form of forgiveness.
A second chance.
We don’t specifically mention June, but I know exactly what he’s telling me:
Go to New York for your career, even if you end up staying for my daughter.
He doesn’t stay long after that.
Emotions are high, and we’ve said what we needed to say.
As Andrew steps out my front door, I run a hand down my face, letting out a deep breath, and I glance down at the index card still lying atop my counter.
My heart gallops.
And then I pick it up and read it.
September 13, 2020
Vilomah. I’ve never heard of this word before, but apparently, it’s what they call a parent who has lost a child. It means “against the natural order.” Only…it feels like I’ve lost so much more than that. I’ve lost three children, and I’m losing my husband in the process. I don’t think they make a word for someone like me. The only word I can think of is…sad.
I drop the note card back to the countertop…then I quickly change my mind.
Instead, I shred it.
I tear it into tiny pieces and toss it into the trash can, wishing I had a match to set it on fire.
