“For six months. She says it’s legit.”
Unsure what legit meant in this context, I waited to hear more but she didn’t elaborate, sitting quiet for a block, just looking out the window. As I stopped at a light, she turned to look at me. “I figured something out tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“You know how Dad’s note said we’d be better off without him? How he was a weight holding us back and we’d finally be able to breathe and everything.”
My hands tightened on the wheel. We had never talked about the notes. I’d put mine away in a box with some of Jon’s keepsakes. There was no one in his family to give anything to, but I couldn’t seem to part with any of it. Even his last note to me. I’d assumed she had hers somewhere, but in six years neither of us had said a single word about them.
“I remember,” I said carefully.
“He said, ‘I love you too much to keep hurting you.’” She paused, taking in a breath. “I took that to mean that loving me was the thing that hurt. Like I was too much for him to handle and maybe, if I hadn’t been born, he would have been okay.”
I kept my eyes on the road, trying not to sob. How could my sweet daughter think it was her fault? That she’d been too much of a burden? In fact, it had been the opposite. I believed to this day that Jon hung in there as long as he could because of Annie.
“But tonight, Marcus, he’s our group leader, was talking about how it’s important to differentiate between what was the disease and what was them. And I started thinking that his notes to us weren’t really from him, they were from his illness.” Sheturned to look at me. “So it wasn’t about me being too much. Or the cause of anything really. It was that he was sick.”
“We’ve talked about that before.” Had we?
No, we hadn’t. That was the truth. I couldn’t talk about Jon or his illness or how I felt like it was my fault. And I’d let my daughter down because of it.
“We haven’t, though. I talked with the therapist about it, you know, when I was going there.”
“But not you and me.” I could barely get the words out, the weight in my chest almost unbearable.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“It’s not, though. I’m sorry. It’s just been … too hard. I don’t know how to talk about it.”
“I know. Which is why we should go to these meetings.”
“I’m glad it went well,” I managed. “But it breaks my heart to think you’ve been carrying that around all this time.”
What else did she believe?
“It’s weird this group is already helping me. I mean, it’s not like talking about it changes anything. But it felt good to be there, Mom. Thanks for letting me do it.”
“If it helps you, then I’m all for it.” My voice came out steadier than I thought it would. “I’m grateful you pushed for what you need. Even though it makes me feel …”
“What?”
“Inadequate.”
“You’re the one who’s always talking about our village,” Annie said. “This is just another part of it. Something that even our best friends can’t really help us with. Which means you don’t have to fix everything for me. Even if you tried, it’s not possible.”
“I wish it was,” I said.
“I know.” After a few seconds, she said, “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too.”
She turned away from me to gaze out the front window at the tangerine sun sinking low over the water. “Mom, you’re really brave. And strong. You’ve been more than enough for me. Even without our village.”
“Thanks, honey, that’s very sweet.” Tears came, despite my white-knuckled best efforts.
She reached into the glove box to hand me some tissues. “Let’s get ice cream.”
“We haven’t had dinner.”
