Page 51 of Firefly Embers

He tried his hardest to leave work at work when there was a tough case, but he was only human, and sometimes things followed him home that were hard to shake.

“We ran a call today that made me seriously evaluate how much I rely on you to do the things a parent should be doing.”

The microwave beeped, signaling his food was heated, so he grabbed the plate, bringing it back to the table. He sat down across from me but didn’t touch his food.

“You know the trailer park right outside of town? The one ‌I’ve always told you is best to stay away from?”

I nodded, afraid that if I spoke, he’d shut down, and I wanted him to feel comfortable talking about the things that stressed him out.

If I’d learned anything from Wade, it’s that bottling everything up and shouldering all the guilt and blame for things beyond your control doesn’t make them go away. It just piles them up until you’re buried and can’t find your way out.

“We got a call this evening that there was a domestic dispute in that area. When we responded, we found both parents high off their asses and the thirteen-year-old son caring for the one-month-old baby. The kid is just a baby himself, and he’s having to shoulder the burden of parenthood because his parents can’t put their wants aside for the sake of their own kids.”

I could tell that the call had shaken him, but comparing that situation to what happened in our home was asinine. Nothing about what my father had done to keep our household afloat was selfish. He had run himself ragged trying to keep food on the table, a roof over our heads, and ‌the lights on for the last fifteen years.

“Dad, I hope you don’t think for a single second that there’s any comparison between what you saw on that call today and what happened here after Mom died.”

“But isn’t there?” I could hear the pain flowing from his words as he pushed the full plate of food away, his appetite clearly gone.

Reaching across the table, I grabbed one of his hands and held it in mine. When our gazes met, I saw the shell of a broken man sitting across from me, similar to the one I’d just recently watched drive away toward healing.

“Papí.” I squeezed his hand softly, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

I’d done enough crying for the men in my life who couldn’t stop being everything for everyone to take a second and take care of themselves.

“You are the strongest, most resilient, and wonderful father that all of us could ask for. Our family went through one of the most challenging tragedies a family can go through, and somehow, we all made it. Have I had to step up and, at times, act as a parental figure to the younger kids? Yes. Do I sometimes wish that things could be different? Also, yes. But the fact of the matter is that they aren’t different. We’ve made do with what we have. And Dad, what we have is an abundance of love.

Each and every one of us has had to make sacrifices because of our circumstances. But you lost the love of your life. You made one of the biggest sacrifices a parent can make by setting aside your grief to make sure our family didn’t fall apart. None of us can fault you for doing what needed to be done.”

He sighed, squeezing my hand back gently and brushing away the tears that threatened to track down his cheeks.

“When did you get so wise?” he asked with a sad chuckle.

I laughed back, swiping at my own tears. “I don’t know, but lately I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of crying, and I’d like for that to stop.”

“Mija, I’m so proud of you. I hope you know that.”

“I know, Dad.”

I stood from the table, walked over, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before heading toward the stairs. I was emotionally wrung out after the week I’d had, and my bed was calling my name. After all, each day I laid my head down and closed my eyes, I was one day closer to Wade coming home.

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I turned with my hand on the banister.

“Hey, Dad?”

“¿Qué, mija?”

“I think Izzy needs to hear that you’re proud of her, too.”

He nodded softly, pulling the plate back in front of him and picking at the leftovers. I could see the wheels turning in his head, digesting my words, but that wasn’t my battle to fight.

I’d opened the conversation, and that would have to do for now. The ball was in their court, and I hoped their relationship wasn’t too far broken to be mended.

WADE

I had come to the conclusion that therapy was the universe’s way of taking everything that was weighing you down, amplifying it by a hundred, and shoving it back down your throat for you to choke on.

I’d spent the last two weeks talking about my feelings more often than I had in my entire life.