Page 73 of Ardently Yours

“I did.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. I don’t know what to say.

He breaks the silence first. “I’m sorry, Will.”

I need to process his words, but I don’t know how. I listen and let him continue.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been so hard on you. I know you’ve always been passionate. For so long, I wanted you to be passionate about the things that I was passionate about. I spent so much time pushing you away. I didn’t know any other way because my father did the same thing to me. But lately I’ve been wondering if maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong. These months without you here have been hard, son. I thought I’d be okay once you left, and I was for about a day or two. And your mom... she’s tried to be strong, but I can tell she misses you. Your sister too.”

Georgiana gives me a look that confirms it. I reach for her, and she steps between Mom and me, taking one of each of our hands while I hold on to Dad’s hand with my other hand.

Dad continues, “But I knew that the only person keeping you away from home was me. Being in this hospital bed has given me a lot to think about during the times I’m awake.” He laughs a little. “It’s taught me that life is not a guarantee. Anything could happen, and I was sitting here allowing stupid things to keep my family apart.”

His words sink in and I don’t interrupt him. Tears fall down my cheek and I let them.

He says, “For that, I am sorry. I’m sorry that it took me so long to see you for the man that you are and to tell you that I understand if you don’t want to work at the company and if you don’t want to live at home anymore. I just ask that you don’t erase us from your life.”

The tears flow a little more freely. Something in me breaks and is mended all at once. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding onto. How much I stayed away from home because I resented my dad and the pressure he put on me.

And I realize how much pressure I put on myself too. I spent my childhood trying to be perfect. Trying to be who he wanted me to be. Then I spent part of my adulthood doing the same thing until I couldn’t do it anymore.

But then I realized I was being selfish. I ran away to start over. But I left my family behind.

How unfair is that? To just leave something unfinished. Unhealed.

My whole family is crying in the hospital room now. Mom and Georgiana are sniffling, standing near me. We still hold hands.

I think of Psalm 56:8: Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?

It amazes me that even in this, I feel comforted. My tears don’t feel shameful or filled with regret.

It feels like this moment has been a long time coming. And I know that God is at the center of it all.

I let the tears fall, trusting that God is collecting my tears. That He is healing my family’s brokenness. That He is wrapping His arms around us in this room.

“I’m sorry too,” Mom cries. “For not speaking up sooner, for letting my family fall apart, and for pushing my son away. I just want us to be a family again. I want you to be happy, Will.”

“I forgive you, Dad,” I say, wiping my tears away. “I forgive you too, Mom. And I’m sorry. To all of you. For leaving and for hating you all for not accepting me for me. I think I had good intentions, but I went about it the wrong way. It’s true that I don’t want to work at the company. But I don’t want to lose my family. And, I think I’m back home for good now.”

“What?” Georgiana asks, wiping her tears away. “I’m sorry too, by the way. But most importantly, why are you not going back to Selah Falls?”

“I have nothing to go back to, Gia.”

Georgiana looks at me with wide eyes, like she’s about to lose her mind. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Lizzie,” she states matter-of-factly.

“Lizzie?” Dad asks. “Who is Lizzie?”

I look at Dad, then my mom and sister. They both shrug and look pointedly at me. I sigh, knowing I have to be the one to tell him.

I say, “There’s a girl.”

“Not a girl. A woman. Named Lizzie,” Georgiana adds.

I glare at her, so she throws up her hands and lets me finish.