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I gaze down at the picture—my father holding me in his arms wearing a proud smile—and I can’t help but wonder if my mother felt proud of me then too. If she ever did. Was it my depression that ruined it, or was she incapable of loving me all along?
James holds up my parents’ wedding album. “Maybe your mother would like to have this.”
I shrug. “It’s not like she wanted it back then.”
“Maybe she feels differently now. Maybe she wishes she didn’t give it all up.”
I roll my eyes. “Then she shouldn’t have been such a cold bitch.”
James sets down the album and takes my hands in his. “I know she hurt you, and I hate the way she treated you when you needed her the most. But maybe it isn’t the end of your relationship. She might regret the things she said.”
I grunt. “Or she might still be stubborn as she always was.”
“She might. But you never know until you try.” He presses a kiss to the top of my hand. “Her and your brother are the only family you have. If they see the strong, capable, healthy woman you are now, you can change their minds about how they see you. About depression.” He shrugs. “I think it’s worth a shot.”
I gaze into his sincere eyes and lift my hand to his cheek. “I appreciate you for pushing me to talk to my family.”
“But?”
“But I’m not sure I can do it.”
“And that’s okay. It’s your decision, and I will stand by you in whatever you decide. But I want you to be happy, and I know you’d be happy if you had a relationship with your mom and your brother. I’d hate to see you not have that opportunity because you’re too scared to try.”
I nod. “I just don’t know that it’s possible to have the kind of relationship I’d want.”
“Maybe you need to let go of the expectations, and just let it be whatever kind of relationship it’s going to be. Maybe something is better than nothing at all.”
We let the conversation stop there, and we continue sorting through the pictures.
Going through my father’s things helps heal a cracked piece of my heart. By the time his closet is empty, I’m fifty dollars richer.
The man was hoarding three hundred and sixty-eight Lifesavers.
Later that night, I’m lying in bed thinking about what James said earlier. After two years in therapy, I’m definitely stronger and wiser than I’ve ever been. I’m a different person within my sameness. And in therapy, Dr. Erica taught me to push myself through the uncomfortable and vulnerable parts of life. She’d say, “Getting to the other side of that hurdle is how we grow. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it to push yourself to be a better version of yourself and do the things you didn’t think you could do.”
Maybe reaching out to my mother is my next hurdle. Whether she answers or not, I can still feel peace knowing that I tried.
So, I pull out my notebook and start writing.
Dear Mom,
I don’t know if you’ll even read this. There’s a chance you ripped it up and threw it in the trash without opening it. But knowing that there’s a chance you might read it—that you mightwantto read it—is what’s driving me to write this letter to you.
I want to start by saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I put you through. It must’ve been really difficult to raise a daughter with depression, and not know what to do to help her. You must’ve been really worried about my well-being and my future. And you must’ve been terrified when you found me on the floor in the bathroom the day I tried to take my own life. I wish I could’ve been better for you. I wish I could’ve been an easier child. I wish I could’ve made you proud like Tyler always did.
Do you ever wish you could’ve been better for me?
I wish you could’ve tried harder to understand what I was going through. I wish you could’ve loved me unconditionally. Maybe then I would’ve known it was okay to love myself. But we can only do what we’re capable of, and what you gave me was all you could. For that, I forgive you.
I got out of therapy in November. I’ve been living at the shore house, and I’m doing really well. I’ve been going through Dad’s things. I came across this photo album and thought you might like to have it.
Maybe you’d like to have me back in your life too.
I’d love to hear from you.
—Phoenix
I seal the letter with the album in a large envelope, and write a similar one to Tyler, enclosing a picture of us dressed up as Mario and Luigi on Halloween.
