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Tears stung my eyes. “I know I can’t change anything. I tried as hard as I could to help him, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough to make either of my parents stay.”
“Stop telling yourself that you aren’t enough. Stop telling yourself that you don’t deserve anything. You could have died in that car when you crashed. Someone rescued you. Someone gave you a second chance at your life. You are free now. So, your mother, wherever she is, can go screw herself! Take the good memories of your father and keep them in your heart forever. But stop feeling sorry for yourself, because you are free!” She was crying as she screamed the truth at me.
The impact of her words hit me like a wave, the kind that stuns you and knocks you off of your feet. It sounded insensitive – almost callous – to tell someone that she was free of her burdensome father now that he was dead. But I understood what it truly meant. Though I was heartbroken that he was gone, it was even more heartbreaking to watch him die inside while he was still alive. Shelly endured everything I had gone through in my life, and she knew better than anyone how it felt. Only she could say this to me.
I sobbed as I finally allowed myself to consciously admit that it was time to let go of it all – that it was relieving to no longer have the responsibility of a caretaker.
“You know I’m right. All the guilt is weighing you down, like an anchor. You need to let that go. You’re going to drown if you don’t.”
“Who feels glad that her parent is dead? I failed him. I tried to make him better, but I failed.”
“You did not fail him. It was not your job to make him better. Nobody could make him better. He was sick. You’re not glad that he’s dead. You’re relieved that you don’t have to go through that torture anymore. It’s a normal reaction. People go through this all the time with sick parents. This is how you embrace your freedom. This is how you begin to climb out of your depression. This is how you can finally live the life you have always wanted.”
I knew she was right. There was nothing I could do to help my father, and I had tried everything. I had given up important years of my life, devoted to trying to make him happy and sane. It was too big for me. Sometimes, you can’t help the people you love. It wasn’t me who wasn’t enough. Sometimes, love isn’t enough.
“And you’re forgetting one very important detail about that day at the Grand Canyon,” she continued. “Don’t you remember how you got around the side of that rock?”
I nodded. “You.”
“Me. I got you through it. I always will.”
She sat with me as I cried. As much as I hated crying, it felt like a weight was being lifted off of my entire being. They say admitting something is the first step to recovering from an addiction. Guilt is as strong an addiction as any; she forces your mind to become her handmaiden, creating thoughts and emotions that validate and perpetuate her. I felt guilt for my mother leaving; I felt guilt for not being able to fix my father’s problems; I felt guilt for driving drunk; I felt guilt for destroying the car my father and I had built together; I felt guilt for feeling sadness. One thing lead to the next, and soon there were bridges connecting all thoughts and emotions, leading them back to the fortress of guilt. I had my time to wallow in it, but now it had begun to fill up my lungs and I was drowning in it. I could let myself sink, tied to the sandbags of depression, being dragged further and further down into to the depths. But Shelly had just handed me the knife, and all I had to do was cut myself free. I could fight my way to the surface.
I cried until the tears ran dry. Shelly eventually passed out next to me, and two hours later, I was awakening from a nap, too. Quietly, I tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door. My eyes were red and puffy as I faced myself in the mirror. I tore everything off, let down my hair, and stepped into the shower. I let the cool water beat down onto my face while I sat at the bottom of the shower.
Chase flashed through my mind. He, too, would experience the way it feels to live a grief-stricken life. He will bear witness to the deterioration of his father, as well as carry the grief of his mother, and his family. I imagined what he would be like, and it broke my heart. I would not want him to give into the sadness and despair. I would not want him to be devoid of happiness and love. So, if I did not want that for him, why did I accept that fate for myself? Why did I think I was undeserving of anything good? Why could I take care of others so easily, but refuse to even try to care for myself? Questions swarmed my mind throughout my shower. When I turned off the water and stepped out onto the bathmat, a noise startled me out of my thoughts. I wrapped the towel around my body, and walked down the hallway as my hair dripped behind me.
“Dude, we totally passed out,” I called to Shelly. “I can’t remember the last time I cried like that.” When I reached the living room, I let out a shriek. “What the hell are you doing in here?!”
Chase, who was sitting on my couch – not Shelly – jumped up. “I’m sorry! Shelly let me in when she was leaving.”
I tightened the bath towel around me, clutching it to my body. “You can’t just come in here while I’m in the shower!”
“I didn’t know you were in the shower until I was already inside.”
“Turn around! Get out of here!”
He walked slowly with a smirk. “You’re all covered. There’s nothing to see.”
“Just go! And stop smiling!”
His smirk turned into a grin. “I’m sorry. I came to see if you needed anything.”
“And you couldn’t have sent that in a text?” I began pushing him towards the door.
He spun around to face me. “I mean, I already saw you. You might as well let me stay at this point.”
“You are so–”
“Charming? Handsome? Wonderful?”
“More like aggravating.” I stormed back down the hallway and locked the bedroom door behind me.
9
Safe in My Castle
“Merry!” squealed the tiny blonde human behind the Brooks’ giant door.
