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Some days are harder than others. I wish I could say this experience healed me, made me realize how special and precious life is, and that I’m traveling the world and telling my story to help heal the masses now, but it would be a lie.
More fictional than any of my novels.
Most days, it’s hard to get out of bed. But I do. Declan comes over to visit now. We’re speaking again. Trying again. Things aren’t fixed between us—they never will be. Not because I don’t forgive him, but because the pain between us is a deeper rift than could ever be mended. There’s too much pain and loss in the space that separates us.
When he isn’t here, Kassara is. She makes sure I eat, that I continue to stay away from the alcohol—maybe the one good thing that came out of this whole ordeal—brings me my laptop when I feel like writing, and helps me into my wheelchair when I feel like leaving the house.
Not that that’s often.
I guess, in a way, I’ve been punishing myself over the years for what Liam did. That’s the one thing I’ve learned in my group. That because my son’s last choice was a horrible, incomprehensible one, I’ve stayed in this town, in this house, isolating myself from everyone in order to absolve him of his punishment.
But I didn’t make Liam’s choices.
I’ll never understand why he did, and I’ll both hate and love him every day for the rest of my life because of it. That’s my burden—loving someone capable of monstrous things.
Still, I’m trying to move past it. Not move on, because that’s impossible. Just move forward. I’m trying to write again, and if you’re reading this, it means I have. It means I was finally brave enough to face the fear and tell my story.
It’s not easy—life isn’t easy. And I certainly don’t ask for your sympathy or kindness. I just wanted the story they tell about my life to be mine.
Not the media’s, and certainly not Chris’s. I’ve heard they’re making a documentary about his life and death. Watch it if you want to, but I’m sure they’ll butcher it.
Whether or not the media accepts it, only two people truly know what went on in that room—him and me.
And, well… I guess if I ever work up the nerve to publish this… If you’re reading this somehow, now you know the truth, too.
