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“I knew I was going to lose her eventually. I was lucky she got to meet Emmie, and maybe it gave me a false sense of hope because I let myself believe she’d be there to see me get married. I wanted her at our wedding. I want her there. And now—”
“She’ll be there. She’ll be at our wedding. I don’t care if I have to hire someone to care for her just for the day. She’ll be there.”
“I appreciate that, but it doesn’t guarantee anything. We don’t know what will happen, and I—I’m not ready for this. I can’t do it. I can’t keep losing the people I love. It’ll break me.” She fists my shirt, then yanks her head up to look at me. “I want to die first.”
“What?” I sputter.
Her lip trembles as she looks up at me, her seafoam eyes a stunning aquamarine color now.
“I hope I don’t end up with dementia and we have a long and happy life together, but whenever the moment comes, I want to die first. I’ve lost too much, and I don’t want to go through losing you.”
My chest hurts at the thought of either of us losing each other.
“Okay.” My voice cracks. The thought of losing her is unbearable, but I’d face that pain a thousand times if it meant she didn’t have to. “Okay, you can die first. When we’re both old and sick, I promise to hold your hand and make sure you know how loved you are as you go. I’ll say goodbye to you. But then I’m going too, because I’m not interested in living without you.”
She collapses against my chest, sobbing again, and I hold her tighter than I’ve ever held her before, trying to give her even an ounce of peace. Safety. Love. I’d keep her like this forever if it would protect her from this pain. But her gut-wrenching sobs tell me nothing will, so I press my lips into her temple and comb my fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her however I can.
I’m still a little shocked, and I don’t know what to do except try to comfort her. Which is exactly why I promised to let her die first. Logically, I know I can’t guarantee that, but it’s my new goal in life. I don’t want her to suffer any more pain or loss than she has to. I don’t want to lose her, but I’d rather suffer that pain than have her suffer it yet again. She’s lost enough. She deserves to find things now. Like peace and joy.
In time, her sobs dissipate, and she’s left with long shuddering breaths as she tries to breathe normally again. She wiggles in my arms, and I loosen my grip, giving her the space to do what she needs.
Wiping her face, she looks up at me, eyes still shimmering, then huffs out a breath. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“I think you’re hurting.”
She nods slowly, then laughs. “God, I’m a mess. This… this chaotic, throwing things—that’s how I used to be. When I was a preteen and a teenager, breaking shit and screaming made me feel better. Mom and I would fight or I’d have a bad day at school, and that’s how I let it out. Even after my dad got sick, I let my pain out by screaming and crying. I waited until he and mom were gone at an appointment or something, and then I’d let it out. After he died, I threw a bottle of nail polish at the mirror in the bathroom. It broke. Mom came in and said it was an ugly mirror anyway.” She laughs, then sniffs again. “When everything happened with my mom, I stopped doing that. I stepped into being the adult who handled everything and locked all my emotions away. It’s no wonder I feel so broken now. All the things I didn’t allow to get to me were just waiting to spill out. All those jagged edges and broken pieces.”
“It’s okay to let it out. It’s okay to be angry and throw shit. I’d prefer not breaking things in the house, but we can go in the woods at the farmhouse, or hell, I’ll rent you one of those rooms where you can just go break shit. It’s okay to have a visceral reaction to excruciating pain. For the record, I’d rather hold you while you sob on the floor than watch you push things down and try to deal with them alone.”
She meets my gaze, face softening, and brushes her knuckles over my cheek. “I like it better when you hold me too. You’re the reason I could break like that. The reason I felt safe enough to. Thank you for forcing me to see that I don’t have to suffer alone anymore.” She takes a long breath, in and out. “I feel better now. Everything isn’t sitting inside me anymore, pressurizing and waiting to go off. And I feel more like myself. The person I used to be. You help me find those pieces of myself again, and even in the midst of this pain, I feel better, freer, than I have in years.”
Tears well in my eyes. She’s grown and opened up like a beautiful flower. Maybe I gave her the safety to do it, but it was still her choice, and I’m proud of her. I’m proud I get to be the one to hold her hand through it all.
“I’m glad,” I whisper, kissing her temple.
She rests her head against my chest again, just breathing, trying to even it out again.
After a few minutes, she looks down at her stomach. “God, I feel like I ran a marathon. I’m starving.”
I chuckle at that. “We have some gnocchi in the freezer. I can—”
“Will you make gnocchi mac and cheese?” Her eyes are big and childlike.
“Yes, sweetness. Whatever you want.”
“Thank you. I’ll check on Emmie. See who’s still here.”
Before she can get up, I pull her tight to me again. “I love you. I’m proud of you.”
She spins in my arms, wrapping her body around mine, and softly kisses me. “I love you too.”
Amelia
I haven’t had an outburst like that in a long time. It was cathartic, even if the raw vulnerability afterward made me a little uncomfortable. Of course, Miles’s reaction washed all that discomfort away. Having him as a partner has helped me both find myself again and get through these difficult times.
The situation with my mom hasn’t changed in the last few hours, but I feel better, and that’s half the battle. Letting my emotions out beats keeping them pent up and letting them hurt me over and over. A year ago, I was heading toward my worst emotional place and locking those feelings up is all I wanted to do. I’m proud of the work I’ve done on myself that let me process things this time, even if it was messy.
I finish making the bed, then head across the hall to Emmie’s room. There I find Andy asleep on the trundle bed next to her crib, and Katie curled up in the rocker. Andy has a comforter pulled over him and is snoring softly. He sleeps on his back, one arm over his head. Just like Miles.
