by L. U. Ann
“Honey, age doesn’t matter.” He tries to convince me to believe. I take in the man who raised me, who I have loved all my life. With my insides shaking, I realize sometimes you must love yourself more and let go of the people who bring you down so that you can move on. For the health of my sanity, it just might be the best thing I can do for myself. If I don’t witness his inexcusable acts, then it won’t upset me. Perhaps Lane had it right all along distancing herself from his destruction. Although, if he’s still in my life, I can potentially save another life from being hurt. Shaking my head, I place my head in my hands and consider whether I tell him I’m expecting. No, he doesn’t need to know. His previous statement comes to mind, and I roll my eyes—age doesn’t matter. Bullshit.
“When you have someone younger than your youngest daughter moving in as a girlfriend, it’s kind of gross, Dad.” I shiver in disgust.
“She’s an old soul and reminds me so much of your mom.” Fuck you! I scream in my head.
Quickly swallowing after my stomach lurches, I stand. “Dad, thank you for bringing over the pictures, I’ll make sure Lane gets her copy.” He doesn’t realize we are getting ready to say goodbye forever. I don’t owe him an explanation. He isn’t the man I thought he was when I was growing up. I had blinders on apparently. He has done some vicious acts, made destructive choices, and having a relationship with him only solidifies my acceptance. Now he’s chosen yet another path that I do not condone or do I want to be a part of—I can no longer have my father in my life. I have to embrace the fact that I have now lost two parents. One I never had, the other I failed. Placing a hand on my stomach, I think to myself that my children will only ever have one set of grandparents from now on.
“Okay, I should probably get going. Bye, Sweet Pea.” I hug myself as he says goodbye to Evan. He has not seen him in three months. Between my mental battles of guilt, Caine abducting Evan from our home, and then Devon’s injuries, we have not had much opportunity to visit my father. I have been very angry with him. Now that Lane is not speaking to him, I feel guilty, as if I am betraying my mom for even speaking with him. I am so lost and have no idea what is right. So much has happened. My silence and choices have caused so much pain. I need to find a release. Evan hugs his Papa and waves for possibly the last time. This loss does not hurt nearly as bad as losing Mom. Why could it not have been him? I know that is horrible to think, but he honestly does not have any moral qualities to offer society. Please, God, forgive me for my irrational thoughts.
Once the door closes, and he is out of my space, a sense of relief washes over me. “Lacey, honey...” Devon softens. I hold my palm up needing a moment to gather my senses about me. Too much just happened in my head to talk to anyone.
“Lacey, Sweetie.” Devon tries again. I shake my head.
“No, Devon. Please understand I just lost both my parents. I need a moment to myself.” I run and throw myself on the bed to hide from the world. I could care less right now about losing my father. It was the hope that he had loved us, hope that he couldn’t be the person he truly was, and hope that he could change. It’s that hope I’ve just lost. I have no control over how he will treat any of us. The only control I do possess is for him not to hurt my family or me again. But what if severing ties with my father causes history to repeat itself? Will I be able to live with more guilt? Dammit!
My fingers dig into the comforter to grasp the woven material. I need something to grab hold and squeeze to release the pain, the agony, and the ‘what ifs’ running rampant. Why… Why did Mom have to die? I miss her so much and want her back. Why does no one understand how hard this is for me? I should have saved her!
I’m frozen inside with only the sea of darkness to drown me in regret and guilt. No matter how hard I try, I’m losing myself to the murkiness of sorrow. I should be somewhat happier having Devon here. God knows I’m grateful, but the shameful fact that I failed a life overshadows the happiness. My insides crumble into pain.
Why could I not put my feelings aside, knowing she had needed help? Why could I not be the strong person she had needed? Why did I not run out of the house that evening and engulf her in a hug when I knew she just needed someone else to make the first step? Taking my fist, I pound the bed. It is not fucking fair! I cannot allow my father to have a relationship with Evan because I have to protect him. This cycle of abuse must be broken. It ends here. Never again will my father have a child or grandchild whom he could harm. God dammit, why could it not have been him? “WHY?”
A gentle hand rubs my back. “Lacey, I love you so much. I’m sorry you’re hurting.” He pauses, still rubbing my back. “It hurts to see you torture yourself like this. I know you’ve been trying to be strong and tough for everyone around you, but I think maybe it’s time you allow someone to be strong for you.” The mattress dips and I can feel his head lying on top of my back as he tries to comfort my trembling body. My emotions are running all over the place, so much so that I cannot find it in me to thank Devon for being here for me. He is an amazing man but the pain and guilt resurfaces. My father brings such evil with him.
I cry harder and silently say, “Mom, I wish you were here. I wish I could go back in time. I cannot let go of the fact that I caused this.” I would be a monster just like my father if I ever allowed myself to let go of the guilt. I refuse to be so self-absorbed. How can he act as if it’s no big deal that his wife died four months ago? What the hell is wrong with him? I hate him. I hate him for putting my mom through hell and not having the decency to take his daughters’ feelings into consideration when putting her ashes out on the water.
Another fucking woman has taken up the spot where my mom used to sleep. She’s tarnished what my mom had. How can he do this? How can he do it so soon?
“Honey, I love you more than anything. I do not want you to be mad at me when I say this. I’m only saying it because I love you.” I roll over, too confused to understand what he is saying. He takes hold of my hand. “Lacey, so much has happened in the last month. More than any can bear, and that is why I think that maybe you should talk to someone about all of these feelings. You are beating yourself up, and I cannot sit back and watch it any longer. It is breaking my heart to see you tearing yourself apart. You had the one therapy session before Maine. I think it’s time for you to go back or maybe see a new one.”
I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling fan. Do I need to relieve myself of the psychoanalysis that consumes my thoughts? They are not going to bring my mom back. With all the regret fondling my mind, it is hard to celebrate the new life growing within me. Our baby. I am so sad he or she will never meet her. Letting out the breath I have unconsciously been holding, I give into my husband’s wishes. I turn to look down where he lays his head on my stomach caressing it. I run my fingers through his hair. There is so much to be grateful for, so why can I not be happy?
“Okay.” I speak knowing it is best for all of us.
He gives me a tight smile and closes his eyes as if he is thankful for my answer. We lie quietly looking into each other’s eyes. Tears still fall slowly. My eyes are so tired. My mind is exhausted. I’m tired of feeling this way. I am exhausted from assuring others everything is okay. I just want to miss my mom without people looking at me with pity. I am so sorry, God, for feeling sorry for myself. You gave me back Devon and greedily, I beg you to give me my mom, too. I am sorry for being so selfish.
“Mommeee! Dedadeee!” Evan shouts running into the bedroom. I smile as my little man tries to climb on the bed. Giving Devon a small smile, he moves so that I can get Evan ready for bed.
“Is Mommy going to read you a story tonight?” I ask my blond-haired prince.
“Dedadee dee dee,” Evan continues to sing. I guess I am chopped liver.
“Okay, let Mommy help you change and brush your teeth and I’m sure someone,” I nod toward Devon, “might be able to read you a story about trains.” With big eyes, Evan turns on his heels going into his room ready to begin our nightly routi
ne.
“Devon, do you want me to help you to bed before I get Evan ready?”
“No, sweetheart. I’ve got this. Every day I am getting better. Look,” he begins to lift his bad arm and just before I say something, “Okay, okay. I see that look. Go help Evan and bring him back with whatever book he wants me to read him. I’ll be careful.” He says before I gently kiss the love of my life.
I lay in bed, unable to sleep replaying the words my father said earlier this evening over and over. What the hell is his problem?
The bathroom calls as it frequently does lately. I do not remember having to pee this often with Evan. It seems like I am always in the bathroom nowadays. I turn toward the clock—three o’ five in the middle of the freaking night. Ugh, I had better visit the bathroom so maybe I can fall asleep.
After I freshen up, and even though it isn’t the smartest thing in the world to do, I head to the kitchen to help myself to a glass of water. Pulling the glass out of the cupboard, my eyes land on the folder and box by the front door illuminated by the moon’s light. I stare at it, strumming my fingertips on the glass, unsure what I want to do. My father has already fucked up my head tonight keeping me from sleep, so I might as well see what is in the folder and box.
Glass in hand, I flip the light switch and walk over to the box. Deciding perhaps that the folder is all I can handle tonight, I chose to only tackle reading what’s inside it. Setting it on the bar, I take a deep breath at the possibility of opening Pandora’s Box, or folder in this case. It’s best to deal with this on my own. So with Devon asleep in bed, I proceed.
A low, long sigh escapes me. I still cannot get over the fact that he did not consider Lane and me participating in the release of our mom’s ashes. That’s like a funeral.
I open the blue folder and pull out the first paper. There are four images with a typed message.
My Darling Alexa,
Today, I’m here in the Gulf of Mexico to keep the promise that I made to you many years ago. Beloved daughter, sister, wife, mother, and friend. You were the light in our world. You gave us so much joy and happiness, yet asked for very little in return. You will always be remembered and never forgotten.
I, therefore, commit the body of Alexa Lane Edwards to the deep. There she will remain until the end of time when the sea shall give up her dead.
May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you always.
In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen
My eyes continue with the words. What the fuck is that? ‘There she will remain until the end of time when the sea shall give up her dead?’ What the hell does that fucking mean? My blood begins to boil. How dare he give this to me. Two photos of him holding MY MOM’S ashes, what was left of her. He is holding... Not Lane or me. I can almost see a smile hinted on his face. Fucking asshole.
I look over the other two pictures. The third shows the water as it takes my mom out to sea. The outline almost looks like an angel spreading her wings. The picture comforts me a little, but then— Then it dawns on me. My aunt was there. He used my aunt’s boat. How fucking inconsiderate could these people be? Quickly, I look at the fourth picture of a wreath consisting of my mom’s favorite rose—Ambiance. The yellow rose with coral tips were always growing in the garden beds of each home we lived in.
Disgusted, I move onto the other contents in the folder. A brochure. Take Steps to Help Save Lives, Out of the Darkness Community Walks. I drop it from my fingers with my heart pounding. Forget getting any sleep tonight. Is he telling me I should help save lives from committing suicide? Tears threaten at the possible hidden message. Please tell me I am wrong. Oh, my God, he would not be so cruel, would he?
Ignoring my feelings, I pick up a paper—It’s Not Your Fault If They Die. What the hell is his problem? YES, IT IS, I scream to myself. Not wanting Devon to wake up, I try to keep my cries quiet. I hope the pain medicine Devon is taking will keep him deep in slumber. It’s only been six weeks since the plane crash and his body is progressively healing.
I read over the information. Basically, this is telling me to remember it’s not my fault for my own sake. Oh, I am sorry. For the betterment of my own wellbeing, let me not address the fucking elephant in the room. Let us sweep this under the rug and pretend life is all rainbows and butterflies because guess what, IT IS NOT MY FAULT.
I have two words for this shit, FUCK YOU! Gathering the papers, I throw everything back into the folder and take it over to the box.
Curious, I peek under the lid to see what is inside. Oh, my goodness. These are my mom’s things. With two hands on the lid and a deep sigh, I lift the lid exposing the contents. Tears run freely as I lift my mom’s purse. He gave me my mom’s purse! I kneel on the floor, bring it to my nose, and inhale. It smells like her. How can something hold its scent for months while she has been gone? I never want to forget this smell. I hold it tight to my chest and rock myself to find a sense of comfort. I am so sorry, Mom. I am so sorry. I continue to chant.
Throwing my head back, I close my eyes trying to will away the emotional pain of never seeing my mom. I know she died. I just have not come to terms with it. I do not know if I ever can. Lane and I are motherless daughters. I am a motherless, guilty daughter.
Her purse was hidden from us all those months ago when Lane and I were searching for answers. I wonder if there is anything in here. I pull out her eyeglass case and practically fall to pieces over her sunglasses. Sunglasses! Oh, Mom, I miss you so much. My heart aches. My cheeks flush with fever.
Next is her wallet. Her driver’s license, credit cards, insurance cards are all in the very place she last placed them. I run my fingers over the top of each peeking out of its compartment, knowing her fingers were here before mine. I close my eyes and say a quick prayer that she is okay and not in pain any longer.
I close her wallet and return it to where it belongs. My fingers find one of my mom’s most precious items in here—her Day-Timer. I smile, remembering she wouldn’t be caught without it. Oh, she was so organized. I bet she is so disappointed in my lack of tidiness. My hand comes up to my mouth. I smile. I smile at something about Mom. Oh, God! Now I am that much guiltier. How can I smile when she is gone? When I caused it? I clutch her calendar between both hands and begin to rock again. Pulling it back, I look through blurry vision at the life in which my mom lived. When it was scheduled, defined, and living among the rest of us.
Nothing but doctor’s appointment after doctor’s appointment found listed. Why could the doctors not fix her? They are supposed to take care of people. Just before closing it, I catch a glimpse of paper. Opening it, I read a note in my father’s handwriting:
I always wanted to be successful. I wanted to give you and the girls everything all of you wanted. But I continue to self-destruct, to destroy all my best laid plans. I would never allow myself to be just happy with what I was doing or had. I dwelled on the past disasters and continued to let them ruin anything I tried in the future without regard to you or the girls.
Hell yes, you did!
I tried to blame it all on someone else or something else. I would never stand up to anyone or any situation. I would run away from confrontations. I thought I would come out of the bad situation if I ignored it and let someone else solve it for me. I would blow up everyday problems into unsurmountable problems. I never enjoyed solving them myself.
We were the ones to clean up your messes and then you treated us awful!
I would shun away from people. I was a loner. I could not feel good in crowds or at parties. I turned my back on everyone that mattered. I would give more of my attention to strangers than to my own family. Where did all this come from? Why, when I know what to do right, I would rather do what was wrong? I have no moral values.
No, you don’t, and it’s clearly evident now!
I have no family values.
Agreed!
I would not even help my daughters when they so desperately needed me. I
was never there for anyone. Yet after all that I have done, my wife and family were always there to help me and be there for me.
We should have left you. My mom would still be alive if we were smarter and had left you!
Why? I can’t understand why I wasn’t thrown out of the house and told never to return. I deserve the worst punishment you can think of. I do not deserve to even be allowed around. Everyone would be so much better off if I would just disappear off the earth. I was too tight with money. I never allowed my family to get what they so much deserved, much less wanted. My family has wasted so much of their lives on me. I can’t stand to think about it. They have given me every opportunity to change. I thought I could, but then the evil thoughts would return, and I would be back where I started, in trouble. I need help.
You need more than just help!
I need for once in my life to seek the kind of help that makes me realize how I can really change my thinking, my actions, and my life.
What the hell? He knows he is fucked up and did not get help. He knowingly continued to put Mom through hell and then told her she should just do it and get it over. My bottom sinks to the floor as the weighted reality becomes clear. He is the reason she is dead.
I am not sure how long I sit staring at the letter in a daze. Time pauses while my mind tries to unscramble the pain of putting her in his hands. It has numbed me.
Just before I deftly place everything back, my fingers slide, revealing another note.
Ten years and five months ago, I met the perfect girl. She was smart, beautiful, and above all, loving!
Oh, my God! I am so not reading another one of his fucked up notes. I fold the papers and put them where I found them. I cannot read that. I have heard how vibrant my mom was when she was younger. Where did she go? He killed her bit by bit every day. I refuse to allow that to happen to me, to Evan, or to this little one. My hand covers my stomach. Yeah, I think it is time to say goodbye to my father. For good.