I'll See You Again

by Jackie Hance

  Before Kasey, I had gone to visit the girls four or five times a week, but it was emotionally exhausting. The previous Mother’s Day while I was pregnant, I brought a chair to the cemetery and sat for six hours, reading to the girls, decorating their headstones, and telling them stories. When I left, I got back in the car and wailed and screamed so loudly that the car rocked.

  When I arrived now on this late December day, I picked up some of the gifts and flowers and trinkets people had left since my last visit. No snow had fallen and the season had been warmer than usual, but the ground still felt hard and brittle. The Christmas decorations could stay up a little longer, until it was time to redecorate for Valentine’s Day.

  Jeannine kept one bin in her garage with all the decorations that I used and reused, and another bin where I brought all the Barbies, charm bracelets, clothes, and magazines that people laid at their headstones. I no longer let the girls’ things pile up at the cemetery for the groundskeepers to handle, but I didn’t want to be the one to throw anything away, either. What Jeanne did with the gift bin, I never asked.

  This was the first year that I hadn’t bought huge passels of Christmas gifts for the girls. Instead, I added up what I might have spent and made a contribution to the foundation.

  In all my visits to the cemetery, I never went to Diane’s side of the plot. I just glanced over in anger.

  But now, for some reason, on this December afternoon, I walked slowly over to Diane’s grave. Diane, my sister-in-law. Diane, the woman who killed my girls. I stared at the headstone for a while and rubbed the toe of my boot against the brittle earth. I thought about an inspirational guru I’d seen on Oprah that morning who said that hate is so powerful and destructive, it overwhelms any chance for love. Then I thought about Kasey, my baby at home, who deserved a mother who loved her with a full heart.

  To do that, I suddenly understood that I needed to reconcile some of my emotions.

  You can’t love and hate at the same time, I thought. You can’t be happy and angry at the same time.

  If I continued to hate Diane, I risked depriving Kasey of the intense and pure love that I wanted to give her. And if I didn’t let go of the unrelenting fury I felt, I couldn’t move forward in my own life with happiness and joy.

  I knew better than anyone how little influence we have over the direction our lives take. Whether you call it destiny or fate or the randomness of the universe, some things happen for reasons that we can’t begin to understand. Trying to exert control over the events of our lives is ultimately a fool’s game. All we can truly master is our own responses.

  Hating Diane no longer felt right. Diane was more than the depraved person that everyone made her out to be. She loved me and Warren and the girls. She had loved her own children. Until she drove the wrong way on the Taconic Parkway, everyone who knew her would have said she was a caring mother, aunt, sister, sister-in-law, and friend. Someone to be trusted. Did she have hidden demons that none of us saw? I don’t know, but who doesn’t have demons? Despite the intense scrutiny of her life and character after the accident, nothing diabolic had emerged to explain the horrors she had caused.

  You can’t love and hate at the same time.

  I stepped a little closer to the headstone and, for the first time ever, reached out to touch it.

  “I don’t know why you did this, Diane,” I said in a small voice.

  I let my hand rest on the stone. I traced a pattern with my finger across the top. I thought about Kasey and wanting to love again. I thought about how sad it made Warren that I didn’t hug him anymore. I thought of my own heart, which, instead of being a bright red valentine, had become encased in steel and ice.

  This is so weird, I thought. But I suddenly knew what I needed to say.

  “I’ll never know what happened that day,” I said, my voice louder. “But I always loved you, Diane. I still love you. And I forgive you.”

  No bolt of lightning came down from the sky and no crack opened up in the earth. If Diane, or God, or my angels in heaven heard me, they gave no sign.

  Or maybe they did, because I felt an almost physical change once the words were out. The cold, clammy hand of hate that had been squeezing my chest suddenly seemed to loosen its grip.

  “I forgive you,” I said again.

  I lingered at the headstone for another moment, then I walked slowly away, feeling an unexpected lightness. The weight of anger that I had been dragging around like so much concrete didn’t seem to be pulling me down with quite the same force. Trying to build a future with love was more important than holding on to the past with hate.

  • • •

  When I got home, I didn’t tell Warren about my experience at the cemetery, and though I usually shared every passing thought with my friends, I avoided the topic with them, too. Forgiveness is a very private event. I hadn’t done it for public consumption. And I wanted to see how I felt in the next few days.

  Apparently, forgiveness works in mystical ways. A lot of people commented on how good I looked and how happy I seemed. Suddenly I was laughing and grinning much more, and my love for Kasey gushed forth. I told myself it could just be a coincidence of timing since Kasey had begun smiling all the time now, and at every toothless grin she gave, my heart melted more and more.

  More likely, the two events played off each other. I think that by forgiving Diane, I opened myself up to accepting Kasey’s smiley affection. I hadn’t planned it or even expected it. And if I felt new compassion toward Diane, I had to extend the same benefit to Warren. Her actions weren’t his responsibility. Warren always said that he and I both did everything we possibly could the day of the accident, and objectively, we knew that was true. We could say it aloud to convince anyone listening that we meant it. And we did. But late at night, when exhaustion and darkness blurred all rationality, the what-ifs attacked like well-armed invaders from another dimension.

  I should have.

  I could have.

  If only.

  Oddly enough, it may be easier to show mercy to others than to yourself. Personal forgiveness may be the hardest to give.

  Twenty-nine

  I was feeling stronger in every way, and my health seemed good now, too. When I went to the usual follow-up visits with the obstetrician, she seemed pleased with how far I’d come. One day as I sat on her exam table after the checkup, my legs dangling, she reminded me that I was cleared to have sex again.

  “Don’t say that!” I told her, half laughing. “I’m terrified!”

  “Why are you terrified?” she asked.

  “It’s been so long. I don’t remember how. I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

  “Just close your eyes and do it,” she said, half joking. “I think it will all come back to you.”

  Warren and I had a black-tie dinner coming up that we wanted to attend, and Melissa and Brad said they’d take the baby for an overnight. Warren and I could go to the dinner and relax, without having to rush back to a babysitter. Our first night alone since Kasey had been born, and I started to think about what was likely to happen.

  “Can we talk?” I asked Warren one morning.

  “You don’t have to ask. Just talk to me,” he said, hardly looking up.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “The night of the dinner, I think we should have sex before we go out. Otherwise, I’ll spend the whole evening worrying about it.”

  “We’re having sex?” Warren asked, definitely looking up now.

  “Isn’t that what you thought?”

  “I didn’t think we’d have sex,” he said.

  “Why not? The baby won’t be here.”

  “Jackie, I don’t want to put any more pressure on you. I’m okay leading a celibate life.”

  My jaw dropped. “A celibate life? But that’s so sad!”

  “You’ve had so much to deal with. I don’t want to add one more thing.”

  “You’re not attracted to me anymore. That must be it,” I said. I couldn’t really blame h
im. I hadn’t been that much fun to live with for the last couple of years. On the other hand, my mood had improved and even I could see that I had a certain sparkle back.

  “Of course I’m attracted to you,” Warren said.

  “How would I know that?”

  “I’ve always been attracted to you. That won’t change. But you don’t care about all that anymore.”

  “I work really hard to stay in shape, Warren. And it’s not just for me, it’s for you. I still want to look good for you. Don’t you want to look good for me?”

  Talk about feeling sixteen. We sounded like two teenagers struggling to regain our sexual confidence. But at least we had started the conversation. That afternoon, Warren called me from work.

  “I just want you to know that I joined a gym. I want you to be as attracted to me as I am to you.”

  Ready for a night to reconnect, we dropped Kasey off at Melissa and Brad’s. We didn’t have time for my start-the-night-with-sex plan, but we had fun at the dinner, holding hands under the table and flirting. Warren let his hands linger on the back of my black one-shouldered dress as we danced. We had a baby, we had each other, we had a date. And, late that night, Warren made a convincing case that neither of us needed to lead a celibate life.

  • • •

  As Kasey got bigger and Warren and I wanted to go out more, my mom started coming over regularly to babysit. Emma, Alyson, and Katie had made her feel special and needed, especially after my dad died. I’d often call her and say “Hey, Mom, I need a babysitter tomorrow”—and she’d happily rush to Floral Park.

  Warren liked having her around and so did I. She had a purpose. She felt useful. And now she doted on Kasey, just as she had on Emma, Alyson, and Katie.

  “Why is she crying?” my mom asked one time when Kasey seemed unusually fussy.

  “She’s tired,” I said without any hesitation. “She only cries if she’s hungry or tired, and I can tell the difference.”

  “So what do I do?” she asked. Warren and I were heading out later and she wanted to know all the tricks.

  “Put her in her baby seat, turn the TV to Nick Jr., give her her pacy, blanky, and her lamby,” I said, reeling off the nicknames of her favorite blankets and stuffed animals. “I guarantee she’ll fall asleep.”

  Mom followed the routine, and in a few minutes, Kasey was snoozing soundly.

  “You know your baby,” she said admiringly.

  “I do,” I said proudly.

  “Katie is just beautiful,” she said, looking into the crib. And then she gasped and gave a sharp intake of air. “I mean Kasey. Not Katie, Kasey. Oh, Jackie, I’m so sorry. Why did I say that?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve done it, too.”

  The first time I confused the names, I had gotten incredibly upset. Why had I given Kasey a name that sounded so similar to her sister’s? But then I relaxed, and now I gave my mom the benefit of my wisdom.

  “It’s not such a bad thing to get the name confused. Remember you used to call Emma Alyson sometimes by mistake? It’s just the same. They’re sisters. And I love both of them.”

  My mom looked worried for a few minutes, but then she smiled.

  “Kasey,” she whispered, gently tucking the blanky around her. “Katie’s sister Kasey.”

  • • •

  In our circle, most of the women had two or three or even four kids by the time they reached their mid-thirties, and now here I was at forty, with a new baby. We had all been used to sharing parenting experiences, and I felt slightly out of step. While Isabelle and Jeannine cheered for their daughters doing flips at gymnastics competitions, I clapped when Kasey sat up on her own. Instead of buying Emma her first bra and getting her a dress for sixth-grade graduation, I was making bottles and pushing a baby carriage. I didn’t expect to be watching Sesame Street or Dora the Explorer again at this point in my life, and I sometimes closed my eyes and pictured the conversations I should be having with Emma about boys and dates. But that part of my life had been derailed. I was on a new track, starting the ride again. Though the train was different, I might as well take advantage of the unexpected view.

  When my friends’ kids were at school, we could connect as grown-ups. But on school vacations, they went off bowling with their children or to museums in the city or to preteen movies, while I stayed home with Kasey. Thinking of our disparate positions reminded me that in the real-life version of Monopoly, I had been sent back to Go.

  But at least I could still play the game. I had more chances to roll the dice, and for that I was grateful.

  I also quickly realized that however homogenous our little group, women outside our circle maintained varied life plans. They did different things at different ages. Walking home from Isabelle’s house one day, I noticed a woman on the street with a jogger stroller similar to mine. I waved and she stopped.

  “Are you Jackie Hance?” she asked.

  I nodded, not sure where this would be going.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to meet you,” she said, introducing herself. “I have a ten-month-old. Happy fortieth birthday to me.”

  I laughed. “Surprise baby?”

  “Let’s just say I also have a ten- and twelve-year-old. There aren’t too many of us older moms with babies around here.”

  “I’m glad we met,” I said, warmed by her good humor. “We’ll make a plan to go to the park sometime.”

  When I got home, I immediately called Isabelle. “I made a friend!” I said.

  I told her the story and she laughed.

  “She seemed nice, but this is just the beginning,” I said. “I can’t believe that I’m starting all over again. Every place I take Kasey, I’ll be with a new group of moms who’ll mostly be twenty-six and have nothing in common with me.”

  “You don’t always have to be best friends with your kids’ friends’ mothers,” Isabelle reminded me. “It just happened that all of us fit together.”

  “Fit together perfectly,” I said mournfully. Our children had overlapped so completely that Denine, whose youngest was a year younger than Katie, sometimes complained that she felt like something was off. And that was only a year.

  But I already understood that my new phase of life wasn’t going to be a repeat of the previous one. New mom at forty? You play the cards you’re dealt. Emma and Alyson had been so close in age that they could always entertain each other, and when Katie came along, they loved to plop her in their laps and make her laugh. Now mine was the only lap for plopping.

  • • •

  With Emma, Alyson, and Katie, I dedicated myself to motherhood to such an extreme that I had no other identity. I cherished every minute, but when the role ended, the shock was beyond imagining. No wonder I continued to shop for them after the accident and celebrate birthdays and holidays and tell myself that I would always be their mother. I had nothing else to turn to, no other meaning or purpose. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant again, would I have had any reason to exist on this earth at all?

  With Kasey, Warren expected me to return to being a full-time, fully devoted mom. I agreed with “fully devoted,” but I couldn’t risk giving up the things that had pulled me through the worst times—from Tuesdays with Karen to the Thursday bowling league. Having activities scheduled and someplace to go had helped me get to the positive place I was in now, and I certainly wouldn’t give them up.

  I still got aggravated if Warren lay on the couch too much, and he could get overwhelmed by my energy and endless planning. We worried too much about each other. I wanted to make sure he had slept and he cared that I felt well. We stayed excessively sensitive to each other’s moods. So many people marveled that we had remained together that we sometimes wondered about it, too.

  One night we came home from therapy and Warren looked like he’d been through a war zone. The sessions always hit him harder than me because he felt less comfortable revealing his soul. Emotionally spent, he went upstairs and got into bed.

  I still had plenty of energy an
d wanted to do something positive for myself. Figuring Warren had fallen asleep, I popped Kasey in the car and headed out to prayer group.

  I had driven halfway there when my cell phone rang.

  “Where are you?” Warren demanded.

  “Going to prayer group,” I said.

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “She’s with me.”

  Warren exploded. “Why didn’t you leave her home? I panicked when I couldn’t find her.”

  “I thought you were asleep. I was trying to be nice.”

  “No you weren’t,” he said angrily. “You were trying to make the point that you have to do everything. Or maybe you just don’t trust me alone with Kasey.”

  I pulled over in the car, not wanting to argue while driving. Warren sounded sufficiently upset that after we hung up, I turned around to go home. I couldn’t understand how my doing something positive—going to prayer group—had taken this negative turn.

  “I’ll do you a favor and leave,” Warren said when I came back into the house.

  “If that’s what you want,” I said coldly.

  “I think that’s what you want. You’d like me to finally leave for good.”

  For once, I took a deep breath and thought about what I wanted to say. “No, Warren. I’ve been through the wringer. I don’t think I can do this on my own. Tonight was a stupid misunderstanding. We can get through these. We have to.”

  Warren sighed. “Thank you for that, Jackie.”

  We both felt the tension in the room—and in our bodies—melt away. Kasey had fallen asleep in my arms, and now I handed her to Warren.

  “Of course I trust you with the baby,” I said, my voice starting to quaver. “You’re her father. She needs you.”

  Warren held Kasey in one strong arm and put his other arm around me. “We all need each other,” he said simply.

  Now that the idea of “leaving” had been said in the open, we both viscerally understood how much we wanted to stay together.

  The next day I told Isabelle what had been going on.