The second was for Daadi and Mammi, telling them the same thing but in more detail, explaining the highlights of the spiritual journey I had been on. At the end, I also thanked them for raising me, and for being so wonderful and loving and wise.
The third was for Rachel, and it was by far the hardest one to write. After several false starts and crumpled pages, I finally ended up penning just a few quick sentences, telling her I would be getting home a little earlier than expected and would like the opportunity to see her and talk with her as soon as possible after that. I didn’t know if she would even give me the time of day once I showed up at her door, but my hope was that if I asked her via letter, in advance, she might at least be willing to consider it.
After that, I felt much more at peace. In fact, despite the tension I was now experiencing in virtually all my human relationships, I had never been so connected to God. It was as if I’d been in a darkened room, trying to find my way, and with this decision finally made, a door had been thrown open, spilling light into every corner at last.
Brady didn’t come back from his friend’s house until late Sunday night, acting distant and aloof. Before he disappeared into his room for the night, I asked if we could talk.
“I have homework,” he replied, and then he closed the door in my face.
The next few days were the most difficult I had ever known. I busied myself with little details on my dad’s car, buffing out rust on the chrome, finishing the repairs to the upholstery inside, and cleaning out the trunk. But not since I was six, alone in an unfamiliar place and missing my mother so bad I could barely breathe, had I felt so disconnected from the people I loved. Rachel, Jake, and my grandparents seemed a million miles away; Dad was still in the Middle East; and Brady outdistanced them all. Liz, the one person who had always kept me at arm’s length, was now my closest human connection. She offered me sympathetic nods and a kind word here and there, but she and I were both painfully aware that the long-buried emotions from the day they asked if I wanted to come live with them, and I’d said no, were out in the open.
She also felt bad for how Brady continued to treat me.
Liz had received an email with Dad’s flight information, and he would be arriving at LAX early Wednesday afternoon, so I freely gave Brady the space he seemed to need all the way until Tuesday evening. I really didn’t want Dad walking into this powder keg of a relationship, especially because it had been his words that had kicked things off in the first place. Liz had spoken to him at length on the phone after the fight, and I felt sure he was already beating himself up about it enough as it was.
I managed to corner Brady that night, just as he was turning off the TV to head upstairs to bed. Liz had turned in early, and I’d been in Dad’s office for a while, reading through the rest of my mother’s book on Germany. The moment I heard the TV go silent, I set the book aside and leapt up from my chair, heading straight for the living room. Fortunately for me, Brady had paused at the kitchen table to gather up the papers and books from where he’d been studying earlier. I seized the moment and went to the stairs, standing in place at the bottom. As soon as he zipped up his backpack, set it by the door, and headed my way, I spoke.
“Dad gets home tomorrow, and I think we need to settle this tonight. As men. As brothers.” Startled, he hesitated. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, mouth shut tight, as he waited for me to say what I wanted to say.
Speaking softly so as not to wake Liz, I told my little brother how very sorry I was for not understanding the impact my decision from twelve years ago had had on him. I tried to describe that whole situation from my point of view, reminding him that I’d only been eleven years old at the time. But I didn’t want to sound like I was making excuses, so I ended my plea by telling him, “Young or not, confused or not, the bottom line is that I rejected a life with my little brother. No wonder you’ve been feeling hurt and angry with me. I promise you, the greater loss was mine.”
He nodded, his arms relaxing a bit but his expression still distant.
“Okay,” he said finally, but from the tone of his voice I realized that it wasn’t an apology he wanted. What he wanted, I felt sure, was to understand how I could have chosen the Amish life over a life with him and our father and his mother. He just really needed to get it—especially as I was about to make that same decision again, this time for good. But before I could help him, I realized with a start, I needed a few answers myself from our father.
I stepped aside and wished him a good night. He took the stairs two at a time.