“How our lives intertwine, how what we do matters,” the priest continued. “It’s all linked – everything we do, everything we say, every decision we make. We are powerful – the things we do matter, even the little things. And we don’t always get it right.”
Jack stared up at the path winding ahead of them. His head began to spin.
“It’s okay to make mistakes, that’s what makes us human. God expects us to make mistakes. And He’s not the only one with the power to forgive, either. People have that power, too.”
“What if you don’t deserve forgiveness?”
The priest’s hand on his shoulder startled him and he looked up into Father David’s penetrating gaze.
“Everyone deserves forgiveness, Jack,” he said firmly. “If God forgives you, you should forgive yourself.”
Jack found it impossible to tear himself away.
“How do I know that God forgives me?” He felt like a child again, questioning everything, unwilling to just believe for the sake of it.
“He will. You just have to ask Him.”
They stopped walking and stood facing each other. Jack struggled hard to breathe normally, frustration clawing at his insides. He wanted to believe, so desperately. He wanted the pain to end.
“So you made some mistakes – who hasn’t?” the priest soothed. “You can’t change the past, but you can change the future. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”
“Ally tried to kill herself,” he whispered hoarsely, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Some part of him hoped that it wasn’t true, but saying it aloud made it seem so much more real.
The priest’s face was a picture of solemn acceptance. “Yes, I know.”
Jack stared at him in silence, hopelessness oozing out of every cell in his body.
“She was at her lowest. She was in pain,” Father David said with a knowing look. “We all make mistakes, Jack. You have to learn from them or it’s a lesson you’ll have to keep learning over and over again. She made up for it by not giving up, by fighting back, by choosing to be here, with us. You can choose to give in to it – or you can choose to fight. Ultimately, that’s what it comes down to.”
Jack let his brain absorb the priest’s words, fighting their way past doubt and guilt and self-condemnation. His head ached and he wanted nothing more than to sit down – right there, in the middle of the cemetery – and just wait until everything fixed itself.
“Just remember, Jack, you’re not the first person to make a mistake and you won’t be the last.”
Jack’s chin quivered as he fought for control. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Maybe you could try talking to her?”
Although deep down he knew the priest was right, the prospect terrified him.
“But first, perhaps there’s someone else you need to talk to.”
He indicated a spot just over Jack’s right shoulder. As Jack turned around, he saw a grave. Covered in flowers, a simple marker at its head bore his father’s name.
Ally sat at her kitchen table at 4am, listening to the wind. The huge tree in her backyard scraped against the house, the windows rattled in their frames.
She felt sick. All she kept seeing was Jack’s face when she told him what she had done. Horror shone in his eyes.
She had done that. She had thrust a knife into his heart and twisted it.
She wished with all her heart that she could go back to that day and flush the pills down the sink instead. If she had had the benefit of hindsight, she would have seen that things would get better, but that kind of realisation only comes from having lived through something.
She thought she had put it behind her, accepted the past and moved on. She had forgiven herself.
But how could she ever forgive herself for what she had done to Jack, by sharing it with him?
Jack walked up Ally’s front path the next morning, shaking his hands out like he was approaching a bout in the ring. He breathed out through his teeth and tried to line up the words that swirled inside his head. Somehow, he had to make her understand.
He took the steps two at a time and knocked on the door. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other.
Finally, the door opened and Ally stood before him in jeans, a t-shirt and a multi-colored, paint-splattered apron.
“Morning,” he said tentatively.
She looked exhausted. He could relate. Sleep hadn’t come easily to him last night, either.
“Hi.”
She wouldn’t look at him. His heart sank.
“Can I come in?”
She took her time thinking it over, and he wondered if they were going to have to have this discussion on her doorstep.
“Okay.”
She turned to allow him entry, and he walked past her into the hallway. Unfortunately, his thoughts didn’t become any clearer inside the house than they had been outside of it. After his chance meeting with Father David yesterday and the time he had spent sitting by his father’s grave, his heart and his soul in turmoil, he had hoped this would come easier.