“An inch? Sadie, I’ve sat back for over two years watching you hate your life and everyone in it! Enough!” she snaps, her voice shaky and rife with desperation.
“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like that. It’s hard, okay? I can’t help that I feel the way I feel.” I stand squared off against Mom, hating what’s coming but knowing that I need this. I need her to do what she does best. Push. Squeeze. Corner. It’s like ripping a bandage off, or downing a shot of tequila. No one enjoys those things. People don’t slowly peel up the adhesive edges of their bandage. No one slowly sips on a shot of cheap tequila so that they can revel in the burn. They take a deep breath and get it over with. I need to find courage and bravery to get it over with.
“No, but you can certainly choose to let it all go, to stop pushing everyone away,” she pleads. “You can choose to let Jake go!”
“I’m handling my grief how I want, Mom. I’ll figure it out,” I mumble, knowing that it’s a lie. I’m putting myself up on the gallows for Mom to crucify the demons that live within me. These demons that grief, bitterness, and isolation have spawned and nursed for 763 days.
“Your brand of handling it isn’t handling it at all! He’s gone, Sadie. He’s not coming back. It’s time to stop this and let him go. Please!” she begs as her voice becomes shaky and full of emotion. She inches closer to me with her arms out, inviting me into the first safe place I’ve ever known. It’s the place that almost everyone feels safest. With your head on your mother’s shoulder, the world could be crumbling into nothingness, but you’d never know, because you’re in the safety of your mother’s arms.
I shake my head and hold my finger up, signaling her to stop right there. I can’t do this. I won’t retreat to that safe place, or argue with her about Jake’s death or how I’m handling it. I can’t take it. I just need her to push my buttons like she’s good at so I can rip the bandage off. I’ve lost Jake and Zander and my heart can’t take anymore hurt. “Don’t. Not now.”
“Yes. It’s time to go there, Sadie,” she insists stepping closer to me.
“Don’t, Mom.”
“You’ve got to trust me, Sadie,”
“Stop!” I cry out, really meaning keep going. I think she knows. My mother knows me better than I know myself.
“I won’t stop!” she reminds me, her voice rising. “Not until you let go. You’ve got to go there. You’ve gotta go to that place you’re most scared of. You have got to admit that he’s gone.”
“Fine! Is this what you want?” I march into the closet and wrap my arms around as many of Jake’s clothes as I can, still on hangers, and rip them from the rack. Hangers fly in every direction. I storm out of the closet and hurl the clothes onto the bed. It should take every bit of strength I have to throw the heavy mass of garments, but the anger I feel makes the clothes feel feather light. “Come on, Mom! Tell me! Is this what you want from me? To get rid of all of his stuff? Make it look like he was never even here? Is this what I get for catching that man that night? Is this my punishment?” I stomp back into the closet and grab more clothes, pulling them from the rack like I’ve lost my mind. In truth, I may have.
Mom stands at the foot of the bed, watching me carefully, her expression blank. I catch sight of the tears gathering in her eyes like heavy rain drops, ready to spill onto her cheeks. It’s the only evidence that proves this isn’t something she’s enjoying. The rational part of me knows that. The screwed up part of me can’t fathom that anyone could ever hurt this much but I do. I hurt so much that I can’t breathe.
I hurry over to Jake’s nightstand and yank the top drawer completely from its rails. His trinkets, pieces of paper, business cards, a bottle of cologne and other miscellaneous things go flying into the air like confetti. “Is this what it takes?!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I stoop down to the floor in front of his nightstand. The second drawer is next to withstand my wrath. I pull it out and begin throwing the contents onto the carpeted floor. My eyes scan the room for more evidence of Jake’s life. I get to my feet and round the bed to my side. My arm flies out, grabbing the framed picture of me and Jake from the top of my nightstand. It hits the wall and shatters. Sharp bits of glass scatter on the carpet.
I’m hyperventilating now. My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. I stumble across the room and back into the closet. I bend and scoop up the laundry basket with Jake’s last outfit sitting in the bottom. With the basket in front of me, I carry it out into the bedroom. Tears run like rivers down my face. I glance to Mom, looking, praying, pleading for her to stop me, to tell me I’ve done enough. To tell me I don’t have to do anymore of this. Not today. My silent plea goes unanswered. Mom eyes me and my basket without saying a word.
“I can’t,” I whimper, my chest heaving in and out, giving in to my building sadness.