She nods. Then my mom, the woman who I always thought to be the strongest of all, the most beautiful of all, the most heartless of all, breaks down and cries. Sobs are torn from her chest as if someone is ripping them out, as she covers her face with her hands and gives into grief.
Instinctively, my heart tells me to go to her, to lend her my support. However, a lifetime full of hurt and memories stands between us, making me remain seated in my spot as my mom crumbles in front of me. But as I stare at her, a broken woman, my heart wins. Standing up quickly, I move out of my side of the booth and slide into hers. I enfold her in my arms.
My mom’s arms come around me, pulling me closer to her. “He’s gone, Blaire … he’s gone,” she cries. Minutes pass. When my mom is calmer, she lets me go and dries her face with a paper napkin. “There’s so much that I have to tell you about your father and me.”
“That picture …”
She blows her nose. “Yes, that was your daddy. Somehow after everything that happened, we both found our way back. We got married for a second time. We tried to look for you. Your dad even went to New York City, but no one knew where you went. You didn’t stay in touch with anyone from here.” She reaches for her bag, taking out a letter and hands it to me. “He wrote this for you after he had the first attack. I think a part of him always knew you would come back.”
I stare at the envelope in my hand. “Thank you.”
My mom then takes my hand in hers. “Sweetie, your father and I had a very complicated relationship. We loved each other to the point of madness, but that love also drove us apart. It was much too intense. You are an adult now, so you must know that relationships aren’t cut and dry. There’s so much beauty in a marriage, but there can also be so much pain. You were our blessing, our love, what kept us together far longer than expected.”
I look down as tears fill my eyes, her words wounding and healing.
“It wasn’t your fault that we couldn’t stay together. We loved you, Blaire. But we were too selfish and self-absorbed to show you. Blaire, look at me,” she urges me tenderly. When I do, she raises a hand to caresses my cheek with the back of her hand. “I can’t do anything about the past. If I could, I would, but I can’t. It’s too late for that. But what I can do is ask you for your forgiveness and if you can’t give me that just yet, I beg you to find it in your heart to give me the chance to try and earn it.”
As my mom awaits my answer, I feel as though I’m waking from a dream. I will never have closure with my dad. He died without knowing that I loved him. And here I have an opportunity not to repeat the same mistake with my mother. Sometimes people walk out of your life never to return, and all you have left are bitter memories and what ifs. And though you try to move on and forget them, they become regrets that cut deeper than the sharpest knife, slashing you over and over again.
“You don’t have to give me an answer now, sweetie. Why don’t you read your father’s letter? Take some time. And when you’re ready, I’ll be there for you.”
Once we say good-bye, I drive back to my hotel. After taking a shower, doing my nails, reading, doing anything and everything to avoid my father’s letter, I finally find the courage to take it in my hands, open the envelope, and read it.
My dear Blaire,
If you’re reading this letter, it’s because I’m too late.
My life has been a string full of regrets. Not walking you to school. Not taking you to the park more often. Not making you laugh. Not telling you that I loved you enough. But my biggest regret is not being able to watch you grow and become the wonderful woman that I know you must be.
I wish you were with us now so you could see who we have become. Your mom gave me one of the best presents I could wish for: her forgiveness. She did it because she says the past doesn’t exist anymore and it’s all about who we are now. And she’s right, Blaire. Don’t ever let the demons of your past tarnish your present.
I’m so sorry for being such a lousy father to you, Blaire—my sweet blue-eyed angel. My shining star.
In my sober moments, it was you who made my life not seem such a waste. And in my alcohol induced moments, it was you who I lamented.
I love you, my child.
Always,
Your father.
Gripping the letter tightly to my chest, I cry for the girl I was and for the family we could’ve been. I cry because I never got to tell my dad that, in my eyes, he was never a failure. And I cry because that little girl still loves him so much and he died without knowing it.
MY MOM OPENS THE DOOR and smiles brightly when she sees me. “You came.”
“Yes,” I smile, too. “I want to try, Mom.”
All my life has been a collection of decisions ruled by fear: fear of getting hurt, fear of feeling too much, fear of loving, fear of allowing people to get close.
Fear.
Fear.
Fear.
I once thought I had broken free of it, but I was just fooling myself.
I’m done running.
It’s time to face the music.
And hopefully, time to heal, too.