It’s a little bit trickier to explain that to the rest of the world. Amie starts to call me Grace and the staff at the World’s End follows her lead without question. It’s strange to hear my name on other people’s lips. I take comfort that to Max I’m still just Mom. That name grounds me even in the chaos of mourning.
Dr. Allen tells me my name isn’t important because that’s the identity that was given to me. What matters is who I choose to be. But she still makes me take out the shoe box I’ve kept tucked in the back of my closet and bring it in for a session where she gently encourages me to unpack my past.
“How does this make you feel?” she asks as she passes me my driver’s license.
I run my finger over the name Grace Kane. It’s not even expired yet.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I feel like I should feel more than I do.”
“You’re still numb. That will change with time and we’ll work through things as they come.” She encourages me to share more and I find myself at a new support group. This time for survivors of rape.
It’s funny, I’ve spent all of this time going to meetings and learning how to accept my flaws. I gave them over to Higher Powers and I took things one day at a time when what I really needed was to hear that it wasn’t my fault. I’d chosen to cling to shame and guilt. I’ve allowed it to define me and to overshadow who I was. It takes several meetings for this to sink in. I cry when I realize it’s the truth. Learning to accept the event that shaped so much of my past means accepting the twisted reality I’ve created for myself.
Each day I take a new step. I put the driver’s license in my wallet and remove hers. I contact the lawyer. I change my name on my bills. It’s amazing how all these little actions combine and build until Grace Kane isn’t someone who vanished. She lives and breathes. She loves and hopes. She becomes me.
Little steps turn into big steps. After weeks of research and appointments, I find myself in the waiting room of the Seattle Children’s Hospital.
“Sit down,” Amie orders me.
I drop into the chair next to her. I didn’t even realize I was pacing.
“He’s going to be fine,” she says.
“I know that,” I say, but I don’t really mean it. Rationally, I know she’s right. Unfortunately, my paranoid, maternal side can’t be reasoned with so easily.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Amie says as she pages through a magazine before she tosses it onto the table. There’s no point to pretending we can focus on anything other than what’s going on behind the operating room doors. “I can’t believe you said ‘yes’.”
“I didn’t,” I admit.
“I know, insurance did,” she says dryly.
That’s only partially true. Insurance had reversed their opinion on Max receiving cochlear implants but that wasn’t what had finally convinced me to proceed.
“Max chose,” I tell her. “At that last appointment, the doctor asked him if he wanted the implants so that he could hear. He didn’t even hesitate when he signed ‘yes.’”
“So that’s what made you finally change your mind.” Amie lounges back, stretching her legs in front of her.
I don’t tell her that Jude had a lot to do with my change of heart, mostly because his name is off-limits. Another of my rules, and I can’t be the one to break it. Deep down, I can’t ignore that he was the one who encouraged me to pursue the possibility.
“Why don’t you call him?” Amie breaks into my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. What?” I ask flustered.
“Jude. That’s right I said his name.” She glares, challenging me to reprimand her. “He still exists. He’s still in town. You can’t change either fact.”
“Believe me, I know. Dr. Allen says it’s time that I tell him.”
Amie nods, chewing on her lower lip. She’s wanted me to tell Jude the truth about Max for weeks but she’s done an admirable job of keeping her opinion to herself.
“Are you going to?” she asks.
“I suppose since it’s doctors orders.” Neither of us laugh at the joke. “What if he won’t talk to me or he files for custody or…”
“You are going to drive yourself insane with what ifs. Sometimes you have to stop fantasizing about the situation and face it.”
“You’re probably right,” I say begrudgingly.
“Tell that to my agent,” she says, granting a reprieve from the topic. We pass the rest of the time that Max is in surgery with discussions about her audition for Playing With Fire, a new reality cooking show.
I’m not at all surprised that she’s made it to the last round of casting. “I don’t know how I’ll live without you if you’re gone for six weeks.”
“You guys could come with me.”
“Sure,” I lie. Los Angeles is the last place I want to go, but I’m learning that it’s okay to spare someone’s feelings with a white lie. Another tidbit I picked up on in therapy.
The doors to the OR open and the lead surgeon walks out tugging the mask from his face.
“Ms. Kane?” he calls.