“Well,” her mother continued, “As painful as that was, for all of us, it’s slowly become bearable. It doesn’t hurt the way it did last year. I imagine that’s what will happen with this, too, if you let it.”
A tear escaped Isabel’s eye. She quickly wiped it away with her fingertips.
Bridgette sighed and leaned over to give her daughter a kiss on the head. Before she stood, she murmured, “You’re my baby, and I’d hate to lose you. A parent should never have to know what that would feel like, and I’m so sorry you have to.”
Her mother left then, and Isabel laid there with silent tears trickling down her cheeks. At first, the tears were part of the ache, but slowly the numbness crept back in, and she fell asleep.
She woke later with a splitting headache. She did her best to ignore it at first, not wanting to move, but she soon gave in to the fact that she needed medicine.
She rolled out of bed and walked stiffly over to the bathroom, glad that her doctor had put her in a walking cast before she left the hospital. She didn’t think she’d be too successful using crutches with the cast on her arm.
The medicine cabinet was surprisingly empty. Did they clear it out before she got home, worried that she might be suicidal or something?
Please. She wasn’t that pathetic.
She decided to go check the other bathrooms. Surely, there must be some Tylenol in one of them. The bathroom connecting the other two rooms upstairs didn’t have any. Neither did the half bath at the bottom of the stairs. That just left the one more.
She slipped inside her mother’s room and wasn’t sure why she was trying to be so inconspicuous about it. The clock on the nightstand told her it was only ten-thirty. It would be at least another two hours before anyone came home, and her mother wasn’t cynical about her children going in her room anyway.
Isabel just didn’t like to without permission, but right now, she was desperate. Her head was throbbing almost as badly as it had when she’d first woken up in the hospital. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d told them to take the medicine out of all the other bathrooms.
She had to jimmy the lock on the bathroom door but found what she needed, not even having to open the cabinet. There were three bottles sitting right there on the counter. She sifted a few tablets into the palm of her hand and popped them into her mouth, swallowing them without water.
She grabbed one of the bottles on her way out of the bathroom, not wanting to have to walk back downstairs if she needed another dose later, and was almost out of the bedroom when something on the dresser caught her eye. Intrigued, she walked over for a closer look.
Lying on the center of her mother’s dresser were two envelopes, each with a colorful bow stuck to the corner. One was addressed to Isabel, the other to Annie. They were obviously meant as gifts. Her and Annie’s birthday was tomorrow, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the handwriting on the envelopes that was causing her to stare.
She was hesitant as she picked up the one addressed to her. In actuality, it was light, but it felt heavy. Like it contained something crucial. “And it should,” she told herself. She was holding a gift from her father in her hand, something that she never thought would ever happen again.
Suddenly, her body itched with curiosity. She didn’t want to wait for her birthday to see what the envelope held. She wanted to know now, needed to see what her father decided to leave for her before he had to go.
Isabel hurried from the room, desperate to make it up to her own bedroom so she could unearth the mystery clutched tightly between her fingers. She had to slow her pace on the stairs, thanks to the cumbersome boot on her foot, but sped up once she reached the upper landing. She flung the door closed behind her, wanting to ensure privacy even though no one else was home, and went to sit on the edge of the purple print bed. She dropped the now unimportant bottle of pills at her side, not even noticing when they rolled off the edge of the bed to the floor.
Her fingers shook with anticipation as they broke the seal and pulled out the folded papers. Opening them, she realized she was holding a letter. A letter her father had written specifically for her. Her eyes prickled as she began to read.
Happy Birthday, my sweet Isabel,
How does it feel to be eighteen? Do you feel grown up? Even if you’re not sure, you’ve always been good at finding that balance between youth and maturity, something that was always harder for your mom to understand, and your sister I suspect as well. Humor them a bit when they fight you on it. It’s there. Trust it.
You might like to know that we have that in common. When I was in high school, your grandma used to love to tell me I was too mature for my own good. She nearly had a fit when I ran off and married your mother barely a year after graduation, but I was ready. When I met her that spring break, I knew, and nothing would have stopped me from making her mine. Your sister’s persistence comes from me, after all.
There was school, yes, but I’d been working on my crafting skills with your grandpa for years. And your mother? It took a bit of convincing. She was a bit older, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, she’s a lot like your sister…full of enthusiasm and always raring to go. As soon as she realized we were the real deal, there was no stopping us.
You’ve got her drive, you know. The first time I saw you dance, baby girl, I knew you were something. I hope you never lose that part of yourself. Hold onto that passion. Keep what centers you close. Our little family was that for me.
I wonder if that special guy has stolen your heart yet, or perhaps I should say if you’ve stolen his. If not, don’t worry; be patient; the right guy is there. If he has, I hope he takes care of it, that he knows just how special it is, how lucky he is that you chose him. I’m waiting on the other side to give him a piece of my mind if he doesn’t. Although, I’m sure Annie will take care of it long before I have the chance.
I wish I were there with you today to see the lovely young woman I know you’ve become, but I’ll always be there in your heart. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but it’s how it’s supposed to happen. The parent goes before the child. Even if, in our case, it happened too soon.
But don’t think I didn’t think ahead, being mature beyond my years and all that. Your mother and I were smart. We had plenty of life insurance for ourselves, not wanting to leave the other one stranded if something ever did happen. I can leave comfortably knowing that she has enough money to get by without me.
What your mother doesn’t know is that I went one step further. I wanted to make sure that our children had more than enough for what they would need as well.
Each of you has an account from a term life insurance policy I set up that you’ll only now be able to gain access to at eighteen. Whether or not that is on your birthday, I have left up to your grandpa. He will judge if you are ready for it, but don’t worry. The latest you will receive it is your graduation from high school, conditional upon some kind of plans for school or a career.
Beyond that, the money is yours to use as you see best. Whether you choose to use it for college, a house, or something else you may need, it doesn’t matter. All I ask is that you use it wisely. We can still worry up here in heaven, you know.
I’m always watching out for you. I’m so proud of you. I love you. I miss you.