Page 86 of The Last Time

A memory of Dad and I chasing each other around the house with squirt guns hits me. I haven’t thought about that in forever.

I laugh out loud just thinking about it. The sun shines directly down on me, engulfing my body with its warmth. It’s like a giant hug.

Somehow, I just know it’s my dad.

I look up at the sky and smile.

“I forgive you, Daddy,” I whisper.

The weight off my chest after admitting those words out loud and really meaning them is so freeing.

I run inside, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. Pulling out the box of pictures, I move carefully around the broken glass until I find my favorite.

The picture of the three of us on the dock. My favorite spot. I take the frame down the stairs to the large family room, where there is a big gas fireplace under a huge wooden mantel.

I place the picture frame on the mantel. It’s like all the pain and sorrow are replaced with happiness and gratitude. I didn’t have my father for the last ten years of my life, but I’m not going to let that overshadow the seventeen years that I did have him.

Those are the years I want to remember.

I wish I knew how freeing forgiveness was. I feel like a new person. Then it dawns on me: Forgiving him was never for him; it was for me. That’s the power in it—it sets the victim free, not the offender.

All these years, I hung onto my forgiveness like it was the punishment my father deserved. I couldn’t let him do all those things to me and not harbor the anger he bestowed upon himself. But hanging onto the anger and resentment was only punishing me.

A couple of hours later, after I’ve finished work for the day, my doorbell rings.

I open it to find Layla on the other side. She storms inside, making her annoyance known by the pounding of her feet against the floors.

I close the door and follow her inside.

“So, I hear my brother’s an asshole,” she says as she throws her purse on the table.

I take cautionary steps further into the room, not knowing exactly what to say. This is her brother we’re talking about. At the end of the day, she loves him.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat anything with me,” she continues. “I know he can be a pain in the ass.”

“He is being stubborn,” I say in agreement with her.

“I just don’t understand what he’s holding on to. Ugh, I wish he would open up and tell me.”

I have my suspicions about what it is that happened, but I don’t think it’s my place to tell her.

“Josh says I should give him time. That he’s going to work on getting him help.”

Layla rolls her eyes. “What does Josh know? He will just turn him into a man whore like him. He needs to be healed from this pain. I hate it. I miss my brother.” Her eyes begin to well up with tears. She shakes her head and fans her face. “I’m sorry. I’m a shit friend. I came here to comfort you, and here I am crying.”

I lean in and give her a squeeze. “Stop it. He’s your brother. You are allowed to be concerned.”

“It’s just…” she starts. “He was getting better when you came around. I started to see him open up again, smile, even laugh. I think I was secretly hoping that it was gonna heal him.”

“I know. I saw the changes too. But one thing I can say that I’ve realized even with my own issues is that other people can’t heal you. You have to heal yourself.”

“But what if he never does that for himself?” she cries.

I sigh. “I hope he does. Not just for his sake, but for Brie’s. But that’s up to him.”

“You’re being so strong about this.”

I laugh. “I’ve cried every night since we had our fight. But right now, I’m healing myself and my relationship with my father. I can’t take on his trauma as well. This place, though, it’s healing me in ways I never imagined.”

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