Page 42 of All Your Firsts Without Me

Love, A dad, three years sober

Message after message adorn the walls of my past. I fall to the ground, so overcome with emotion my feet won’t hold me up. My eyes follow Westin as he walks over to the door and pulls it closed. “Shh, don’t worry, it won’t lock,” he says quickly as panic flashes across my face.

He sits down beside me. I hug my legs to my chest, crying, as he continues to shine the light on all the wonderful messages people left for me… for themselves.

“When I came here. I wanted to see what you saw. Feel what you felt.” He puts his arm around me, squeezing me close. His warmth chases the chill away. “I didn’t expect to see this. It seems I’m not the only one who drew from your strength.”

He clicks the flashlight off.

The darkness engulfs us.

I fall apart.

In his arms.

He holds me.

He holds me.

He holds me.

Slowly, I pull myself back together.

“When it was dark, I used to make up songs in my head.” I sniffle, laying my head on his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking of writing them down.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

I chuckle sadly. “I haven’t written anything in a long time. I’ve been bottling it all up.”

“Writing is good therapy, isn’t it?” he asks.

“It is.” I turn to face him, even though I can’t see him. “What did you do when you came here?”

His breath whispers across my face as he answers me. “I sat here, just like this, in the dark.” He pauses. “I was terrified. But I forced myself to stay all night.”

“You stayed all night?” I can’t believe someone would stay here willingly.

“Twenty-four hours. Which was mere seconds compared to what you had to endure. Jesus, April, I knew I had to meet you after that. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“Will you do something for me?” I ask.

“Anything,” he answers without hesitation.

“Do you know the words to Amazing Grace?”

“Yes,” his voice is heavy with emotion.

“Will you sing it for me while I go upstairs?”

He turns the light on, our faces mere inches apart. His eyes soften at the corners. He runs his finger down my cheek, closing his eyes, then he starts singing. His voice chases all the bad mojo out of the room. It lifts my heart. I smile, gently pulling myself to my feet. He stays on the cold floor, his voice carrying me up the stairs.

I make my way to my father’s office, dropping to my knees in front of the vent that used to be behind my dad’s filing cabinets. The words aren’t clear, but I can hear the melody traveling through the duct work. I close my eyes, imagining David standing here, listening to me on the day I was saved.

Today I’m saved yet again. By another man. Not better, not lesser, but equally as good.

David lived with grace. I don’t know if I understood that word until today. “Thank you for showing me grace,” I whisper.

I press my forehead to the wall and cry. It’s ironic that the very place I met him is the place where I finally feel strong enough to say goodbye.

---