Page 193 of Haunt Me

A muscle in my jaw jumps. She is describing the experience of grief perfectly, breaking my heart into a million pieces.

“But allIthink is,” she goes on, “was he alive then? Was he here? And if he wasn’t, how fresh was his absence? And if he was still alive, how close was time to taking him away from me? Their absence is how you measure time.”

I’m already nodding.

“You know,” she says, looking at me.

“I do.”

“Well, I do too,” Eden says. “I lost him too, you know, and to me he was… well, he wasn’t a monster. I didn’t see him like that, not back then. For years, he was my fa—I don’t want to say it, but that’s what he was to me for most of my life. I… I keep having these thoughts, this grief. Like, he’s missing this. Or, where is he right now? Is he safe?”

I am silent. Helpless. What on earth can I give her in this moment but my utter silence—and respect?

“And then,” Eden continues, “it hits me all over again. He’s not here anymore. And, worst of all? He never was. It was all a nightmare. A lie. And I shouldn’t be missing him, but I am.I am.”

“Come here.” I wrap myself around her and hold on for dear life. “You grief is valid,” I say into her temple. “Your feelings are real, Eden. No one can take away what you felt. There was nothing to lose by loving him; nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s what you do, Eden: you love. Whether the other person deserves it or not. And grief is the price you pay for love, so all your grief is, is love. No one can tell you that your love wasn’t real, so your grief is real too. I can feel it, beating against my chest. Your grief, Eden.”

I press her even closer to me. I can feel her breaths, every single one.

“I will only ask you to forget him if I see you hurting when you remember. But grief… Grief I know, and grief is the one thing you are entitled to. Do you understand me?”

She nods against my chest. She isn’t crying. Not yet. I only hope that I’m around when she eventually does.

“I don’t think I am allowed to feel grief for him,” she says.

“I know it’s hard for all of us to feel grief for this monster.” I shudder.

“This monster raised me,” Eden says, her voice sounding dull. Numb. As if she’s had this conversation inside her head a thousand times. “I lived a normal life most of the time. He wasn’t violent. He wasn’t like… He wasn’t like he was in the end. I think the enormity of what he had done, of how it would look in a court of law, caught up to him, and he couldn’t handle it. But he hadn’t been like that the whole time. Or maybe he had, and that’s all I know. Maybe he thought that because he bought me things, he had actually been kind to me.”

I am silent.

“But he did raise me,” she adds. “Don’t forget that.”

She is saying it to herself, I realize.‘Don’t forget that.’

But what if she does forget that part? What if forgetting it only brings her healing?

“You raised yourself, baby,” I murmur into her hair, rubbing my hands down her back. “I may be a complete idiot, but at least I know that. You are the only one responsible for what you have become today. It’s all down to you. Your strength, and your kind, warm heart. But as for the rest… There is nothing but loss there. I’m sorry. Loss that needs to be mourned. So be sad, Eden, if you want. You can be sad with me. If you want permission to be sad about him, I’m giving it to you. Your pain about him carries meaning about who you are and it is valid.”

“You mean that if I miss him and wish he was still here, that doesn’t make me a horrible person?” she asks. “A monster like him?”

I swallow with difficulty. I need to bite down hard on my lip so I don’t say anything about the ‘wishing he was still here’ part. Or the ‘monster like him’ part.

“You are the most amazing person I have met, Eden,” I say, my voice trembling with intensity. I won’t fall apart now, because if I do, I will start screaming and breaking things.Her. I will break her. And I won’t allow myself to do that, not ever. “And you know it’s true, because I have met almost all the persons in the world.” She laughs dryly. “He will never hurt you again, baby. That is a fact.”

“That helps,” she says.

“Yeah?” All the air goes out of me. I hold my breath.

It does?

“Yeah. You are making me safe to feel whatever I need to feel. And, at the same time, to start accepting the truth.”

For a second it’s impossible to speak.

I imagine Faith giving me her ‘no crying’ death-stare, so I close my eyes.

“That’s good,” I say in a strangled voice. “It’s good.”

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