Page 35 of Keeping Promises

Things have changed since the night at the diner. I was worried that the awkwardness of that hug and the thoughts swirling in my head would make things weird for us, but a few days later, Asher stopped by the salon bearing a smoothie and muffin. He has made such a strong effort over the past few weeks to show me that he’s in this, but something is holding me back—fear. Fear that he doesn’t mean it; after all, words are only words, or maybe it’s fear that I will turn out just like my mother.

That’s not the only thing that has changed recently—there’s no hiding my pregnancy now. My baby bump seemed to appear overnight. Well, not overnight, but it did seem to go from looking like a burrito baby to a real baby in a matter of days. In addition to my bump, my boobs have grown even more. I hate thinking how much bigger they can even possibly get, especially once the milk comes in.

The week after learning I was expecting, I went a little crazy on Amazon with baby books—from what to expect when you’re expecting to the shit no one tells you about pregnancy. It’s been interesting reading, to say the least. I’m learning all sorts of things that are still yet to come that my body can do. The female body is pretty fucking wild—it must have been why God created us second. He needed to practice to make perfection. While learning this information has been enlightening, it’s also a little fucking scary. Okay, just kidding—it’s a lot fucking scary.

I’ve been in my head lately, and maybe that led to feeling sentimental and going through the box I keep in the cedar chest at the base of my bed. It contains my baby mementos that my Grams had saved. She was a bit of a pack rat.

With the box perched up in my lap, I lift the lid, ready to travel back in time. I haven’t gone through this box since before Grams passed away. Folded on top is a crocheted baby blanket Grams made me. I recall my Grams telling me the story of this blanket. When my mother discovered she was pregnant with me and finally shared the news with my Grams, she began knitting this blanket that night. She didn’t know if I would be a boy or girl, but her intuition told her to grab the pink yarn instead of the blue when picking out the string.

I bring the blanket to my nose, imagining that it still smells of the house I grew up in, but that scent has long passed. Now it smells more like mothballs. I open the blanket and drape it across my lap.

Next, I find a frilly pink onesie that I believe I was brought home in. I wonder what we’ll bring our baby home wearing. There are so many decisions to make, and while I know this one is minor compared to others, such as the child’s name, will he or she have my last name or Asher’s, or if it’s a boy does he get circumcised, this decision holds so much weight. I fold the onesie and place it back in the box.

I continue going through the contents of the box—my birth announcement, of course, that Grams had sent, not Christine Kincaid, the baby bracelet I wore from the hospital that is so tiny that it only fits around two fingers.

The next item I discover is a small green velvet bag with a drawstring. I wonder what’s in here? I open it to reveal two mini Ziplock bags—one containing a baby tooth that I assume was my first to come out and the other a small ringlet of curls, which I also guess was from my first haircut. I can’t help but laugh at how weird parents are that they collect mementos like this. It feels a little serial killer-ish to me, but even though I know it’s an odd concept, I’m sure I will do the same with this little one.

Buried at the bottom of the box is an envelope with my name on it. I don’t recall seeing that in here before. I carefully open the seal and pull the paper out. It appears to be a letter.

The ink on the pages is smeared, and the pages are starting to fade, but the handwriting is hard to deny—it’s Mom’s. It’s dated about a month before we received the call that she died.

Dear Hadley,

If you are reading this letter, it means that I have lost the war, although I have to admit, I have not put up much of a fight. I have failed you in the worst possible way, and with my death, I hope that you and I both find peace. Me because it means that I am no longer battling the demons of addiction, but more than anything, I hope for you to find peace, for I know that I have failed you long before now.

I’m sorry if questions consume you that will now go unanswered, but let me try to appease your mind. When I met Colin, your father, I was young and believed I was in love. He made me feel special and wanted at a time when I was still discovering who I was. I clung to his every word and believed that I had the power to change him. I thought he shared my feelings, but as I discovered, it was all a lie.

I will spare you the details, but know I had my reasoning for keeping this from him. Just please believe that I was trying my best to protect you from the pain I felt. A pain I now realize that I inflicted on you anyway – abandonment. As you come to terms with my loss, I can only hope that one day you find your father and he extinguishes my fears, and he can provide you with the life you always deserved.

I can’t ask you for your forgiveness for leaving you all those years ago, but you were too pure, too perfect to be exposed to the darkness inside me; I would have only hurt you in the end. We both have to live with my choices. I do hope that one day you can look back, maybe as you hold your child in your arms, that you at least understand I did what I believed was right.

While I do not feel that I have earned the right as a mother to give you advice, I do want to want to leave you with these words of wisdom.

Do not let my mistakes dictate what kind of future you have. Don’t let fear stop you from loving and being loved.

I spent years letting fear rule me—fear of failing, fear of never being enough for you and me. If you are scared, use that fear, and thrive on living the best possible life.

All my love,

Mom

I stare at the letter for a moment, wondering how Grams got this letter to be able to put this in here?Did she find it in the belongings she collected from the shithole apartment my mother was living in when she died? Or maybe, did Mom put this in here herself on the last time she stopped by the house?More questions I will never get answered.

Tears stream down my face, and tiny droplets land on the paper. So many things I wish my mother could have told me in person, not all these years later. I tuck the letter safely in back in the envelope and return all the contents to the box before setting it back on the table.

When I wanted to take a trip down memory lane, I wasn’t expecting it to pull such strong emotions from me. A sharp pain radiates through my chest as I feel like I’m not only mourning her loss all over again, but I feel like I’m mourning someone I didn’t even know. As I steady my staggered breaths, the world becomes clearer, and the clouds begin to fade from my version.

Her words ring out in my ears as I close my eyes and sink further into the couch. It’s as if she was shouting at me from heaven herself. I needed this letter now to realize that what I’ve been doing lately is letting fear take the wheel.

Now it’s time to take her words and put them into action. The last thing I think before falling asleep on the couch is four words:I forgive you, Mom.

---