Page 95 of Through Quick and Quinn
When the front door’s lock unlatched, my heart skipped a beat. And much to my surprise, it did so more with excitement than anxiety. I stood up as she walked over the threshold, and without saying a word, she fled towards me with open arms. We completely enveloped one another in a hug like no other, our heads buried in the other’s neck. Her long hair became matted from my nuzzle and wet from my tears. I was completely overcome with emotion. I felt like I was seeing my mother for the first time in over five years.
When I heard that my cries were reciprocated by hers, that her apologies were repeated over and over just like mine were, it hit me that all the worry I was feeling before stemmed from the fear that she wouldn’t. That she wouldn’t feel emotion. That she wouldn’t feel the need to hug and cry and sob and squeeze. I was so wrong.
After several minutes, she finally released the hug and whimpered, “I want to get a good look at you.” She held my face in her hands while her eyes searched mine. “Look how grown you are. I lost so much time.” The regret on her face was unmistakable.
“I’m right here, Mom.” She looked so beautiful, exactly as I remembered her from my childhood. From before. It was clear how much her time in rehab helped her, and my heart was filled to the brim with pride for her.
She smiled gratefully. “I think we’re long overdue for a chat. What do you think?” I nodded. “Would you like to have it now?”
I reasoned that it was as good a time as any, and when she asked me if I wanted to say anything first, my mind went completely blank. All the things I planned to tell her, all the things I planned to ask, gone. I stared at her, opening my mouth to speak a few times before closing it with nothing said. She waited patiently, and then I finally squeaked out the only words I heard in my head. “I love you, Mom.” I threw my arms around her again, and as I caught a couple sobs in my throat, she led me back to the couch for us to sit down. I looked at her and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“In more ways than one. I’m back in more ways than one.” She held me for a little while longer before she started talking again. “I’ve thought long and hard about all the things I need to say to you, and over the last month, I’ve written and rewritten a letter to you. I realized it was the only way to make sure I said it all, and then you can read it as much as you need to or want to. I’d like to read it to you so I can get it right, if that’s okay?”
I nodded. I took a deep breath and pressed the mental record button in my mind. I knew this would be a monumental moment in my life and I didn’t want to miss one millisecond of it. I watched as she retrieved the letter from her pocket, her hands shaking. It was then she who took the deep breath before beginning to read from the piece of paper that I would carry with me for years and years to come.
My dearest Declan,
Let me begin by telling you that I love you more than anything on this planet. It tears me up from the inside out to think that you ever thought otherwise, and it is my solemn promise that I will prove my love to you each day for the rest of my time here on earth.
My sweet boy, I am so very sorry. I failed you in every possible way. I failed you as a mother—I forced you to grow up all on your own. I failed you as a role model—I forced you to watch me handle grief in a terribly unhealthy manner. I failed you as a friend, a supporter, a guide, a protector, a provider. The list is endless, as is the depth of my regret. I can only pray that one day you will forgive me, and I will never stop trying to earn back your trust.
I need you to know something. I never blamed you for Geoffrey’s kidnapping. I only blamed myself, that I put you in that situation to begin with. I realize now that you mistook my lack of engagement with you as blame, hatred, and worse, but Declan, it was the very opposite. I was so ashamed of myself as a mother that I couldn’t bring myself to look at you, to face you. Because of me, you lost your brother. It is so clear to me now that in my altered state I somehow convinced myself that I was protecting you, but what I really did was condemn your childhood into one where you lost your brother and your mother at the exact same time. And what’s worse is that my physical presence was a constant reminder, and probably a constant trigger as well.
As an adult, I found it impossible to navigate my way through life after the tragedy. Clearly. But yet, I wrongfully expected you to be able to do it. While we should have been working through it together as a family, no matter how hard it was, I pulled away from everyone I loved and convinced myself that you would be better off without me.
I say these things not to make excuses. I was wrong. And I am so very sorry.
We lost our Geoffrey, and then I foolishly and unnecessarily lost you, too. My two deepest regrets. I didn’t have to miss out on your childhood, but I did. I would give anything to get that time back. I was stuck in the past, reliving memories and begging to somehow change the past, and in being stuck I completely lost the present. I’ll be damned if I lose the future, too.
My time in rehab was hard. Earned, but hard nonetheless. I am grateful, though, because I was forced to do something I hadn’t done since that day. Be alone with myself and my thoughts, without numbing them away through drugs. I was forced to face my truths and face my reality, and as difficult as it was, I found my way back to my inner self.
I read somewhere that healing is a cyclic process. You face things, you realize things, you feel things, you release things, only for you to face another facet or aspect of the situation. But it is through this healing process, it is through this reflection, it is through this accountability that your pain is set free. It takes so much courage to face the pain, instead of burying it deep. It takes even more courage to approach that pain with honesty, and I am so proud that you were able to do this in your own way, in your own time, and at your own pace. I wish I was as brave as you are, and that it didn’t take me a near-death experience to see it.
I now firmly believe this: Emotions are like our best friends. They only want what is best for us, and because of that, they want to make themselves known. I had to learn to allow my emotions to reside with me, and I realized that it was much easier to acknowledge them than it was to bury them. Once we see that our emotions, both the good ones and the bad ones, are here to help us navigate this world by telling us what we need, it becomes more of a priority to grant them their deserved presence in our lives.
I’m not saying I’m healed. None of us are and I don’t believe any of us will ever fully be so. Perhaps being completely healed would feel like we were dishonoring Geoffrey. There will be good days and bad days ahead of us, but I promise you that I will be here for all of them. If you’ll have me.
Please forgive me when you feel ready to.
I love you,
Mom
By the time she finished reading her letter, my face was soaked in tears. I didn’t bother brushing them away. I let them fall as they came, each one representing a time when I wished things were different, when I missed my brother, when I needed my parents, when I thought she hated me, when I hated myself. Those tears allowed the emotional release that I had bottled up for over half of a decade. As much as I had grown and as much as I was able to find joy again in the last year, I wasn’t fully healed. Just like Mom said.
She carefully folded the letter and offered it to me. I placed it in my lap and reached over to hug her. “Thank you, Mom. That was everything I needed to hear, and then some.”
“I’m so sorry, Declan.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re here now and we’ll be closer than ever. But Mom? It wasn’t your fault either. Evil was done by evil. Okay? Period.”
With glistening eyes, my mom nodded. “I love you, son. Period.”
***
Quick / 5:53 p.m.
are you home yet
