“Want to have a seat?” I ask, my voice sounding unfamiliar, and I point toward the table.
She nods, her eyes lifting to mine for just a second before returning to the ground. She takes a seat, and I follow her, sitting down across from her. I move my laptop and items for work to the side, trying to keep my hands busy, and my eyes focus on something other than her.
Bile is rising into the back of my throat, and panic is itching its way up my spine. I smooth my skirt over my lap and place my hands under my legs to keep them from shaking. My leg starts to bounce uncontrollably, and I remove my hands from under my legs and begin picking at the skin on my thumb.
Calm down, Raine.
I say a silent prayer for strength to get through this.
“I won’t stay long. I know you’re busy,” she tells me, and I bravely look at her.
She’s wearing a flowy pink shirt with a white cardigan over her shoulders and arms. She has on a pair of white jeans and black flats. Her light-blonde hair hangs down, touching her shoulders, smoothed down by heat. Around her neck is a pearl necklace that she’s twisting around with her fingers—a nervous tic, I assume.
I take a deep breath, attempting to calm the raging storm inside of me, and as I release the air, a hummingbird begins to swarm above us. It hovers over the feeder for a moment before buzzing in a circle and stopping beside us. It lasts for maybe a second, but it feels like time slows down.
I feel it right then, a sensation of warmth washing over mefrom my head and landing into my toes. The pressure in my lungs releases, and I suck in a full breath of air. My leg stops bouncing, and I steady my hands as the feeling of calm travels through every nerve in my body.
It'speace, just like my Mamaw experienced, and I know in my heart that it’s a sign from her. Her way of communicating from heaven that she wants my mother and me to mend our relationship. That I need to forgive her in order to let go. Not just for me, but for my mother as well.
The hummingbird flies away. My attention returns to Mom, who is watching me with tears in her eyes. She brings a shaky hand to her mouth before wiping away the wetness on her cheeks. She points to where the hummingbird was and opens her mouth to speak, but she takes a second to regain herself.
“She told you the story?” I give her a small smile, tears blurring my vision.
She nods her head before wiping her face again. “Yeah, a few months before she passed, actually. We’ve been working on repairing our relationship. Raine, I don’t even know where to start with how sorry I am for everything.”
There they are. Words that I desperately need to hear. It’s like rubbing an ointment over an open wound. It’s not healed yet, but it helps with the healing process. There’s still a part of me that wants to be angry with her. A little voice that whispers that she doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. But I ignore those negative thoughts because I know they’re from the enemy.
“I have no excuse for my choices in the past. That version of me feels like a complete stranger. Finding God completely changes you into someone new.” She shrugs her shoulders, rubbing her hands together. It brings me a sense of comfort knowing she has found a relationship with God.
She continues, “But even though I’ve asked him for forgiveness, it has been hard to forgive myself, especially since I haven’t been brave enough to confront you. I want so badly for us tohave a relationship—one that I should’ve given you when you were growing up. I can’t change the past, but oh, if I could… The things I would wipe clean and do over. But it’s out of my control, and I have to learn to walk with this guilt for the rest of my life.”
I never sat down and tried to understand her side of the situation or took the time to learn the reasons why she chose alcohol over most things in her life, including me. I hang on to this truth as I let her continue, hoping that it calms my heart for what lies ahead for us and our relationship.
In order to move forward, we have to talk. I have to face my fears, push past my insecurities and discomforts, and try my best to look past the pain. With both my mother and with Ryland.
I place my hand onto the wooden table, and I silently pray. I pray for strength, I pray for guidance, and I pray for God to mend the brokenness between us. Because I know I can’t heal on my own, but I can with His help.
“I just…there’s a lot to discuss, and we don’t have to get into it today, especially since I kind of barged in on you. I can see you have work to do.” She waves a hand toward my laptop. “I did want to ask if you would like to come over for dinner this weekend? I’d love to have the chance to explain some things and answer any questions you may have. I don’t want to avoid you any longer. I’ve let my shame and guilt stand in the way of trying to connect with my one and only daughter. I know your Mamaw and your father would want me to try.”
Her voice quivers, revealing the emotion she’s trying to keep at bay, and I move my hand to hers, and as soon as our skin touches, sympathy fills my heart. “I’d like that. Very much,” I admit, more to myself than to her.
She flips her hand over so she can squeeze mine. Relief washes over her face as she looks at our joined hands and releases a shaky breath. It's a good feeling, knowing that she cares enough to try to fix our relationship. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
A cough breaks into the silence, pulling our attentiontoward the doorway. Ryland stands completely still, mid-stride, eyes wide as he looks between my mother and me. Thankfully he has his shirt back on. His lips part as his eyes pierce into mine, a question reflecting within their hazel color.
“Ryland. It’s good to see you,” Mom says, releasing her hold on me and giving him a slight wave. “I better be off.”
She gathers herself and stands. Ryland and I don’t move a muscle. She nods, her head bouncing between the two of us, before she nods a second time and walks to the stairs.
I blink away the haze before standing up. “Wait,” I shout and rush to her. She turns, eyes large with surprise, and stops on the bottom step. “Let me put my number into your phone.”
She smiles and pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it to me. I type my number into her contacts before giving it back to her. Her smile widens, and I see the twitch of her arm, as if she wants to reach out and give me a hug, but she pulls back. I’m relieved, not yet ready for that step, but I’m willing to work on getting there.
Ryland and I stand on the porch while my mother gets into her vehicle and leaves. It’s not until the dust from the driveway begins to settle that I finally turn and look at him. He raises a brow, shock still written on his handsome face.
“What just happened?” he asks.
“She apologized and asked if I wanted to come to dinner this weekend to talk things over.”
