“Raine?” I hear my mother say behind me. I turn around and see her–her from before–staring at me blankly and walking away from me as I cried out for her to help. Crying for her to finally chooseme. I blink away the hot tears that pool in my eyes, and the old version of my mother is gone, replaced with a stranger. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry. I, uh…” I croak and cough to clear my throat. “It’s hard. Being back here.”
Guilt takes over the worry in her eyes. She takes a step back, as if my words have physically pushed her away. I wonder if she even remembers the night I left. I feel every cell in my body screaming at me to run, to get far away from this place and to avoid this whole situation, but I fight it.
Instead, I inhale and blink away the tears. I might have chosen to run away ten years ago and leave her behind, but I’ve always wanted her to be a part of my life. I’ll always love her.
I desperately want my life back. I want myself back. I can’t achieve this without healing.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her, swallowing away my discomfort, and I motion to the living room.
She turns, and I follow her down the hallway that’s now covered with picture frames. A lot of them hold photographs of Preston with groups of people I assume are his friends and family members. There are a few that contain photos from my childhood, all before Davis came into our lives. At the very end, sits an image of my mother and father.
They look to be in their early twenties in this photo. Theirfaces pressed close together, cheek to cheek, a suit and tie on my father and a white wedding dress on my mother. They had wide joyful smiles, their eyes squinting slightly because of it, but within them, I can see pure love and happiness.
The sight of it has me halting in my place. I didn’t even know my mom had a picture of him. I look like him. I have his eyes, dirty-blonde hair, and wide toothy smile. My grandparents always told me that I acted like him too. I carried a matching big heart and wanted to rescue any and all animals like he did as a child. I even have his laugh, they’ve said.
I saw home videos during my weekend visits at the farm, which helped me to feel connected to him even though he was no longer with us. Stories from his childhood are all that I truly knew of my father. How he met my mom and the years after were stories my grandparents always said should come from her.
However, she never wanted to talk about him, and I learned quickly that when I did bring him up, she would reach for a bottle to drown away the pain. I knew she loved him. She loved him so much that the grief of losing him consumed her.
She must sense what’s on my mind, because once I turn to face her, I see the frown deepen on her face. “I know I never spoke much about your father.”
“Can you talk about him now?”
She gestures to the black leather couch, and as I take a seat, she walks over to a nearby table and grabs a tray of snickerdoodle cookies and two cups of milk. As she places the tray onto the coffee table, I notice the slight tremor in her hands. That’s something I inherited from her.
“I remember these used to be your favorite,” she rambles and takes a seat on the couch, making sure to leave some space between us. She seems as uncomfortable and nervous as I am, and in a way, it helps to ease my own discomfort—just a bit.
“I’ll never say no to a cookie.” I grab a snickerdoodle and inhale the scent, instantly thrown back into a memory from mychildhood—thankfully a good one this time. After I take a bite, I add, “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
She shifts in her seat, rubbing her hands together before releasing a breath and turning to face me.Here we go, Raine. Hold it together. You can get through this.
“Losing your father was something I wasn’t prepared for. The bottom of a bottle was my only escape from the grief he left behind,” she begins, wetness beginning to build within her eyes. “Our love story was like a dream. We met in high school, separated during college for a few years, only to find our way back to each other, and then marrying shortly after. We bought this home, and then we became pregnant with you.”
Her eyes glaze over as she shifts through her memories, almost like she drifts off to another place. Her complexion pales, and the shaking in her hands picks up slightly as her fingers fidget with the throw pillow beside her. She keeps her eyes on the coffee table, exhaling as she moves on with the story.
“We had big hopes and dreams for our little family. I treasure those memories with him. He was excited to be a father, and I was more than ready to witness him with you. The day we found out that you were a girl, we were driving home through a rainstorm, and I remember him looking over at me with so much love in his eyes—the same eyes I see on you.” Her eyes shoot to mine, but just as quickly, she is looking back down at the floor.
“And he told me that he wanted to name you Rain but spell it with an E on the end. And before I could even respond, the tires hit a pothole in the road, and the car lost control. An oncoming car crashed into our vehicle, killing him on impact.” My fingers lift toward my mouth. I knew my father died in a car crash, but I never knew the depth of the story. I never knew that not only was my mother in the vehicle but so was I. I want to ask questions, but all I can do is nod. I’m worried that if I try to speak, the words will tumble out and not make any sense.
She reaches for her glass and chugs the rest of her milkbefore she continues, “That car literally wrecked my whole world. I blinked, and suddenly, I was a widowed single mother. Back then, I couldn’t see the miracle that it was that you and I walked away from that crash alive. It was a miracle, Raine. However, I saw it as a death sentence. The postpartum depression that I experienced after your birth only made my grief worse.”
I have the urge to reach out and hold her hand, to let her know how sorry I am that she had to go through that. But I stay quiet because I know what happens next in the story. I lost my mother the same day I lost my father.
“You became this constant reminder of him. Even saying your name would instantly send me back to that day. I barely made it those first few years after his death. I think the continuous task of caring for a newborn distracted me, but on the third anniversary of his death, something in me snapped. I needed a break, and while you stayed with your grandparents one night, I went to a bar a few towns away and found a way to numb the pain.
“I didn’t know that alcohol would consume me or that I would develop an addiction to fading away from the world. I drank in order to make it day to day without him here. I’m telling you this because I want you to understand where I was mentally. But it wasn’t okay, Raine, the way I chose to mother you. I regret it every single day,” her voice breaks, and I feel mine burning from my own tears.
“And I know that when I met Davis, he only caused more tension to build between us. He created even more problems that I couldn’t fix. He had me fooled into thinking he could help take care of us, help take care of you since I was incapable of being the parent that you deserved. I was blinded by that hope, but he showed his true colors the moment I let him move in with us.
“When you were able to leave, I was so relieved. I knew you would be better off living far away from him—and fromme. Once I found the opportunity to leave him, I hid away in the nearest rehab facility for as long as I could. Davis was gone once I was released. I was able to work on rebuilding my life again, and I didn’t want to contact you until I felt worthy of having a relationship with you. But the thing is, I never felt worthy. I still don’t.”
Hearing this story from her perspective and learning more about my dad…it’s breaking my heart all over again. I can’t imagine what she had to go through. My hands start to shake from the emotions I’m keeping at bay.
She wipes her eyes and inhales a breath as she fights to regain her composure. The woman who sits before me is a broken one. Broken from so many different versions of grief, and I feel just as broken.
She reaches across the coffee table and grabs a tissue before speaking again. “My heart has ached with the thought of never seeing you again, Raine. But it also pains me to see you, knowing I can’t change the past or will never be able to forgive myself for the choices I made. Knowing I’ll never be worthy of your forgiveness. How can I even begin to fix our relationship?”
