I know someday you’ll do all the things I couldn’t. You’ll do them for both of us. Live as if every day was your last, be happy, free, and fulfill your dreams. I know you will.
You’re strong. Brave. Beloved. Everything. Don’t ever forget that, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I love you crazily. All three of you.
My children: you are my world.
Love,
Mom
Tears slid down my cheeks. For a second, I felt she was there with me. Her words had lodged in my soul, and somehow they had taken all those fragments of my shattered self and glued them back together, making me whole.
I dried my eyes with my shirtsleeves and said, “Thank you,” to Hayley, and to the rest of them, “I love you so much. I don’t think I’ve ever told you enough.”
“We love you, too,” Hayley said.
“Ugh,” Hoyt said, trying to hide his emotions. “Now’s one of those moments when I ask myself why I couldn’t have had a brother. Another guy to act normal with me when you girls are getting all mushy.”
I chuckled, jumped up, and threw my arms around his neck, kissing him all over his face.
“Thank you, Hoyt. I mean it. You’re the best brother in the world, no matter how much you act like a jerk.”
“Are you all right?” Hayley asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “I needed this.” I pressed the letter to my heart. Shewatched me, and I could tell she wanted to know what was written there. “Here, take this. It’s for the two of you, too.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Hoyt walked up beside her and they read it together. I tried to take a snapshot of the image in my mind to hold on to forever. Then I gathered my things and left.
I needed to be alone for a while and to digest all that had happened. I walked with my senses more awake than ever, letting every word of my mother’s letter soak in. A part of me wished I had read it before, but then I remembered her advice. And I told myself it had arrived at just the right moment, when I really needed it most.
Remember at the beginning, how I said it all started with a letter, a gift, and a guy as lost as I was?
Well, now I had the letter.
32
Sink or Swim
Taking risks wasn’t something I was great at. The same goes for following my impulses. I’ve always been scared of the uncertain, of doing something rash, of consequences, of being wrong, of things not turning out as I’d hoped. What am I saying? I’ve always been afraid of everything.
I was an expert at hiding my feelings. At least from other people. They were always still there inside, though, quivering, multiplying, expanding. And they always cut into me, causing wounds that never quite healed.
For hours, walking through the city, I repeated my mother’s words in my head. With every step, I felt my wounds finally beginning to heal and the sharp edges of my feelings smoothing out like mermaids’ tears under the ocean—softy, shiny, precious, so clear you could see right through them. They gave me a different vision of the world, one that was nonetheless incredibly real.
And in that world I had a purpose: to live. For my mother. For me. For both of us. She had given me a beautiful gift—my life—and secrets, lies, errors, and my own insecurities had wasted it for years in unhappiness. But there was still time to change. I could still start over. Connect with my own life, be a part of it. Flow. Follow my heart.
With every step I took, another fear fell away. Another mistake. Another doubt. Another regret. Another obligation.
When I stopped, there was nothing left but myself. My mind blank, my heart unburdened. For the first time, I had no plans, just a certainty: I wasn’t going back to my father’s home.
I was tired and my feet hurt. I looked up and saw a sign for a hotel on the next block.
I walked there and asked for a room, went up and took a shower, put on a robe, wrote my brother and sister and told them not to worry about me. Then I ordered a bunch of food from room service and spent the evening watching TV.
