“I left her alone when I should have been the one sitting beside her, holding her hand. I should have seen her final breath, and I should have closed her eyes for her. That should have been me. I will never forgive myself for missing that moment. You know as a Native, how valuable that moment is when the soul leaves to go to the Happy Hunting Grounds. She gave me a son, and I gave her pain. The scale is not balanced, and for me to have peace in death, I have to find a way to balance it.”
Ethan wanted his father to know one thing.
“I won’t take you dream walking, Dad.”
The spoon paused halfway to his mouth, but he didn’t argue with him. Wyler was too tired, and he needed his energy for other things.
Like surviving.
“I understand.”
His son stopped him.
“You don’t,” he said eating some bread. “I won’t take you until you forgive yourself. I’m not going to make a bridge to her, if you’re going to continue to punish yourself. My mother is light and love now, and she doesn’t want you to hurt. When you can look me in the eyes, and tell me that you’ve forgiven yourself, and we can start to heal as father and son, I’ll do it, but only then. In order to give you this wish, you have to be ready for it. You can’t dream walk when you’re buried in the weight of guilt. She won’t come.”
Wyler stared at him.
“Why?”
He was honest.
“Because you’re looking for forgiveness from the dead, when you should be seeking forgiveness from the living. The dead don’t judge you, we do.”
He actually laughed.
“Now, you sound like a Shaman. That’s something the great Timothy James Blackhawk would have said.”
He was honest.
“He wasn’t as great as everyone thought,” Ethan admitted. “He carried his own sins. Now, it’s time for you to stop carrying yours. Let it go.”
Wyler listened, and Ethan continued.
“It’s taken fifty years to get here, but I’m here. I need you to let it go. When you dream walk, you need pure intent. Again, she won’t show up if you carry this burden. She’s ready for you when you cross. Caryn will be here when you leave, and she will be there when you cross, but you have to leave the regret behind.”
Raph put his hand on his bestie's back.
Someone had come a long way.
That was for damn sure.
Wyler nodded.
“You’re right.”
Ethan was well aware.
“For the last five years, I’ve low-key read Timothy’s journals, and everything he left behind for us so one of the family could carry on.”
Wyler could tell.
It was time.
“I want to read you something.”
That was all Ethan said.
When he got up, he went out the door, and he got the book from the tipi. It was Timothy’s journal, and he saw this a few weeks ago—before he’d been to Philadelphia, where his whole world was thrown upside down.
