Eleven Years Later
There were many times over the last decade when I thought I finally understood what went through my mother’s head. Why she held on so tightly to me, to the point where it all boiled over that one day at the cabin.
But only now, as I hold both my boys in my arms and have to hold back the sobs that want to rip through me, do I truly understand.
All around us, the Montréal–Trudeau International Airport is rife with noise and commotion, as it always is. How many hundreds—if not thousands—of lives are changing forever around us today?
Mine feels like it’s about to end, though I should know better.
“Okay, Dad, we really have to go,” Cayce says as he tries to pull away.
Corey, on the other hand, lingers a moment longer.
“I know,” I say, my voice breaking.
I sense Rachel’s hand on my back as a silent support. She’s as torn about our boys moving away as I am, and, unlike me, her tears fall freely, staining her cheeks red. But that small touch gives me the final boost of courage I need to let my sons go.
I back away and take a final look at them. They’ve grown so fast, I can hardly comprehend it. They’re tall, but not quite as tall as me, although, at seventeen, there’s a good chance they’re not done growing just yet. I think the right word to describe them right now is ‘lanky’.
But it seems like just yesterday, they were small enough for me to lift them both in my arms at the same time.
And despite them being identical twins, right now, they look nothing alike. Cayce has let his straight black hair grow to his chin, and the beginnings of a beard are peppered across his jaw, while Corey is clean-shaven and never lets his locks get over two inches long.
Cayce doesn’t mind the glasses they both need, while Corey prefers his contacts. Both still play soccer, but only Corey still plays seriously, and the difference in their build is staggering.
Under all accounts, my sons are set up for success. No, they don’t have the huge trust fund I originally wanted to build for them. But with Corey’s full-ride sports scholarship at the University of British Columbia—home of arguably the country’s best college soccer program—he will barely need to dip into his college savings.
And although Cayce is taking a sabbatical year to tour Europe, he has worked so hard at his part-time jobs throughout high school that he can easily swing it.
Still, I’m terrified the savings we gave them won’t be enough. My video game studio has launched a few successful games by now, but it’s by no means making me rich. I haven’t yet been ableto give myself the same salary I would be earning by now if I’d stayed in the software industry.
But with Rachel’s support, and regular therapy appointments, the anxiety has been manageable.
Corey looks me up and down, and, seeming to detect my worry, hugs me again.
“We’re going to be okay, Dad,” he whispers in my ear. “You prepared us for it. We’re both ready.”
“I know,” I repeat when he pulls away, alternating my gaze between the two of them. “I’m so proud of you both.”
“We both are,” Rachel says through her tears. “Oh, I love you both so much.”
I’m proud of how they’re both pursuing their own dreams, unapologetically. They don’t struggle with the same separation anxiety that plagued them when they were little, but still, the choice to go their separate ways was a painful one.
One they took anyway.
By the time they’ve gone through their gates, both headed to a layover in Toronto before they’re then headed in completely different directions, a few tears manage to break their way past my defenses. And when Rachel and I drive away from the airport, we’re both bawling like babies, so much so that I have to exit the highway to park on the side of the road.
But Rachel makes me feel safe, even in the moment when I feel the most vulnerable. The most broken.
When we’ve both settled down, enough that I can drive again, Rachel places a hand on my thigh.
“Corey’s right,” she tells me in a contemplative tone. “You couldn’t have prepared them for the world any better.”
“We both did,” I reply. “It’s still us against the world, right?”
Rachel grins at me, ever the beauty, with the two strands of white hair now framing her face.
“Always.”
