“Hi,”I tell Jerry as soon as I walk in. He’s awake today. That’s new. The past few weeks have actually been decent. We’ve been able to get to know each other better once we mostly left the past in the past. It’s hard, not going to lie, but you grow by what you go through or something like that.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here today.” Someone’s chirpy.
“Oh?” The chair is closer to him than usual; it’s unclear if he pulled it there or if it was like this from another patient.
“I found some stuff I wanted to show you.” He hands me a box I’ve never seen before. “I was cleaning my room and found it. I thought you should have it.”
There are tons of pictures of him and Mom. Some from before I was born, some with me as a baby. They look so happy. I take my time going through them. Some have time stamps. I realize now I don’t know much about how or when they met.
I turn one black and white picture over, trying to find a date. They look like kids. As if Jerry can hear my thoughts, he says, “We met in eighth grade, and that’s our school dance picture.”
“You two were high school sweethearts?”
He smiles, going back to memories of that time. It’s crystal clear how he felt about her, not only in the way he looks at her in the picture, but in the way he relives that memory.
“Middle school sweethearts, I guess you should say. She never told you about that?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t blame her. I ended up a different person from the one Brenda fell in love with.”
Out of all the things we’ve talked about, we haven’t talked about when drinking became a problem. He said he didn’t notice it, and by the time he did, it was too late, but what was it? What was the thing that made him go,you know what? Am I going to drink instead of talking to my wife about it?“What changed, Dad?”
I surprise us both with the title. I haven’t said it since I was twelve.
“It’s not an excuse, but the stress of building a business and making my family proud, combined with watching my dad do the same. Now that I’ve worked through my shit, I realized I never knew how to express my feelings, and all of it bottled up to a bad choice that led to another bad choice. My dad was the same way. I never saw him sad or even worried. He was always drinking or mad. I promised myself I would never be like him.” He lets out a breath. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He doesn’t take his eyes from me, asking a question he knows he has no right to. I answer it anyway.
“I don’t drink. Never have, never will.”
“You’re strong.” It’s the only thing he says before whispering, “And I’m sorry you had to be, son.”
“I know. I know you are. It just hurts.”
“If there was anything I could do to take it all back, to go back to that day and fix it all, I would. I know it’s too late. I can fix anything around a house or business, but I know I can’t go back in time and fix this. But I'm trying.”
I nod, closing the box and handing it back to him. “I can tell. I know you are. I don’t want to make you feel guilty anymore.” I stand, pacing. “We can’t keep going in circles. I-I—” I shake my head and finally say it. “It’s hard, so hard, to look past what you did. Yes, you took the first drink, but after that, you were out of control, right? You chose the first one, but then it got out of hand, and you were in too deep to see it. I can see it now.”
There’s one tear sliding down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. He lets it be as if it will remind him of how much he hurt us.
“Not that you need my forgiveness to move on, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. You fucked up, you learned from it, and you turned your life around. So, I do forgive you.”
“I’m paying my dues. Take a look at me.” He opens his arms, showing all the scars from the fistulas from treatment. “It will never be enough, though. No matter what I go through, I’ll always think about all the pain I put you through. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”
“I know. But life is not a tit for tat, okay? You fucked up, you’re doing your best to be better. I’ll take it. You finished the program, right?”
He eyes me in question.
“Your twelve steps.” He nods. “Which means you passed forgiveness. So go ahead, forgive yourself.”
The surprise behind my words doesn’t stop him from saying, “You’re a good man, Holden.”
I smile, thinking about Mom and how hard she worked to make sure I wasn’t growing up to be an asshole. “I was raised right.”
He knows it wasn’t his doing, or maybe it was by default. The lack of presence over presents, the lack of involvement over providing, the lack of being over drinking—all of it helped shape me into who I am today. The years of therapy too. But Mom, her hard work, is what got me to where I am today. And she will never know that.
“She was an incredible woman,” he mentions. I turn to look at him, but his eyes are not on me. They’re tracing images in the air—reminiscing, I’m sure. “She was an amazing mom, too. I can see it.”
“She was. You should tell her sometime.”
