“Jordan, I’m calling your bluff. You belong with Paige.”
I let out a deep breath before walking back to my tool bag and placing the hammer inside. The towel rack can wait. If I don’t get out of this house now, I’m bound to say things I shouldn’t. “Maybe this isn’t a matter of belonging. Maybe it’s a matter of what’s best for everyone in the long run.”
Mom narrows her eyes at me. “Who is everyone? Obviously this isn’t best for you and Paige, so who is benefitting here?”
My jaw clenches, and silence looms between us. I’m being painted into a corner by the one person I’ve managed to evade for years. Mom’s look of indignation morphs into confusion, then clarity. Her mouth inches open.
“Jordan, please tell me you didn’t break up with her to be here…with me.” I can see from her look of certainty that she doesn’t need my answer. She shakes her head and throws her arms out. “What do I have to do to convince you that I’m okay? Despite the fact that I occasionally trip over lamp cords, I’d like to think I’m capable of taking care of myself. So why would you stay here for me when you could be living a life with Paige?”
“Because, Mom… It’s my fault.” The words burst out of me as forcefully as a dam that’s sprung a leak. I take a deep breath, thick emotion rising within me. I want to choke my feelings back, like I’ve gotten so good at these past years, but that path has only led to more hurt. Paige’s parting words come hurtling back toward me. That I need to tell Mom how I feel. And Paige is right. She’s always been right. I can’t contain this guilt any longer. Mustering all my courage, I let go of the words that I’ve barricaded within myself for so long. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
Just saying those words out loud feels like a weight has been tossed off my back. Mom looks at me, confused, and I press forward, letting the words flow freely. “The day I told you about the mascot assembly my senior year, you had an imaging appointment. And I guilted you into canceling it. Then you couldn’t get an appointment for months after. Your cancer could have been so much less if I hadn’t interfered. Your treatments could have been less. You might not have neuropathy if you hadn’t needed chemo. And I’m so… so sorry, Mom.”
Mom rests her face in her hands. “Oh, Jordan.” When she lifts her head, I find that the frustration I sensed earlier has gone out of her, replaced by a pain that wells in her eyes. “All this time, you’ve blamed yourself?”
Emotion rises in my throat, and I tear my eyes away from Mom, looking past her. I can feel my chin start to quiver as I reopen a wound that has never truly healed. “I’ve caused you so much additional pain, Mom. And I’m so sorry for that.”
Mom’s deep-brown eyes grow soft. “I always suspected there was something more that I wasn’t seeing. But I never thought you would blame yourself for the severity of my cancer.” She presses her lips together, staving off tears. “You need to know that I have never blamed you for that.”
I shake my head. “You should have.”
“No. I shouldn’t have. I’ve never blamed you, because I’ve never once regretted going to that assembly. If I could do it all over, I would have chosen to see you take off that mascot head again and again. That memory is a happy place for me, something I look back on and laugh about when times get hard. It reminds me that I have a son who is full of life. Who never backs down from an opportunity. And who I’m so proud of.”
My eyes well up, and I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel like a young boy again, wrapping my emotions around how my mother sees me. So much genuine warmth lights Mom’s eyes that I can almost feel it chipping away the shell of guilt that’s enveloped me for so many years.
“I certainly don’t see anything that needs forgiveness,” Mom says, reaching up and placing her hands on my shoulders. “But if hearing it is whatyouneed, then I forgive you. Wholeheartedly.”
I let out a staggered breath and wrap my arms around Mom in a hug. My chest fills with something warm that seems to heal the jagged gashes inside me that I’ve let become infected and fester. In its place, I feel something weightless and airy.
Freedom.
“Thank you. Thank you for forgiving me, Mom. I did. I needed that.”
Mom sniffles and pulls back. “But I have one condition. Will you forgive me?”
My brows pull together in confusion. “What for?”
“For taking Stanford away from you. For making you grow up too fast. For making you feel like you had to give up Paige for me.” Mom gives me a small smile.
“Seems guilt is a Miller family trait.” I puff out a laugh.
“Oh, guilt and I are old friends, Jordan. I have a good therapist if you need one.”
“I may take you up on that.” We both wipe away rogue tears that streak our faces. “We’re pretty pathetic.”
Mom laughs. “We’re all figuring things out as we go, Jordan. We’re bound to make mistakes, and we’re allowed to have regrets. The trick is to not let them stop us from moving forward. So don’t let them win, Jordan. Figure out what you want your life to look like, and don’t stop moving toward it.”
I step back, taking my mom in. For so long I have chosen to see frailty, but now I am clearly seeing the full force of her strength. She’s tripped over many proverbial lamp cords in life, but she’s always righted herself, no matter if I was by her side or not.
I take in a breath, feeling a silent separation occurring between us, one that’s not forced but natural. A parting of ways that’s been blocked by guilt and fear for too long.
But separation or not, I doubt there will ever be a day when I don’t worry about her. “I just want you to feel better, Mom. I want you to be okay.”
“What’s going to make me feel better is not a fix-it man or a caregiver, but a son who is living life to the fullest. I watched your excitement for life drain away when I got cancer. It’s already taken so much from us both, so let’s not let it take anymore. I will be okay knowing that you are okay. I will feel better knowing that you are taking risks and not holding back. And if my phone doesn’t ring every night at nine o’clock, you will make me the happiest mom alive.”
I laugh and shake my head. “It’s not like you answer your phone anyway.”
“I’ve never been good at that.” Mom shrugs. “So, what are you going to do about Paige?”
