I suppose it is a collection of things that really drove me to come here today. Between Liam’s prodding, his beautiful family, and last night’s A&B session, I couldn’t justify doing anything else with my day. My talk with Kaya had gone in a different direction than I thought it would. We ended up talking long after everyone left, and I admitted something to her that I really don’t think I’d admitted to myself yet:
“I think I’m struggling to forgive them both,” I told her, speaking of Jayden and my mother, “I never really thought that was an issue for me until someone suggested making amends with her after all these years, and the animosity that I felt … the pure attitude of ‘why should I’, surprised me.”
“Right,” Kaya nodded with understanding, “Because it didn’t feel like yourself.”
“Exactly,” I said, “I have always, always been a peacemaker. Never resentful like that.”
“That’s because it isn’t you,” She says. “While I do believe — given your circumstances — that your feelings are valid, you yourself are not a resentful person. That’s all Satan … trying to make those emotions feel natural.”
I nodded, feeling frustrated, “I feel like he’s making it so difficult for me. Forgiveness is, like, a core value of mine. Why is it so hard to move on this time?
Kaya’s expression softened, “Forgiveness is hard. Plain and simple. The most important command God gives us is to love one another. And personally, I’ve always thought the second most important thing is to forgive one another. Of course, the quickest way Satan can keep us from doing those things is by getting us to harbor a grudge. But take religion entirely out of it for a moment. Even if you’re not concerned with being forgiven by God or anything like that, simply forgiving someone is really one of the greatest kindnesses you can give yourself. Holding a grudge allows that person to continue taking from you … your joy, your good mood, you name it. You spend precious time focused on what they’ve robbed you of, whereas forgiving them allows your mind to take a step back and heal. You don’t have to be their best friend after you’ve forgiven them, but at least you’ve taken back your freedom to feel joyful rather than dwell on them.”
I nodded, agreeing whole heartedly with her words.
“In the case of your mother, though,” she continued, “Man … I don’t know, Grace. Forgiving and then cutting out an ex-boyfriend is one thing, but … your mother is another. I guess … I just really wish I’d gotten the chance to make things right with my mom before she died.”
That’s what really moved me to make the drive. My mom and I may have never had a connection, but if she were taken from me tomorrow? What sort of regrets would I have? What kind of relationship could we potentially have if we just put everything behind us and agreed to start over?
***
“I would carry you to bed, but you’re all grown up now,” My mother says from the doorway.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but her voice is what I wake up to.
I sit up from where I lay and smile at her. She stares back at me with an unfamiliar expression of sadness. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
She places her hand on her heart with a heavy breath.
“I used to believe a fairy magically took me to bed each night,” I say, “Some kind, distant relative of the tooth fairy.”
I also used to think that maybe you were a fairy, and that’s why I didn’t see you much. It all added up in my six-year old mind … my mother’s delicate beauty, her limited contact with me … a human.
I pat the bed next to me. She hangs up her coat and joins me.
“What’s this all about? Is everything okay?”
I shrug, not sure how to start, “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“And you’re feeling alright? Kim told me you had your first prenatal exam.”
I nod, remembering the sonogram in my pocket, “You can’t really see much yet, but here it is.”
She looks over the picture, and something in her expression shifts, “I remember when I got mine, and you were nothing but a little speck.”
I soften, taking a deep breath, “Were you scared?”
With her eyes glued to the picture, she whispers, “I was terrified.”
I wait for her to continue.
“My mother … Your Grandma Jackie … She was very hard on me. When I got up the nerve to tell her what happened, she suddenly became super involved in my life, and not in a good way. Told me who I could and couldn’t hang out with, monitored my phone, and instilled a strict curfew. She never for a moment let me consider not having you, saying things like ‘If you think you’re old enough to make adult decisions like that, you’re old enough to deal with the consequences’. Not to say that I didn’t want to have you myself … from the moment I first saw your little face … or I guess the outline of it on the sonogram, I knew I had to be your mom. It’s just that I was scared—terrified, really—that I wouldn’t make a good mother so young. Especially when I was still under my own mother’s roof … her rules. Trying to raise a child when you have zero independence of your own …”
She shakes her head, and a tear streaks down her cheek. It surprises me. I’ve never heard her say any of this before.
“I promised myself I’d never do that to you,” she says, “That you would have the freedom to make your own decisions. But after your last visit … after you said those things … I’m afraid all I’ve ever done is hurt you with that mindset. I’d been trying to give you something your grandmother never gave me, but instead I deprived you of a basic need. I’m just … so sorry, Grace.”
Shocked as I am, I wrap my arms around her. Salty tears streak down my own face.
“Mom, I forgive you. You were doing what you thought was best for me.”
“My beautiful baby girl,” Her lips quiver, “My Gracelynn Brielle. I gave you the most beautiful name I could think of. It broke my heart leaving you in someone else’s care each day, but working every shift I could get was the only way we could afford to move out. I knew your grandmother didn’t deserve to pay for my decisions … that it wasn’t fair for her to support us forever.”
She wipes the black drips from her cheeks, “When you came over and your test was positive, though this may be selfish of me, I felt an opportunity. A chance to be the mother I wish I’d had, who asks what you need instead of blowing up. But I also felt like what I’d been scared of all these years had come true: that I wasn’t good enough a mother to keep you from repeating my mistakes. It’s not because raising you wasn’t a delight, but raising you on my own was hard work, and I missed so many precious moments. I didn't get to hear your first word, for example. Your caretaker, Tia, did."
My mother chokes, hardly able to get her words out, "And you know what it was? It was her name."
My heart sinks. I have very little memory of my old caretaker at the daycare, but I can imagine how devastating it would be for my child to recognize her before they ever recognized me.
“By the time I was finally making good enough money to spend some time with you … you were all grown up, and as independent as I raised you to be. You didn’t need me anymore. All I’d ever known at that point was how to work, so I immersed myself in it … a welcome distraction from all my miserable years of failing my mom and failing you.”
“Mom,” I shake my head, tears dripping, “We can put all that behind us. Forget what I needed then. What I need now is you. I’ve felt so alone and I’m scared. I need my mom.”
She looks at me with red-rimmed eyes, her face a gracefully aged mirror of my own, “Gracelynn … I love you so much. I’m here for you baby. Whatever you need.”
I smile, wiping a sleeve under my nose.
She wraps her arms around me and I melt into her chest. For the first time, I find not just joy, but genuine comfort in her vanilla mint scent.
38
Rae - Thursday
From: Grace
Sent: 10/17/19
Time: 7:54 am
“A l
ittle ocean therapy anyone? Available the day after tomorrow for booking ;)”
[Link - tap to view]
____________
I tap the link attached to her message and am greeted with an adorable, bright little condo right on the beach of Ocean City, Maryland. I’m instantly enamored.
“Alright, class. Phones up!” Mr. Algray announces, jolting my attention.
Anxiety thuds through my chest as I tuck my phone away.
As the teacher passes out test papers, I force myself to repeat the formulas that I’ve learned in my head. Each time I feel doubtful that I’ve studied enough, I try to make the voice in my head louder that’s repeating “You got this,” over and over again.
Mr. Algray passes a page to me, and I stare down at it with blurred vision. For a moment, my mind won’t process the complex problem before me. It only repeats, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
But then, I force myself to concentrate and begin to dissect it, starting with what I do know.
To my surprise, when I do this, I slowly begin to recall information naturally. I hear Adam’s voice in my head, explaining what the problem is, and my pencil flies accordingly.
Before long, I’ve solved each problem, amazed at what I just did. My brain hurts from remembering, but a strong sense of pride overrules it. I’m done. It’s finally over.
With a smile, I march my paper to the front and place it lightly on Mr. Algray’s desk. He gives me a nod and I head for the door, feeling almost giddy.
When I get to my car, feeling the freedom of fall break settle over me, I pull out my phone and flip through the pictures one more time: Brightly colored walls, cute little kitchen, ocean views, and affordable … I nod with approval.
___________
To: Grace
Sent: 10/17/19
Time: 8:42 am
“How fast can you pack?”
____________
39
Grace - Thursday
My mother gives me one last squeeze before I head for my car.
“Can you call me when you get home? You forgot to the last time I asked.”
I smile, “Yeah, mom, I can.”
“I love you, baby. Be safe.”
After our chat this morning, we turned on the TV to watch an episode of ANTM together and promptly fell asleep due to the sporadic tears.
Mom wasn’t in bed still when I woke up, and I almost wondered if I’d dreamed it all. Then I worried that the heart-to-heart talk had freaked her out and she fled back to her safe place: Work.
But all my fears dissipated as she appeared in the doorway clad in sweats and bearing a huge bowl of fruit salad.
I smiled, sitting up in bed as she passed me a fork.
“I took the day off work,” she said, stabbing a grape, “What do you want to do?”
I stared at her, completely unfamiliar with this version of mom, but happy that she’s willing to try. I wanted to take baby steps in this new territory; rushing into spilling secrets to each other and giggling at some inside joke would be far too big a leap. I want our relationship to feel natural — not forced — so I picked something I know we both love.
“Why don’t you read your book, mom? I brought my own.”
She eyed a book on her dresser. It’s the one I recognized from her post on Facebook over a month ago when she’d said she couldn’t wait to finally read it. Yet there it sat, still wrapped in it’s factory plastic.
“Is that what you want to do?” she said.
I nodded, “I just want to relax, honestly. I feel like I’ve lived a year in just three weeks.”
At that, her face seemed to regain a little bit of it’s youthful color.
We sat and chewed in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. It was nice simply enjoying each other's company and not feeling the need to force out a discussion. It’s a strange little companionship we have, but it works for us.
Before I left, she assured me I would have financial help with the baby, and to not let that be a reason I consider not having him or her. I told her that wasn’t necessary … that I didn’t want to burden her like that.
She shook her head, looking me squarely in the face, “You need to spend time with your baby, Grace. Trust me. Let them know how loved they are by you, because that doesn’t have a price.”
My face softened, wanting to cry all over again.
“Plus,” she added, “I’ve never had a grandchild to spoil before. Don’t take that away from me.”
I shook my head, gave her a big squeeze, and felt the most relieved I have in a long time.
When I arrive home, I let mom know, then check the unread text from Rae. I smile when I read it, tapping the call button right away.
“Hey!” She says, upbeat as ever.
“I take it the test went well?”
“Nailed it,” she says, “In the bag. Over.”
“You go girl!”
She laughs, “So, how fast can you pack?”
“Are you for real?” I smile.
“Yes, Grace, I don’t kid. We need some catch-up time, some R&R, and a bachelorette trip.”
I laugh, “I guess I should get in some bikini time before I can’t anymore.”
“Oh please,” she says, “None of that in our positivity bubble. You’re going to be big, beautiful and nothing less. And I wanna see those bikinis all the more when you’re rocking a bump.”
I look over at my suitcase, smiling, “If you’re paying, I’ll go.”
“Then I’m booking right now,” she says, “We leave tomorrow morning.”
40
Rae - Thursday
Flashbacks of high school flicker before my eyes as I wander through the halls of the school Adam teaches, but I shove the broken memories associated with my school years aside. That was then — this is now, and I’m growing every day.
I find Adam’s classroom and peer in the rectangular window. My heart lifts when I see him in his element, somehow making high school math an enthusiastic endeavor.
It takes him about five minutes to glance over at me, only because about ten little faces found me first and continued to stare. When he sees me, I smile my biggest and offer a little wave. He smiles too as he excuses himself for a moment.
He steps out into the hall with me, shutting the door behind him.
“What’s up? Everything okay?”
I’m practically bouncing, unable to remove my smile, “I couldn’t wait to tell you. I did it, Adam. The test is over.”
“And you feel good about it?” He smiles.
I nod enthusiastically.
He picks me up at the waist and spins me around, “I knew you could. I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s because of you,” I say, “Without your help it would’ve been a lost cause.”
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, “That’s not true. You put in the hard work to retain it all. I didn’t take the test for you.”
I shrug, still smiling, “I’m sure the prayers didn’t hurt anything either.”
He smiles, “I’m sure they didn’t.”
An eruption of laughter fills the air suddenly from behind the classroom door.
Adam frowns, “I’d better go see what’s going on.”
“Okay,” I chuckle.
He turns to go.
“Oh hey —” I say before he turns the handle, “Grace and I want to take a quick girls’ trip to the beach. It’d be for a day or two and we want to leave tomorrow. You don’t have anything planned for us, do you?”
He turns and smiles at me, “You know, your spontaneity is one of the first things that I fell for. You’re good, baby girl. Have a fun time.”
I give him a quick peck on the cheek and let him tend to his class.
As I turn on my heel, I allow the excitement of a road trip settle over me.
***
I send Grace a text, letting her know I’m picking her up at eight o’clock tomorrow, and then my manager to make adjustments to my work schedule.
Then I begin my packing.
On this trip, I want to focus on feeling good. I decide right now that if I start to feel any insecurities creeping in, I’m going to pray about it and shove them from my mind completely. I also want to push myself to feel this way — good overall — without the use of any bracelets on my wrists. It will be difficult, but I’m ready to set this goal for myself … to remember my identity in Christ and it’s importance rather than my physical identity.
In the spirit of feeling good, I recall a pair of swim shorts that I absolutely love … but where are they?
Living in Vermont, I don’t pull out the swimsuits that often anyways … but this particular pair of shorts is one I haven’t seen in years. They’re a beautiful olive green color, and with the luscious way they hug my hips, there’s no way I would’ve gotten rid of them, so I begin my search; They’ve got to be somewhere.
Forty minutes later, with clothes strewn across my floor, I locate the shorts tucked in the back of my closet. Victory.
I pull them out from their place, but a shoe box topples out onto the floor along with it. It’s contents spill onto the floor: Twenty or so pages of small, blocky handwriting.
When I realize what they are, I stop in my tracks.
My old love letters from Sam.
I slowly stoop down to pick one up.
“I hope there never comes a time that I'm not your everything the way you are mine. Lacey Rae Brooks, I –“
I stop reading, heat rising to my cheeks. It doesn’t feel right.
Even to simply see words like that about me that aren’t from Adam feels unnatural and wrong.
I eye the other pages on the floor. If Adam ever found these, how would he feel?
I shake my head, unwilling to risk it. I scoop them up and toss them in my suitcase along with a lighter, shooting Grace one last text before zipping my bag.
Sent: 10/18/19
Time: 2:03 pm
“Got any Jayden memorabilia to burn? I say we spare nothing.”
____________
Edified Page 28
