Dear Life

  “I’m trying,” she cries.

  “You say you’re trying, Hollyn. But those are just empty words now.” Closing the distance between us, I point to her chest and say, “In order to grow, you have to try from here.” I touch her heart and then her head. “And here. You can’t just outwardly try, you have to dig deep inside of you and actually want to try. You have to want to make a change. You have to want to let go. From where I stand, I don’t see you actually wanting to let go. And hey, it’s my fault for trying to push you when you weren’t ready. I take the blame. But I can’t journey on this ride anymore. If today isn’t an example of that, I don’t know what is.”

  “You aren’t exactly letting go either, Jace,” she counters, her chin lifting as she speaks. “You speak of change, of making a difference in our lives, but you still haven’t gone to visit Hope despite the open invitations from June and Alex. You can’t even talk about her. You can’t talk to me about changing your life when you’re just as stagnant as me.”

  “Don’t.” I shake my head. “Don’t turn this on me.”

  “Why the hell not? We’ve been in this together since the very beginning. Be honest, right, Jace? Isn’t that the motto our relationship was based upon? Well, this is me being honest. You’re not growing either. Every day, you dive farther and farther into a sorrowful, self-pitying hole. If you were truly interested in making a difference, you would.”

  “Not to be a dick, Hollyn, but I just recently gave up my baby. You’ve been grieving for almost two years.”

  Stepping back, she folds her arms over her chest. “Not to be a dick? Well, newsflash, that’s a dick thing to say. Fuck you for judging me on my grieving process. You chose to give up your daughter, I had no choice in the matter when Eric was taken away from me.”

  “I didn’t want to give her up,” I shout, probably waking every single one of my neighbors. “You don’t think that was the hardest decision of my life?”

  Sighing, she relaxes her arms, her face turning sincere. “I know it was hard, Jace. I’m sorry.”

  “Christ.” Defeated, I sink down on the ground, my back to the wall. Hollyn joins me. “And here we’re supposed to be working on our acceptance. Pretty sure we’re both still back at step one. Grieving.” I take her hand in mine and kiss the back of it before placing it back on her lap. “We can’t do this together anymore.”

  “What?” Her head whips toward mine. “Jace, this is just a little fight. We’re each other’s support system.” Are we? Or perhaps that’s actually all we will ever be. She’s in love with someone else and probably won’t ever love me. I had wanted more, but I can’t keep sustaining this level of pain from so many directions. I’m better off alone.

  “And I will be cheering for you from the sidelines, but we can’t be involved anymore. We’re tearing each other down more than lifting each other up. I’m looking for a relationship you’re not ready for, and your reluctance is shredding me each and every day. We’re toxic for each other right now, Hollyn. It’s not healthy.”

  “You can’t leave me, Jace. I can’t do this.”

  Turning toward her, I cup her cheek in my large palm and run my thumb under her eye, catching a tear. “You’re stronger than you think, Hollyn. This is on you. You control the outcome of your future, no one else. Take the strength you’ve harvested over the last few months, gather the fire you’ve been burned by, and turn it into something more. Prove your existence, Hollyn.”

  Standing, I pull her up with me. Leaning forward, I press a kiss against her cheek, take in her scent one last time and then pull away. “Know I’m your biggest fucking cheerleader right now, but from a distance. Find acceptance for your past, keep Eric close by, but don’t let him hold you back from your future.” Looking her in the eyes, I soak her in one last moment, knowing we will probably never speak again. “God, I love you, Hollyn. I’m just sorry our timing was off.” A sad smile passes my lips. “Maybe in another lifetime.”

  One last time I press my lips against hers, vowing this is the moment that will change the course of the rest of my life. She’s right. I’m stagnant. I’m scared. I’m making no movements to change. But that’s over.

  Fuck, yes, losing her has affected my game. It’s affected every part of my life. But I need to be Hope’s guardian angel. I need to make sure she gets what’s best for her, because she deserves the best life. She deserves the best of me, and that’s what she is going to get. It’s time to move forward. It’s time to prove my existence.

  DAISY

  “More tea?”

  “Sure.” With shaky, weathered hands, Grams pours me another cup and then hands me the milk and sugar. “Thanks, Grams.”

  “Of course.” She bites into another one of the snickerdoodle cookies I made. “You really have become such a good baker. These are delightful.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “Oh, dearie.” She waves a hand in front of her face. “You flatter me.” Taking another bite, she finally says, “What brought you over here in such a sour mood? You’re usually smiling and talking me up about the latest fabric you found in the discount bin.”

  “Hasn’t been the best week.” That is perhaps an understatement. I feel like the new relationships I was forming have all crumbled. I called Hollyn several times after she ran from the stadium, but she didn’t answer my calls until later, letting me know she was okay. The look of disappointment and hurt on Jace’s face was one I hope I never see again. He looked even more broken than the first day we met.

  I do have to admit, flying back to Denver by myself was a tad scary, but I was able to navigate my way through the airport . . .with an airline worker’s help.

  “Does this have to do with Carter?” And then there is Carter. Carter, someone I thought I could love. How stupid and naïve I had been there.

  “Yeah.” I slouch into my seat. “I don’t really want to get into it. Let’s just say things didn’t work out.”

  Patting my hand, she says, “I’m so sorry to hear that, dearie. You know, I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

  “I know.” Taking pause, I gather some courage to talk to her about the real reason I came to visit her today. “Can I ask you a question, Grams?” I stir my tea, feeling jittery about asking my next question.

  “You can ask me anything. Do you want to talk about pleasure without repercussions?”

  “Never.” I chuckle. “No offense, Grams, but I never want to talk about pleasure without repercussions with you. Just never.”

  “Fair enough.” She holds up her hands. “But I’m putting it out there if you ever do want to. I’m quite versed on the topic.”

  “That’s something a granddaughter should never know.” We both get in a good laugh, Grams coughing at the tail end of her laughter. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, dearie. Now go on with your question before I start growing cobwebs from your procrastination.”

  “Okay, just know, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings if I do.”

  “Oh, I know you never would do that on purpose. Now go on.”

  “I’m just wondering why you kept me sheltered my entire life. Why didn’t we ever venture out past our city limits? Why did you keep me so isolated that I didn’t have any friends?” I wince, hating the way I sound so ungrateful. This woman gave me everything and here I am questioning her parenting methods, but in order for me to move on, I need to know why.

  Staring out the window, she sips her tea, the deep-set wrinkles in her cheeks reminding me of just how old she really is. “Did I ever tell you about the day your grandfather left me?”

  “Um, not that I recall. Just that he was mentally ill and had to be hospitalized.”

  “That’s correct, but what I didn’t tell you was that he was suffering from PTSD. He was a soldier, a brave one during the Vietnam War. He left for deployment, a happy, proud, loving man. When he came home, he was a completely different person. He wasn’t the Harold I married. His eyes read like a tortured nove
l, his reactions were scattered, his mind never fully immersed in the here and now. His mood continued to become unstable with each passing day, to the point where I had to lock myself in the bathroom because he treated the house like a war zone, never fully cognizant of his surroundings. Finally, I had to seek help and that’s when he hospitalized himself . . . for a day.”

  “For a day?” I ask.

  She nods. “He checked himself out the next day and hung himself in our house. I came home to find him there, dead, with a note saying the world was a bitter and grim place full of hatred, a place he didn’t want to live in anymore.”

  “Oh my gosh, Grams. I had no idea.”

  “Not a lot of people did. I was so distraught, so physically and emotionally impacted by his choice that I fell into a deep depression. I buried myself in a hole of solitude, never wanting to face the world that took my Harold away.” With glossy eyes, she looks up at me. “And then you came along. You were this little droplet of sunshine in my life I didn’t know I needed. Your bright, cheery self brought me back, and I didn’t want to lose that. So I kept you to myself. Was I wrong? Secluding you from the outside world? Yes, but would I do it again? Of course. You see, if I lost you to the same world, I would have lost myself. It was selfish of me, but it was the only way I knew how to hang on to the joy you brought me.”

  “Grams.” Tears flood my eyes. “What’s changed now?”

  She wipes under her eyes with shaky hands. “You’re a grown-up now. You handled my stroke with grace and maturity, and I knew at that moment I had to let you go to live your life the way you want to, not the way I want.” Cupping my cheek, she adds, “And look at you, my beautiful girl. You’re doing it. You’re putting yourself out there and experiencing everything this world has to offer: the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

  “I’m proving my existence,” I murmur in awe.

  “Yes, dearie, you are.”

  Reflecting back on the last few months, I consider everything I’ve accomplished so far: I’ve made friends. I’ve changed from the inside out, daring myself to complete certain challenges and learning new things, even if they are of the smallest variety. And most of all, I experienced the one emotion everyone in the world can connect with: love. Maybe it was short-lived, but I captured a moment with it, and for that, I should be proud of myself. But I still think there is more to come for me, there has to be.

  A little unsure, I ask, “Do you think I’m capable of great things, Grams?”

  “I think you’re capable of grand things, my dear. I think you’ve stuck your toe into the pool and have barely tested the waters. There is so much waiting for you outside these doors, and I can’t wait to see what you do with your untapped potential.”

  Grams isn’t the first one to think I have potential. Carter said the same thing. Maybe it’s time I start believing it as well.

  “Thank you.” Standing up, I take my empty teacup to the sink and give it a rinse.

  “What’s your plan?” Grams calls out to me.

  “My plan?”

  “Yes, what’s your plan for life after the Dear Life program?”

  Turning toward Grams, I dry my teacup and shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure, but I’m ready to find out.”

  ***

  Dear Life,

  His words keep ringing in my head over and over again. He loves me. And when he said those three beautiful words, at that very moment, all I could think about was how much I loved him, too. But I couldn’t say it. Something was stopping me.

  At first, I thought it was my guilt for loving another man, but after spending many sleepless nights with his face in my mind, his voice echoing through my head, I realized it’s not my guilt holding me back, it’s me.

  How can I fully give myself over to someone, a man who has given me every last inch of his soul, when I still live in my past? I can’t.

  I can’t move forward when I’m surrounded by my past.

  Accepting my past is more than just stating it, it’s about action. I wake up every morning and get ready in a bathroom that still has Eric’s toothbrush in the holder. I get dressed in a closet surrounded by his clothes. I walk through an apartment filled with shrines to the man I lost. The man who will never come back and love me again.

  What is supposed to be a comfortable sanctuary is a depressing reminder of what I used to have.

  No more. From this point on, I’m moving forward. I can’t stand for my life to be dormant anymore. I already lost Eric, and I don’t want to lose Jace as well.

  Sincerely,

  Hollyn

  Dear Life,

  With the world at my fingertips, where does one even begin?

  School? Job? Traveling?

  There are so many options, so many avenues to travel down. What if I pick the wrong thing and miss this opportunity for starting something new?

  After talking to Grams, I’ve been able to put to rest her reasoning for sheltering me from the world, and now I’m ready to take the next step in my life. What it’s going to be, I’m not quite sure, but what I do know is I’m excited about it.

  If only I could experience whatever it is with Carter. That will take me some time to get over, but scars heal and make you stronger. Chalk it up to a life experience.

  Weirdly, I’m excited to have a life experience under my belt. Look at me adulting!

  Kind regards,

  Daisy

  Dear Life,

  If you’re trying to make me crack, you’re doing one hell of a job.

  Too bad for you, I’m stronger than you might think. I don’t want to tempt you, but you’re going to have to try a little harder. Yeah, I might have shown some weak spots, but with a little motivation and reassurance, I’m coming back stronger than ever before.

  It’s time to stand up for what’s right, to truly face my fear, accept my past, and move the fuck on to happiness. It’s time to take what’s been broken and make it right.

  Jace

  Dear Life,

  You are one confusing motherfucker.

  Carter

  Step Eight: Live

  DAISY

  “Want a bite?”

  The chipmunk next to me skittishly looks at my half-eaten Snickers bar, back at me, then back at the bar, and when I think he’s about to claw my eyes out to take the whole thing, he backs away and takes off into the shrubbery below.

  “Careful, friend,” I call out, “that water is still cold.”

  Peeking over the ledge, I don’t spot the chipmunk, only the crystal-clear mountain water I earlier mistakenly dipped my toe in—thinking a little splash would be nice, not realizing the water was still very cold. Duh, Daisy, altitude and everything.

  Eh, you live and you learn.

  And boy, am I living.

  With my hands behind me, I lean into the rock I’m sitting cross-legged on and enjoy the wind blowing through my hair, my head bent back, taking in the crisp mountain air.

  This is my second hike with the small hiking group I joined, and even though it’s challenging, it’s rewarding. Thankfully all those years of going for brisk walks with Grams has kept me relatively fit. Even better? The small group I walk with also enjoys solitude, so as much as we walk in a group for safety, I can spend moments like these quietly appreciating the beauty without having to make conversation. The mountains have become my new addiction. It’s so calm and peaceful and there’s nothing more exhilarating than reaching your destination only to look out into the vast wilderness and appreciate this beautifully imperfect world.

  The best part of hiking, I can clear my mind and really focus on the here and now. My brain settles into a happy place, like meditation, only fixating on one thing: my destination and the strenuous journey I make to get there.

  Breathing in deeply, I exhale, shut my eyes and let the wilderness speak around me.

  Silence.

  HOLLYN

  Anxiety high, throat clamped tight, fingers taking in the feel of his fabric one last time, I sit c
ross-legged in my closet, Eric’s clothes surrounding me, the feel of sorrow once again eating me whole.

  Dress shirts, slacks, shoes, sweatpants, firefighter T-shirts. They envelope me on the floor, his scent encompassing me.

  In my hands, I grip one of my favorite shirts, his John Elway jersey. So many memories were made in this jersey. So many Sundays he spent wearing this jersey, drinking beer with his buddies, pulling me onto his lap, his hand clasped on my waist, whispering into my ear during the game, telling me how beautiful I am, how he was going to celebrate with me after the Broncs won. Waking up on Mondays, his jersey covering me while I made coffee for the both of us, only to have him walk out shirtless, a devilish look on his face, like he was going to eat me up, right there in the kitchen, coffee in hand. And most mornings, with this jersey still covering my body, he did.

  And his purple dress shirt, the one his friends gave him crap about, the one Eric said only real men wear violet. It was the same shirt he wore when he proposed to me. The same shirt he ripped all the buttons off in a silly heat of passion when we came home. Acting like some sexed-up version of Tarzan, I can still see him hopping on the couch, tearing his shirt apart, and yelling that I said yes for everyone to hear. The shirt was useless after that, but he kept it because to him, it was something he wore on one of the best days of his life. And there goes one more tear down my cheek.

  And his trainee shirt, the one he wore with pride, because being a civil servant was important to him. Generations of policemen and firemen ran in his family, and he wanted to carry the torch of serving the people. And he did, beautifully. It was vital to him. Even before he had a chance to finish training, he was always helping out the community, whether it was buying out the lemonade stand at the local park and serving drinks with children to thirsty park-goers, or lending a hand to someone on the side of the highway whose tire was flat. He was always serving graciously and with the will to emulate the men before him.

  Lying back into the pile, I surround myself in Eric, aching for his touch, his deep, rich voice, that mind-altering smirk of his. Just one more hug, one more kiss, one more I love you. If I knew it was the last, I would have made it the best, never letting go.