He may not share my ears, hair or goofy nose, but he shares part of my name. Not hers or mine, but his. A new name for a new person, and one free from the past. Whatever happened between his mother and me is unimportant. What that man did to B, irrelevant.
His life starts now, and my past…and B’s past…and his grandma’s…and Joey’s…they hold no bearing on the adventure before him. It’s his to explore and enjoy.
I want to be part of it, but at the same time, I don’t. How can I? I’d hurt him and prevent him from moving forward, because each time I look at him, I’ll see her. He’ll remind me of what she did. Of who she is. Of who she isn’t.
I want to forgive, but I can’t. I’m not sure I’m ready to, and I fear I never will. It’s easy to say, and with hindsight, maybe it’s easy to do, but in the moment…right here, right now…to forgive her? Could she forgive her father? Could Joey forgive his mother?
Maybe forgiveness allows us to forget, but maybe we’re not supposed to forget it all. Maybe we’re destined to live our lives with certain hauntings, and it isn’t about forgetting, forgiving, or pushing deep down, but accepting and moving on bit by bit.
I slump in my stool, closing my eyes and seeing him in the dark void. I need him. I love him. I want to hold him and whisper in his ear, “I love you. I always will.”
Not just today, every day.
Opening my eyes, I search the pub. So many familiar faces, hiding stories and secrets deep below. People I’ve spoken to, but do not know. Old men on stools and guys leaning against the bar; a group of women on benches, and a couple in the corner either side of a guitar.
Me, alone, in the middle of it all, behind a table meant for four. A glossy piece of card in one hand, an empty envelope in the other. I read her handwriting and try to focus on the happy times. The times we read to each other. The times we sat in this pub, talking and lounging, wasting away the hours. The times we lay in bed, dreaming, loving, being…
So many good times, and not that long ago. Nothing but good times.
I want to cling to them and only think of them, but I can’t. It would be a lie, just like she’s lived most of her life. In the same vein Joey has, forcing down his fears and assuming he’d forgotten.
I haven’t forgotten.
Tears continue down my cheek as I drop both envelope and photograph. I reach into my old satchel and pull out a pen and notebook. I tear out a page and lay it flat on the table. I stare at it for a while…
I need closure; I need to say goodbye.
There’s so much I could say, maybe things I should say, but I’m fearful of saying anything at all. I need to say something, if not for me, her, or us…for him.
He deserves my tears. He’s earned my love. I do love him, and with pen perched between fingers, I place it against the paper. Not long ago, this was my home, to write, create and express. So much has changed, but I’m still me. I’ll always be me. B will always be B. This little boy will always be who he’ll be.
With a flick of the wrist I begin, like I have so many times in the past.
Dear B,
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