without running afoul of our family’s expectations of her. I tore a page out of the same notebook, but my thoughts were a circle of I love you I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry I love you I’m sorry, and expressions of those thoughts were the only things to come out of my pencil.
I’m so sorry. I wish I could have been better. I love you more than words could ever say. I will love you and miss you forever, no matter what. I’m so sorry for everything, and for every offense I caused you. I’m so sorry. I love you.
Swirl, MegHeart, Megabee, Megabus
I left the tears that fell on the page and on her desk. They would be dry by the time she saw my note, but I hoped she would feel them anyway, and that they would say more than my words.
As my parents, Grace, and I moved back and forth between the front door and the bedrooms, our timing became mismatched, and I found myself alone for another moment. I looked around, and then took off down the basement steps, rounded the corners, and ran into the darkened party room. Filled with a dozen long tables each encircled by chairs, this was a space we used to celebrate birthdays in the winter, and for meetings and Bible studies year-round. I flipped on the lights and pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans.
Photos of my grandparents and their children hung all along the room’s two longest walls. I had wanted to take photos of them all before I left, but there hadn’t been time. There was never enough time. I pressed record and made my way around the room as fast as I could, afraid I’d be caught and told to stop. Still filming, I switched off the lights and continued to move quickly, back through the laundry room with the drain that had terrified me as a kid, back through the rooms that Josh had lived in just before he left, back up the fourteen steps, and into the kitchen. Weeping now, I moved through the downstairs, carefully avoiding my parents and sister.
This could not be happening.
Making my way around the upstairs next, I stopped at the photos of an exuberant baby Gabe. They were taken before his headful of blond curls had come in, back when he was bald and so fat he had three chins. I wondered if we would ever be friends before he grew bald again. I choked on the thought.
I made it back to my room. Grace and our dad were outside loading a piece of furniture into the U-Haul. Hesitant, my mom pushed open the door to my rapidly emptying bedroom. I looked up and stopped moving. She stayed just inside the door. She looked like she wanted to come closer, but was afraid. Her tone was cautious.
“What will you do, Meg? You’ve loved these doctrines. You were a little girl, walking around the park—”
Her voice broke and her face twisted in despair. Gage Park. Our earliest pickets, back when I was five. She finished the sentence in tears.
“—and you were so happy.”
She turned to go, and all I could do was weep. I had no idea what I was going to do. I just knew that I would never be free of the pain of causing her pain. Of all the dreadful things I had ever done or ever would do, nothing—nothing—would be worse than this.
The van was filled too quickly. We asked for our Bibles and headscarves and hymn books, and our father ran down to the church to get them. We met him and our mother outside by the garage. No hymn books, he said. Those belonged to the church. I thought of the blue hymnal that I’d written all over when Grace was born: “Megan Phelps-Roper + Grace Phelps-Roper” with a heart drawn around them. If they didn’t cover it up, it would be an object of scorn and pity for its new owner. Those two foolish girls.
It was time for final hugs. Dad first.
“Well, we’re not gonna be doing this for a while.” He didn’t mean it unkindly.
And then Mom.
“Goodbye, doll.”
I was shaking. I don’t remember if I said anything. I just held them tight for as long as they let me.