The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,95
left my side, administering medications and changing my surgical dressings. She’d taken to sleeping in bed with me in the event that I needed even the smallest thing. Her closeness and care was of the kind that a mother shows a daughter. She was selfless and resolute that I would make it through this trial. Gabe was one of those rare sons that didn’t take his mom for granted. He knew how lucky he was. This woman, giant in character, had instilled those same values in her son. I was blessed to have the Martin family in my life.
Same scars. Same cemetery. Same faces. Same sad dress. Same sad chair. The morning was filled with a punch list; get dressed, go to the chapel, try not to breakdown, bury my heart, push food around my plate, listen to people’s mundane small talk, and wish them well as they left me to my pain. I curiously wondered what they would speak about as their cars cleared the Spencer gates. Would they talk about the latest movie they saw or the weather outside? Were they altered in any way? Did life just continue? Would anyone comprehend the fact that something important was taken from me- again? Could they understand that no sentiment would bring me comfort or fill that space in my heart? These are the things I pondered as their voices mouthed their condolences.
Henry was a wreck. Sadness consumed him. I had never seen him so broken and lost. His confidence was replaced with anxiety and fear. Where I had come to a point of acceptance, he was angry. Our views on fate and faith divided us. Throughout the week, we had spent very little time together, taking turns going to the hospital and coming home to sleep. He still showed love, but his actions were habit driven instead of genuine affection. The one discussion we had about the death ended badly. My faith had become my life preserver. I began to understand more definitively, the views that Gabe had shared with me after I lost Connor.
With the departure of all our guests, Henry and I retreated to the bedroom for a private moment of grief. When we cleared the door, we just held each other. The only sounds heard were sniffles and muffled sobs. We held on to each other as if our own lives depended on it, afraid to let go and move on to the next difficulty. Pushing him back slightly, our tear filled eyes met.
“We can persevere or we can surrender,” I said, trying to be a motivator.
“You’re so strong,” he replied sweetly, but a bit annoyed.
“I’m not strong because I’ve had the courage to choose perseverance. I’m persevering because I genetically don’t know how to surrender. I’m a Spencer. We’ll make it through this, one second at a time, if need be,” I said, trying to sound encouraging.
“Why aren’t you angry? This is twice. None of this is fair.”
“Who said anything about fair? I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant and I did. God doesn’t play fair. He exceeds our limited expectations and bestows far more gifts on us than we deserve. If you’re asking for things to be fair, I hope you’re prepared for the outcome. You pray for fairness and I’ll pray for mercy.”
“You’re just too resilient; it’s not natural to be so brave. You let people go so easily,” he criticized, embarrassed for not having it together.
Henry collapsed down into the recliner. His top shirt button was undone and his tie hung loosely around his neck. I approached and knelt down slowly, still mindful of the recent trauma to my abdominal muscles. My hands gravitated to his knees which I used to pull myself up between his legs.
“I can’t change who I am, Tru. I’m the little girl who lost her mom in this house all those years ago. I went from wearing her jewels and playing dress up to having her erased from this place- from my life. I am still trying to find those jewels- those pieces of my mother- myself, so I can remember a time when I felt secure and unconditionally loved. My dad locked me away- maybe not physically, but in every other way that makes a child know who they are in the world. I was lost and alone until I realized one day that there was only one person, on this earth, that I could count on. I walk forward, one foot in front