10 years later
I’m so excited I can’t sleep. I can’t believe this day has finally arrived. Tomorrow I’m going to see him again. This has been a very long time coming. Finding him after so many years wasn’t that hard, his phone number was listed in directory enquiries, but picking up the phone and dialling the number was harder. In fact it has taken me two long years to pluck up the courage. I knew that contacting him again would potentially open up a very big can of worms, that once opened could never be resealed.
I’d run and re-run a million different scenarios in my head of what I might say when he answered. So much time has passed, would he even care? Would he want to see me again? He has family now, as have I, but our relationship feels unfinished, at least from my side. Like a gaping hole in my heart that only he can heal. However, I’m so nervous, I’m not sure I could cope if he rejected me. That was (and still is) my biggest fear and the reason I carried his telephone number in my purse every day for two years before I finally found the courage to act. I finally punched in the digits into the telephone handset, shaking with nerves as I waited for him to answer, however what I had not expected was when the line connected it would be, not to a landline but, to a fax machine! Who the hell still has a fax machine in this day and age?! I’d hung up immediately and took some time to rethink my options.
Was this a sign to simply let things lie, or was it a way to allow me to make that first re-introduction on paper? Give me an opportunity to consider my words, and give him time to pause and absorb what I know will be a jolt out of the blue, before deciding how he would want to reply.
Don’t freak out. It’s me, I’d written on the fax, but I wondered if you might want to meet up? It would be nice to start afresh. Leave the past behind and look forward instead?
It was 10pm on a Sunday night when I’d sent the fax and my phone rang at 7am the next morning, basically as soon as he’d seen the message waiting on the machine. That first phone call we talked for almost two hours, the familiar sound of his voice soothing my nerves instantly. Within seconds of speaking, the years just fell away and the gap between us began to narrow. Two hours felt like ten minutes, making me late for work, but I didn’t care.
It’s now two months later and I’m staying in a small hotel in Cambridge. We chose Cambridge to meet up because of its neutrality for both of us and because we thought it would make a nice day out together. Meandering through the cobbled streets, talking and catching up on all the lost time that has passed.
I take extra care with my make-up today. It’s important to me that I look nice. I’ve chosen my clothes with great thought and attention to detail. A smart pair of trousers and a beautiful frock coat from Coast that I absolutely love and that I know fits me really well. Smart, well turned out, that’s the impression I want to give him when I see him again.
The butterflies that insist on doing cartwheels in my stomach, mean I hardly touch my breakfast. I manage a big swig of English Breakfast Tea before almost falling out of the front door of the hotel - my nerves making me so clumsy. It’s not easy trying to manhandle a wheelie bag, the hotel’s front door handle as well as my handbag on my shoulder, all the while attempting to look calm, serene and in control, which I’m clearly not.
I look up and he’s standing on the opposite pavement, directly in front of me. Although older, he looks exactly the same as I remember. Without properly checking for oncoming traffic he rushes towards me. I drop my bags instantly and run into his arms and we hug each other so tightly for what seems like an eternity, time standing still around us as we cling onto each other. Lost together in our own private little world.
A few silent minutes pass before he says, “It’s all going to be OK,” kissing the top of my head as the tears roll freely down our faces, landing in damp pools on each other’s shoulders.
“I know,” is all I can manage in reply, in between uncontrollable sobs.
I may be a grown woman now, a woman in her thirties, but standing here in the middle of the street, oblivious to the world passing around us, I’m five years old again. I’m simply a child being hugged by her father. The father who I haven’t seen for almost 25 years, but the father who, despite everything, I know now always did love me.
Crying now, like a babe in his arms, I feel the gaping hole that I’ve carried in my heart all these years; the void that unwittingly I’d hoped would be healed by all my past loves, I feel the wound seal instantly and I am whole again. I realise now I always was loved and I am worthy.
Littered behind me are the remnants of so many shattered relationships but now I know. Know that I will go on and create a glorious life without the weight of this uncertainty hanging over me. As I stand in the street, hugging the dad I’ve missed so much, I realise I always did belong in the arms of my father.
I take a deep breath in and as I exhale, for the first time, I’m able to forgive myself for all the secrets I’ve buried, all the burdens I’ve carried, for all the mistakes I’ve made and pain I’ve caused, and most importantly for not loving myself enough.
I know now I will survive and everything will be alright.
The End