Amelia
Present Day – Two Years After The Tour
Last night, as I wrote about the crash, my hands trembled with such force Karen had to take my computer away. I spent the rest of the night crying, wrapped in her loving arms. Everything changed that night. One moment I was making love to Noah, and the next … total chaos. There were only two things I knew instinctively that night: I’d lost Belle, and I was in labor.
What happened after the impact has never been clear to me—mostly flashes of memories, which are hazy at best. Not being able to piece together the particular order of events was driving me crazy. For months, I struggled with soul-stealing nightmares, until I read the first part of Sawyer’s new journal. I’m not sure why he started with the accident, other than it was the coping mechanism he’d learned in therapy. But when he trusted me with his pages—all his innermost thoughts—it softened my heart. He let me read them because he wanted me to have a clear reference of what they saw, what they heard, and what they went through. He also wanted me to realize I wasn’t alone in what I was going through. They needed to be able to lean on me as much as I was leaning on them.
When I read his words, my world spun on its axis. I tried pretending I was reading a story and it wasn’t my life within those pages. But when I finished, pain shot through my chest as if I’d been stabbed in the heart with a dagger. Each breath more painful than the last, it felt as if it were being pulled out one millimeter at a time. Once I recovered from the shock, I was numb. I thought knowing would change something, make me feel better somehow. In a way it did, but in other ways, everything was worse.
That night irrevocably changed my life. It changed all our lives. Each of us lives with gaping holes in our hearts which will never be healed, no matter how much we try. And in the beginning, I didn’t try. I gave up; all I wanted to do was die.
I now see it wasn’t fair of me to put my grief above theirs while each of them, in the midst of their own issues, willingly took on mine. They tried so hard to lift me up just the slightest bit each day. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to not take a handful of pills and end it all. I thought everyone would have been better off without me, but in the deep recesses of my mind I knew I couldn’t leave Nate without his mother. He was the shining star in my darkness, even if it took me a long time to admit it. Motherhood wasn’t ever my dream, and Nate’s entry into the world was unconventional, but my son is the spitting image of Noah. He owns my heart just like Noah has since the moment he first smiled at me. Last night, before I went to bed, I sent him the second part of my pages. It was late, and he was probably asleep, but I had to do it before I chickened out. Besides, I owe him those pages … and so much more. I want to work my way through this for him, for us, for our family. I’m just not sure I’m strong enough.
This morning, I woke to the sun streaming through my window. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon rolls leads me to the kitchen, where Karen sits with my Kindle.
“Good Morning, Amelia. How do you feel today?” With love in her eyes, she passes me a cup of coffee.
“I’m okay.”
“Good, and you will continue to be okay,” she says as she places a roll on a plate with a fork and a knife for me. “I finished the first part.”
The moment of truth. “What did you think?”
“Well, I may be biased, but I think it’s one of the best stories I’ve ever read. Even if you don’t publish this as the story you owe them, I think you could still publish it and it would be a best seller.” The way her eyes twinkle confirms she’s not placating me.
“I’m not sure that’s something I’d ever do. Mostly, I’m curious to see what he thinks about it all.”
“You know he supports you in everything you do. He always has.” That is also the truth. “I’d like to stay and read the second part while you write the ending.”
“You’re welcome to stay and read, but I’m not sure I’m going to be finishing.” Not after last night.
“Amelia,” she squeezes my fingers in hers, “what do we always say?”
“The only way out is through,” I whisper.
“Yes, and sweetheart, you’ve already been out and through. Sometimes, you have to go back and shut the door that was left open in your rush to escape. Another will open, but you have to first close that door.”
The tears begin to pour freely from my eyes. “But what if I can’t?” My sobbing words fall on her shoulders as she pulls me close to her.
“You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Not only can you do this, you will do this. I’m not saying it’s not going to hurt, but losing him would hurt much, much worse.”
“Why is he so stubborn? Why is he making me do this?”
Her eyes soften as she meets my gaze. “Because two years is a long time to watch the woman you love wither away in front of your eyes. I know you don’t want to hear this, but he’s right, Amelia. You’re not living, you’re existing. There’s a difference.”
“Living hurts.”
“No, sweetheart. Pain hurts, tragedy hurts, loss hurts. But living makes the pain less. It moves the tragedies into the past. Loss should be a reminder to live each day to the fullest.”
Live today like there’s no tomorrow.
Sniffling, I ask, “How do you stay so positive?”
“I’m not sure being positive has anything to do with it. There’s a cycle to life, Mel. Everyone is born with a death sentence. When we choose to live our days being sad and miserable, it’s a slap in the face to those who would give anything for one more day. Especially when those people are the ones who would be moving heaven and earth to make you whole again. It’s time for your light to shine again …for good this time. No more peeking out into the light only to retreat into the dark.”
I hate that she makes sense. Even worse, she’s absolutely right.
“Karen, can you call Anna? I’m going to take a shower. Tell her to bring her Kindle and tequila. If anyone else deserves to read this as it happens, it’s her.”
“Of course, but I also think we need to call Rory. Let’s put all these demons to rest.”
Rory. She’s got every right to be here. This divisiveness is killing their family.
“Okay. Rory, too. But warn her about the sex and not to read it. I can’t be responsible for traumatizing her. Not again.”
“Consider it done.”
I’m not sure there’s enough tequila in the world to write this last part of the story, but I’ll try for him. Fortunately, a couple of years ago, Sawyer wrote out what happened that night, hoping it would help with my memory. All I need to do now is hold on to the courage to retype his words before having to find my own again.