Harry Styles Scares Me

Chapter Twenty Three

My mother and father were dressed in their Sunday best. I suppose I should've felt good about that but it just made me feel really disconnected from them. I sat across from them at the kitchen table like it was a job interview. My jeans and t-shirt was hardly on par with their expertly chosen ensembles.

Dori stayed home. She wanted to come, I could see it in her expectant face. But I insisted she stay home. I needed to face this on my own.

I toyed with my fingers. If I kept picking at my cuticles I was going to go home with nubs. The awkward silence was killing me.

I took a breath and then let it out,

"Look..." I started, "I know..." I stopped and then started again, "I know it wasn't an easy decision." My mother sat forward to speak but I rushed on, "But!" I interrupted, "I just...don't understand I guess."

My mother looked at my father. In that moment, I realized how hard this must've been for them. Maybe I'd purposely ignored it or maybe I'd been blind because I was so angry. But one thing was clear, my parents were just as tortured by this as I was.

My mother's tears glistened in her pretty blue eyes when she looked back at me and my heart broke for her,

"Sylvie...you were so young." She said through breathy tears. She shook her head, "And you were so sick." Her eyes dropped to the table. I could see she was reliving the moment she'd been told her six year olds hopes of ever having children was being ripped away from her, "I must've asked the doctor eight hundred questions. I was so scared of..." Her eyes lifted to mine and then looked back down at the table quickly, "Making the wrong decision."

My dad stretched his arm around the shoulders of his wife and held her.

She continued with her flashback,

"I didn't just ask for a second opinion. I wanted a third and a fourth...every doctor in the area was sent your file..." She shook her head, "But they all said the same thing."

This conversation should've happened years ago. I felt robbed of the years I'd spent being so angry with them.

When it became clear my mother couldn't continue, my father took the baton,

"We had to make the decision very fast, Sylvie. Every hour we delayed meant you drifting further and further away from us."

I met his eyes, earnest and full of hope that he might finally get his little girl back. He shook his head,

"It was absolutely the hardest decision we have ever had to make."

My mom surprised me by reaching across the table and taking my hands in hers,

"I love you so much."

My father covered our hands with his,

"I love you too, honey."

She rushed on,

"If I could've taken it on myself...told them to remove my...everything...I would have." She shook her head, the tears now freely flowing out of her eyes, "I never wanted you to be hurt like that."

Her head dropped as the tears overtook her.

I had never really felt empathy for my parents. I had never really felt anything for them but such anger it stifled me in everything I did. I actually physically felt the weight lift off my shoulders. Were we going to fix everything in the next five minutes? No. But as I turned my hands over to hold my parents hands in response, I could tell that we had definitely taken the first step to reconciliation.