After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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Mom is staring at me as I sit at the kitchen island to complete some homework.
I pretend not to notice, though pretending all the time is starting to get immensely difficult.
Finally, once her eyes begin to feel like lasers searing through my skin, I meet her gaze questioningly. Mom immediately busies herself upon being caught, trying to act as if she has been concentrating on whatever concoction she is whipping up in the mixing bowl set on the counter.
"Mom," I retort with faint laughter. "What are you staring at me like that for?"
Mom frowns and shrugs. Casually, she questions, "Was I staring? I didn't notice."
"Mom!" I tease. "Seriously. What's up?"
Mom sighs as she sets her whisk down. Her expression is one that is unreadable as she eyes me once more. I'm expecting her to make a comment about how I have been spending less time in my room–or something weird and motherly like that–though her response surprises me.
"It's just . . ." she trails off, seemingly struggling to find words to convey what she wants to say. "You look . . . happier. You look like my Em again. And I just can't help but stare."
I sit with this answer for a moment, mulling it over. It's odd, the feeling that comes over me as I take in these words. Am I happier? Is this even possible, all things considered?
I think of Haven. The way she makes me smile—really smile. Laugh until my sides ache. The solace she brings by simply being around her, the joy, the peace.
I am happier, and this is a strange conclusion to come to terms with. I feel excitement for a moment, then a rush of guilt. Am I allowed to be happy again, after what happened? Is it wrong of me to think of it less? Am I supposed to let go of the grief? Is it okay if I start to feel . . . okay?
I never thought I would live a life without my father. His loss hit me like a ton of bricks being dropped atop my head, burying me in weight, leaving me with a pain I never thought I could recover from. Or maybe it isn't that I thought I could never release the pain, or instead that I wanted to hold onto it for as long as I could. Because all I have left of my father is the pain his loss left me with, and if I let that pain ease away, then what else will I have left of him?
"I've missed my girl," Mom murmurs, and this comment hits hard. I've missed me, too. It's a freeing thought and a deeply saddening once all at once.
"I could say the same of you," I retort, finding the words true. Mom does seem happier—if happier is the right word to describe the slight shift her presence has undergone. I still notice a darkness around her, one that may never fade. But it has dimmed somewhat. Color has return to her cheeks, a fullness to her body that had disappeared in the months after dad first passed. More than this, she is clearly putting in an effort once again—not just with me, but within herself as well. She partakes in the activities she used to enjoy, back when Dad was still around. She eats, bathes, and finds the will to get out of bed all on her own. She's here again, no longer a soul merely trapped on this earth as if her body is a prison, but really living in the world once more.
