Shawn Mendes Imagines

"I Remember... "

Shawn's POV

"It's okay," I mumble softly, placing my hand over Amira's as we sat in the car. "She's not going to care if I drop you off. I see her everyday."

"Why can't you just come with me? Do you not want to see her or something?" She wasn't even looking at me.

"I don't really feel like clinging to the past," I respond. "But you can do whatever you want. It's nice to get closure sometimes."

When I looked over at my now eleven year old daughter in the passenger seat, I could see the way she was looking straight ahead, keeping her eyes on one part of the road we were parked on the side of, sinking her teeth into her lip as she tried to hold in all of her tears.

"I'm nervous," she admits. She had dressed up nice, a blouse and a skirt with a matching sparkly headband, her brown locks falling over her shoulders. "I haven't seen her in so long."

I sigh, leaning over on the steering wheel and burying my face in my arms. "It's okay. I was nervous too. But I realized later that she doesn't really care about what we say or how we look. Momma misses us just as much as we miss her. So whatever you do, it'll be enough. More than you think."

"What's it like?" Amira asks me.

I look up at her. "What's what like?"

"You know," she shrugs, "talking to her. Does it feel like you're clinging to the past or getting closure?"

I shrug. "It just feels nice to sit there and talk to her, regardless of what you think you're doing."

"Then why can't you come with me?"

I think for a moment, deciding that I probably should be there the first time she sees her mother in a long time. I was curious on how she would react, too. If she cries, she might need me there to comfort her. Y/N would probably be happy to see her too.

"Alright," I say calmly. "I'll go."

She squeezes my hand tightly and smiles gratefully. "Thanks, Dad."

I unbuckle my seatbelt, shooting her a look. "Ready?"

She nods before letting go of my shaky hand, climbing out her door as I walk around the car to greet her. She takes a deep breath before looping her arm in mine as we walk across the lawn together.

She was getting really tall, almost as tall as me, but not quite. I was still a full head taller than her.

I had failed to dress up nice, probably because I wasn't planning on going to see Y/N. But she always liked me casual anyways, so I knew I would be okay.

"What should I tell her?" Amira asks when we were halfway there. "Like, where do I start?"

"You can tell her about your dance competition," I suggest, thinking about how Amira got in to a huge competition last summer for her dance class, and her team took home 2nd place trophy. I remember how proud I was, and if Y/N had been able to attend, I knew she would've been just as proud.

"Yeah," Amira smiles. "I'll definitely mention that."

When we finally got to where she was, I backed up and eased into the bench that happened to be placed near this section. I crossed my legs and watched as Amira gave me a quick glance, before smoothing out her skirt and crouching down on the grass.

"Hey, Mom," she says awkwardly, staring straight ahead at her. "I'm sure you weren't expecting us to visit. It's just that, I don't know if you remember, having better things to do and such, but I turned eleven today. And Dad decided I was ready... to come see you."

I suddenly tried to figure out what this must be like for her. I remember crying and missing my Mom or Dad so f.ucking much when they would go away on vacation or business trips, and Aaliyah and I would have to stay with our Nan or whichever parent was home.

And they were usually only gone for a few days-- but their absence was definitely felt. I can't even imagine going five years without saying a single word to my mother, and what Amira has done seems to be constantly overlooked by me.

It's so unfair to her.

Even kids with divorced parents usually get to see both parents every now and then. But the life Amira Renee has to deal with is just cruel. I struggle every day to be enough for her, and sometimes I get caught up in thinking I am. But a daughter needs her mother, for many, many reasons that I cannot fulfill. It's almost disrespectful to even try.

"... And I just wanted to, you know, fill you in on some things. Like, I... there was this dance competition... "

I knew the struggle of trying to speak with that huge lump in your throat and tears welling up in your eyes and you don't even realize who you're holding it in for, perhaps yourself.

I wanted to comfort her, because the sound of my own daughter crying usually results in me crying, too. And then we just hug or something.

But I knew that she needed to be alone.

"Okay-- screw the dance competition," she continues, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. "I don't even remember you as much as I should. I... I wish I could remember you, because the way that Dad describes you... you can tell that everything here in this family was just p-perfect. It was perfect. And I wish our family was perfect, I wish I grew up having you there. You seem like the best mom. I... I almost remember that feeling, and I definitely miss that. I miss you, Mom."

She laughs at herself, but not a funny, happy laugh. I knew what was coming.

"I can remember calling you Momma," she says quietly, her voice barely audible. "I miss that, too. And I hope you're crying up in Heaven so I'm not just sitting here sobbing alone."

She stops looking at the headstone, and looks down at her crossed legs instead. She just sat there for a long time, looking down, her shoulders shaking. It took me a while to realize she was praying. She was praying over Y/N.

I finally worked up the strength to stand up and walk over to where she sits. It seemed like such a long walk, every step full of pain. Longing.

My hands on her back must've startled her, because she jumps slightly, opening her eyes. When she sees its me, she shuts them again and mumbles, "amen."

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you a mother," I nod quickly. "I never meant for that."

She tries to smile through her tears, her little bit of mascara smudged. "It's okay," she whispers, another tear rolling down her cheek. "I miss her, but, if I don't get the best Mom, at least I have the best Dad. You've never failed to be there for me. A mother might be an irreplaceable person, but so is a Dad. And you're, like, really special to me. So thank you. I love you."

I smile, kissing her forehead quickly. "I love you too, pumpkin."

Then I look out at the headstone in front of us, nodding my head towards it. "And I love you, too, Y/N."

**