The Melancholy of Cassandra-Marie

(15)

 I left it all behind.

After everything that happened — the tour following the Olympics, the baby, my dad kicking me out — I never went home. I got an apartment not too far from where Ainsley lives. We trained together in New York City for another four years. I found friends to watch the baby, and I even got my mother to visit him just once. As expected, taking care of a child was difficult and incredibly stressful. It was rewarding though, as tough as it was. I feel stronger at this point in my life than I ever have before. When I had my son, something changed about me. I've felt empowered ever since that day, like I could do anything. My son gave me the strength I needed to push forward and get my life in order. I couldn't afford to struggle anymore. I didn't need it, and neither did my child. I vowed to myself I would raise him without suffocation and distrust, the way my own parents brought me up.

Ainsley, Kylieann, Sophia and I made Olympic qualifications for the games in Baku. With my newfound determination, I got on a plane, and together, we blew the roof off for the second games in a row. I returned home ecstatic, my emotions rising to the highest they've ever been, and waiting there for me was the person I loved the most — my little boy.

I could never take all the credit for everything. Without Louis, even though things didn't work out, I feel incredibly blessed. I owe so much to him — for understanding and supporting me, and for being my best friend regardless of the situation. I wouldn't be who I am now if he hadn't been a part of my life. For that, I will always be thankful.

I came to one other conclusion only a few days ago. Nothing earth-shattering, or anything that. Just plain and simple. My son is a very upbeat boy, and I'm confident in the job I did raising him. But I was thinking about how my parents took care of me in my earlier years, how my mom left for 'work reasons' and to 'go deal with stress.' I remember how much it hurt — like there was a hollowed out cavity somewhere between my sternum and my vertebrae, filled with toxins and pent up insecurities sloshing around, depleting my ability to feel any strength within myself. I began to worry that my son, while very bright-minded and enthusiastic about life, would end up wondering why his other parent was absent. What if he thinks it's his own fault? What if he begins blaming himself, or if he starts losing his self-esteem? It happened to me, and I can say with complete certainty that it's not a feeling anyone would want, regardless of their state of mind. I still feel it some days, even after years of trying to undo it. I won't let him think about himself the way I did. I just can't let that happen.

Ainsley told me what part of town he moved to once he finished college. Driving down the narrow, freshly paved street, I admire the neighborhood, remembering what it was like I walked these streets as a young girl. I park my car and help Aidan out. We walk down the sidewalk, admiring how quaint this side of Greenwich is. I'm really not surprised that he moved out here. It's calm and has easing atmosphere, qualities that have always been present in him.

We make our way up the stone pathway. My heart starts to race as memories start to flood the same cavity that was once filled with uncertainty. The two of us step up to the door. My hand shakes with more at stake than even I can fully understand. I raise my fist, exhaling deeply as I accept what I am doing. And with knuckles still chapped from yesterday's training, I clench my fist, and I knock.