Until you call again. (Complete)

Save myself.

"Let's talk about your childhood,"

I lay staring up at the ceiling that I've now over studied. I know every mark and line. I've counted all the fancy small lights and I could tell you which section is uneven with my eyes closed.

"My childhood was great," I say honestly. It was. My childhood was filled with so much love and laughter. I had two amazing parents who made sure I had everything I needed and more.

"Can you tell me the difference between the time your parents were alive and when they were not?" Where do I start?

"I guess I didn't have mom constantly telling me to be social," I say with a chuckle and Dr Moyo looks at me sympathetically. I hate that.

"What do you miss about your mother?" What do I not miss about my mom?

She used to send me random sayings and quotes that I used to be annoyed about. 'You're wasting my phone space.' I'd always text back to her. After she died it was all I'd ever craved for.

"I miss her cooking," I say with a smile. She always knew just what my tummy was in the mood for even when I didn't.

"I miss her fanciness." I continue to say. Even though mom didn't care about money, she'd kept her sense of style through the years. She was always dressed so proper and flamboyant.
She even had different sections in her closet for hats, scarfs and glasses. She'd organized everything according to color.

When I was young I'd have too much fun in there playing dress up until she'd catch me and I'd be in trouble.

I smile when I remember how bad she'd wanted to redo my closet when I was starting high school. Of course I'd said no. Mom was popular back when she was in high school and she knew the ways of popularity, so she'd hardly stopped wanting to make me more social. I know she meant well, she just wanted me to have a normal childhood.

"What about your father?" She asks getting me out of my daze. My dad was a superhero.

One thing mom and I shared was our stubbornness. When we were mad at something, we'd stay mad. Dad was the only person capable of getting us back to our normal and happy state. He was our calm.

There'd been plenty of times mom and I would fight and stop talking to each other. He was always there to remind us how much we loved each other and make us forget whatever it was we were crossed about. I never realized how much I'd appreciated that.

"Dad liked dad jokes," he really did. I hated them so much and that seemed to only make him worse.

"He was really into sport. I hated game days so much because he would sit with Tristan the whole day just watching stupid people fighting over a ball." I say unconsciously triggering something else I've learned to forget. I ignore the pain shooting up my heart and concentrate on my memories.

"Mom and Dad loved each other so much. I'm yet to meet another couple that shares the similar passion they'd had towards each other," I've always wished to have someone love me like that.

Maybe that was a part of my obsession with Tristan, he's so much like dad.

"Tell me how you feel about burying your foster mother." I feel my body tense a bit at that.

"I feel sad," I feel devastated.

"How was your relationship with her before she died?"

"We didn't talk much," we didn't talk at all.

"Do you feel she was a good guardian?"

"She'd never had kids of her own, she tried her best," she really did.

"Tell me which areas you felt she lacked."

"I've always appreciated Aunty Maggie for taking me in," I lie. I barely showed my appreciation.

"However, I do wish she was there more."

"Elaborate.."

"After a weekend filled with my grandparents telling me I needed to pick a good college and a great career that allowed me room for growth. And that I was naive like my mother, the last thing I wanted was to come back home to an empty house." I admit. I've never said that out loud.

"Did you ever communicate that to her?"

"A few times I guess." if by communicate she means acting out and running away from home then yes. I guess I expected her to know I needed her, grown up me realizes how wrong I was.

"No," I then say changing my answer. If I need this therapy thing to work I need to be honest.

"Anything else you want to add about her?"

"Yea," I say now changing from my laying position to just sitting.

"Aunty Maggie had a stability that was unmatched. She went through rough personal things, I know she did even though she didn't talk about it. She dedicated her whole life to giving and helping others without expecting anything in return. She never talked about where she came from but I knew it wasn't the greatest background. I knew she was helping everyone out partly because she didn't have anyone to help her out when she desperately needed it. She turned a tragic situation of herself into a magical one for others.
I know there's a special place in heaven just for her. She was truly heaven sent."

I feel my heart breathe a sigh of serenity. I can feel it forgiving me. I know I have too many layers of issues accumulated through the years, one of which was my anger towards Aunty Maggie. But as I sit here staring at nothing in particular, I feel myself let go of the pent up anger I'd been carrying in relation to her. I forgive her. I forgive myself.

Dr Moyo and I always just talk until we reach a breakthrough. Sometimes it'll be for hours but sometimes only a few minutes.

One of her practice communication policies is that she'll either be really early or really late. She doesn't have time frames and I know her other patients appreciate that, that's why nobody ever complains when she's late.

When we reach a breakthrough, we both know and we can both feel it. It's truly magical.

I'm nowhere close to getting healed and I know that but right now as I stand up to give her a hug, I thank her genuinely for the amazing journey she's given me through the many months, like I always do. Then I head out with one piece of baggage off my shoulder.

Tonight I have a date with a childhood acquaintance and I'm really excited.