Page 60 of Staying for You

“Mine was not the same. I grew up in Memphis. My dad passed away when I was young and it kind of messed up my mom.”

“How so?”

“Well, he’d been in a motorcycle accident when I was seven. He was lucky, he might not have walked away with the use of his legs, but he lived. She became his full-time nurse overnight as well as holding down a full-time job and being a mom to me and my three younger brothers. He passed away eight years later from complications with his kidneys and she had all this guilt that she hadn’t done enough.”

“Oh, man, that’s tough.”

“It was. She did everything she could to make sure he had a great life but she couldn’t see it. In her eyes, his death was her failure. He wouldn’t have seen it that way, though. He loved her so much. Showed her how much every single day. Showed us how much, too. For eight years, he fought against his limitations and fought hard. Even though he was confined to a wheel chair, he was just… this huge man. Great Dad, amazing husband. Dad worked as a mechanic working on motorcycles of all things. Never lost the love for them even after the accident.”

“Wow. That’s incredible.”

“It was,” she agrees, happiness floating across her face as she talks about her father. “He didn’t want to be a burden to her, physically or financially, and was determined to contribute. He helped with laundry and cleaning and cooked. He made it look easy. Not once did I hear him complain or curse the chair. He just… accepted it. Said that if he lived life angry because of his situation, it would have made everyone’s life hell and he wouldn’t allow it to happen.”

I shift us so her legs are draped over my thighs. I rub over her shins, up and down. She watches my hands move and I tell her, “He doesn’t just sound like a great dad. He sounds like a phenomenal dad.”

Her blue eyes are shining with tears when she raises them, looking up at me. “He really was.” A tear makes a trail down her cheek and she makes no move to stop the next few that follow.

“This was how they would sit. Dad’s best friend built them this couch that basically had a space for his wheelchair in the center of it so he could sit with us rather than off to the side, away from the family. There was this removable section, where he could wheel into it if he wanted. And the sides were built low enough that if he wanted to sit on the couch, he could push up and out of his chair and slide onto it. Mom would face him, her back against the arm rest of the couch and he would reach over, drape her legs over his. I remember, before, when he wasn’t in the chair, they’d sit the exact same way. He always wanted her close. She always needed to be close.”

When she finishes telling the story, the tears are streaming down her cheeks so I reach over and thumb a few away. She lifts a shoulder as if to say,what are you gonna do?

“I take it when he passed, your mom wasn’t only feeling a bit of misplaced guilt, but she was also grieving the loss of the love of her life.”

“Right.”

“You said she was messed up?”

“She was. That guilt turned into this weirdness where she felt like she’d missed out on a lot. Looking back, I figured out it was because of a certain friend she had in her life who made her feel that way. Mom would spend her evenings going out with friends instead of being home with us. I had to care for my younger siblings for a few years. Make sure their school papers were signed and homework was done and they were awake on time, meals were on the table, and they were going to the dentist every six months. Right before the end of my senior year in high school, it was as if Mom’s eyes were opened again and she got back to being a mom. By then, though…”

“You’d already established being a caretaker,” I guess. “Losing your dad, having to step in and be a parent. It’s a lot on anyone, let alone a… how old were you again?”

“It’s okay. And I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen? That’s a hard age, right?”

She smiles and it isn’t sad or resigned or anything else I would expect from someone who pretty much didn’t have a chance to screw up during her teenage years. “It wasn’t bad. Just, shaped me a little bit, I guess.”

“Hey, you just heard how much mine shaped who I became. I think that’s normal, don’t you?”

“I suppose. But for me, I didn’t necessarily use it for good.”

“What do you mean?” I keep playing with her hair, letting the strands slide through my fingers then rest a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m a caretaker by nature and let that filter over into my marriage. I knew the way Scott was, needing someone to handle basically everything, wasn’t right. I knew deep down that marriage was a partnership but it was easy for me to fall for someone who brought me comfort, even if it was only because that’s what I was used to.”

She leans closer to me when I say, “Comfort because he allowed you to take care of him like you had been doing for your family for years? And when you left to go to college, it felt like you were missing something?”

“Yeah.” Her reply is quiet, soft, sweet. So sweet. Everything about her is. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she looks at me with a bit of fear in her eyes. “Makes me a little bit weak, huh?”

I feel my body go rigid beneath her legs. I know that’s what Scott fed her with for years. Projecting his own weakness and making it about her. What a tool. “Scott is a grade-A asshole if he made you believe that was anything resembling weak to care for him and love him the only way you knew how. He’s the weak one here, sweetheart. He is. Not you. He took advantage of your kindness and ability to be selfless and put others’ needs before your own and he ran with it. Don’t think for one single second that you are weak. You’re so far from it. I’ve been on the receiving end of that goodness and selflessness on more than one occasion so I can say with authority that it’s more than a good thing. And you caring for others? That makes you strong. Because you can recognize others’ needs while living your life. You have a soft spot for people, and my guess is you enjoy helping. That’s a gift and he’s an idiot for making you think anything else.”

Chapter Eighteen

Cami

Who isthis guy and why does he hide away up here all alone?

“Owen?”

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