Page 118 of Ours to Lose
“Your mom didn’t feel that way.”
Aubrey had said the same, yet it didn’t ease the fracture inside me. The one that felt like my heart had been split down the middle and hollowed out so it had nothing left to pump but air.
“I wish she had,” I said, finally naming the pain. “I wish she’d told me to give it all up. Because none of it mattered. I didn’t need another title or millions in prize money. I needed—” I caught the rush of emotion in my throat. “I needed to be here. And if she had told me to give it up and come home, I would have. And I could have said goodbye.”
“You know why she didn’t?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
“Because she loved you.”
My nostrils burned as the words pierced the bottom of whatever bag I’d been piling my mess into since the moment Mom died, and all of it spilled out around me—pain, guilt, regret.
Relief.
At the reassurance Mom loved me. That she hadn’t been angry with me. That I was still her son the way I always had been, even now, after I let her and our family down. I’d known it on some level, but hearing it from my dad, who knew her heart better than his own, meant it had to be true.
I swiped my nose with the back of my hand, catching a runaway tear with my sleeve.
Dad reached over the bed’s railing. “Come here, son. Come here.”
I coughed out more tears, unaware so many had been ready to fall. They came hard and fast as I scooted forward to clasp Dad’s hand with my own. His grip was firm. Stronger than I expected it to be.
He squeezed my hand. “Your mom never wanted to be the reason you gave up your dream. Just like I don’t want to be the reason you give up this job. We love you so much, Gabe. You and Evan are the two things we’re most proud of in our lives. Not because of your accomplishments but because you’ve found something you love, and you lead your life being happy doing it. Your joy is our pride. Your joy mattered more to your mom than goodbye. And I know that was probably selfish of her, but she had no problem being selfish when it came to you kids.”
“I hate that I didn’t get to say goodbye,” I choked out.
“I know,” he said, voice steady. “But no goodbye would have made it feel okay.”
More tears came as the realization struck. That no matter the circumstances, her death was always going to be unbearable. It was always going to feel likethis.
It didn’t excuse the rest. “I was selfish to leave after the funeral.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged it off. “She taught you kids to be selfish once in a while. It isn’t always the worst thing to be. Sometimes it’s even important.”
I sniffed as the tears slowed, Dad’s grip an anchor for my emotions. A whole bunch of them swirled, but after a few more breaths, they mostly melted into sadness, the guilt and shame buckling under the enormity of how much I missed my mom. Almost like those other emotions had been trying to protect me from feeling it all at once.
Like Evan’s anger. The same pain expressing itself in a different way. One that was easier to bear than pure grief.
I was done curbing the pain.
There was freedom in embracing the sadness for what it was instead of masking it in another emotion. An honesty that was its own kind of relief. It created space in my chest for what might have been the forgiveness toward myself I’d started to accept at Mom’s grave. Forgiveness that grew stronger now.
Or maybe that was the comfort of knowing I got my selfishness from my mom. That we were all just human. That maybe I no longer needed to punish myself for decisions none of us could change.
Maybe the decision I made next didn’t have to make up for the past.
“Will you tell me more stories about her?”
“Gladly—Oh, Wendy.” His voice got brighter as a dark-haired nurse strode in. “You want to hear about the time my wife dragged me skydiving for our two-year dating anniversary? I’ll let you guess which one of us vomited.”
She chuckled and picked up his empty tray, her smile warm in the cool room. Something told me she’d worked as a nurse long enough to have heard it all. “Did you at least make it to the ground before hurling?”
He smirked. “Barely.”
“Mom saw?” I asked, amused.
“She had an aerial view.”
