Page 155 of My Merry Mistake
I make a point tonotsay Hunter’s name out loud. Every time he comes to my mind, I feel the sting of losing him all over again.
Time heals all wounds? Yeah, right.
Before Raya, I can’t remember the last time I told someone stories about the brother who was my best friend.
I haven’t talked about him in a long, long time.
But then a thought occurs to me.Why don’t I talk about the good things?
His lifetime of good things was erased by one horrific thing.
Isn’t talking about how awesome he was a way to remember him? Isn’t telling everyone how supportive, and crazy, and fun, and talented, and mischievous, and loving he was part of carrying on his memory?
Little by little, I’ve been erasing him from my life. Why? Because it hurts?
I look out at the lake. Have I been wrong?
Have I been wrong this whole time?
Lord. Maybe I have.
In silencing the hard things, I let the good things go quiet too. And there weresomany good things. The way he stuck up for everyone, whether he knew them or not. The way he spread joy everywhere he went. The loyalty he showed to his friends. The way he’d get up before dawn every day before school to practice because he had a dream he believed in. He was fierce and loyal and good and kind.
All things he taught me to be.
My brother knew how to love with his whole heart. He never held back.
Nobody ever wondered where they stood with him.
He taught me that too.
Even his death taught me to appreciate every single day, every single experience.
A thought slips in without my permission.Hunter would forgive her.
I pretend the words aren’t there. I try to focus on the lake. The mountains. The sky. But as I do, I hear it again.
Hunter would forgive her. And I know it’s true. Because my brother never held grudges. Maybe he still has one more thing to teach me.
I sit with the word—forgiveness. It feels too good for her after what she did.
And then I remember what Raya said—“Forgiveness isn’t for her. It’s for you.”
Forgiving that woman isn’t going to bring him back. It’s not going to make it okay. But will it help me move on?
My legs stop supporting me, and I fall to my knees in front of the lake and the mountains. I feel small, insignificant.
And for the first time since Hunter’s funeral, I break down and cry.
I don’t try to stop it. Or hide it. I just let it all come, and I let myself feel the whole tidal wave of emotions. What should’ve happened years ago all happens now. I fall forward, my hands pressing into the snow to keep me from hitting the ground, and I mourn my brother.
I don’t know how long I’m there, or how many tears I have left in my eyes—but I stay, wracked with emotion, until the crying is done. And when it is, I wipe my face dry and sit back up. My hands aren’t cold, even though they’ve been plunged into the snow in front of me.
It’s quiet.
Snow has a sound-deadening effect, and there’s nothing except a quiet, almost silent crinkle of white noise.
I stand to my feet, brush off the snow, and walk down to the edge of the lake. I start to feel a quiet desire for a change, and I have to believe that’s a step in the right direction.
