Authors: Nicole Deese
I said nothing.
“So that’s it, then?
You just go on with your life and pretend you never knew each other?” Briggs
took a step closer to me, gesturing with his arms in the air. “Or maybe
you
never
really did care for
him
...maybe losing him isn’t a big deal at all-“
“Shut up! I love him…”
I slapped my hand over
my mouth the instant the words were spoken. Regret loomed over me.
A large smile spread
over Briggs’ face.
I’ve been played.
“Sorry about that. I
knew you’d never admit it if I didn’t coax it out of you. Think about what I said
Tori, before you make the biggest mistake of your life.” Briggs nodded to the
yellow brochure in my hand.
Instinctively, I put it
behind my back, knowing full well I was hiding nothing that he hadn’t already
seen and read.
He took another step toward
me and in a voice as soft as a whisper asked, “Is there anything you’d like me
to tell Kai for you?”
Without missing a beat
I stared him right in the eyes and said, “Yes...tell him
baking
helps.”
By the time I got to my
car, my tears were unstoppable. I laid my head down on the steering wheel,
waiting for my sobs to subside.
“Why did this happen,
God? Why would you let me fall in love with a man I can’t trust? Why does the
pain of my accident get more and more complex every single day?”
No answer.
“And why do you speak
at the times I’m
not
trying to hear from you? Urgh!”
No answer.
I may have been running
more often, but the duration was get shorter each time I went out. The white
puffs that replaced my breath reminded me again of how cold Dallas could get in
the winter. I was careful to watch for ice, but so far there hadn’t been any to
navigate around.
For the last seven
weeks, I had taken a route that wouldn’t lend itself to thoughts of Kai. But
today, for reasons unclear to me, I ran up Elm Street bridge and into the park.
It was a little past nine in the morning, and there wasn’t a soul around. I
kept my pace steady, running along the sidewalk that bordered the swing set.
From there, I could see the tree. While keeping it only in my peripheral, I
passed by it twice, before finally deciding to go to it.
Why those few steps
were more difficult than the miles it took me to run here was obvious, but why
I felt compelled to torture myself, was not. The tree was as big and bold as I
had remembered. It’s rough bark snagged on the dryness of my hand as I brushed
over it reverently. The memory of Kai’s thoughtful words gifting me his
special
spot
burned vividly in my mind’s eye. Then, a much more intimate memory
took over, one that forced me to remember the kisses we’d shared together,
standing right here.
Dr. Crane’s latest push
for me was to find a way to bring “closure” to Anna’s death. To somehow find a
way to express to her the thoughts, feelings, regrets, and most definitely the
guilt, I had buried deep inside myself. Closure from Anna’s death was the
inevitable end for me to be granted freedom from PTSD—Dr. Crane had made that
abundantly clear. But here I was, the pending closure of a death looming over
me, when I hadn’t even faced the closure of my most recent loss.
It was a loss that
lived
and
breathed
just miles from where I stood, a loss that I fought to
treat like a death, permanent and indisputable.
I could feel it
building in me, the need to let go, but I wasn’t brave enough to face that, not
yet. A chill came over me as my sweat began to cool, freezing onto my skin.
I saw the frost on the
ground, the weight of the tiny blades of grass that were bent under its
pressure. I looked over the roots of the tree that stood inches above the earth’s
surface one last time, saying a silent goodbye to a tree that had once brought
me indescribable hope. As I turned from it, a gleam of white caught my eye.
I looked again,
reaching down for it.
Paper
.
It was curled now,
weathered, but unmistakably a message to someone.
The pen had bled and
smeared over its trusted companion: the note card. Most letters were still
intact however, and to a patient eye, even
legible
. I fell back on the
tree with a thud as I read the first word.
Pele
.
It was from Kai...
to
me
.
Tears filled my eyes as
I read on:
Pele
,
I was wrong to wait so
long to tell you.
I thought losing you
would be the worst pain I’d ever feel, but I was wrong about that, too.
Knowing I was the cause
for your pain is far, far worse.
If you are reading this
now, then maybe there is still hope...
Maybe there is a chance
for forgiveness?
I love you Tori.
Until then...I’ll keep
waiting.
Kai
His name was just a
dark glob of ink, but I could read the letters clearly, as if they shouted
directly into my thoughts. I re-read the card over and over, until I’d
memorized it, stuffing it deep into the pocket of my heart. I curled the note
card back up and carried it in my hand as I ran back to Stacie’s.
When had Kai written
this?
Only moments before I
had been dwelling on closure, but was that what I really wanted? Was it enough
that Kai was sorry? That he had admitted wrong-doing and wanted my forgiveness?
Were we supposed to be together?
I meditated on those
questions with each step that pounded the pavement, my mind spinning in circles
again. God seemed so distant when I prayed about Kai. The more passionate I
became about the matter, the further away He felt. I was confused by the lack
of direction.
It seemed easy enough,
this question in my mind. A simple
yes
or
no
would do the trick.
How hard could it possibly be for me to hear, or for Him to speak?
And then, a new thought
occurred to me.
Is that not the right
question?
I stopped, breathing
heavily now. I looked up into the sky, waiting.
“What
is
the
right question?”
Where does forgiveness
start?
The prompting was deep
and rich, overwhelming my senses with its power.
I searched for the
answer, scattering my confusion into a million pieces. I replayed it again,
focusing on each word, saying it out loud.
Was this God’s idea of
a riddle?
Was there even a right
answer?
Would I continue in
this constant circular pattern of pain and self-destruction forever?
And then it was clear.
Forgiveness starts
within.
It wasn’t just an
answer, it was a priority.
And Kai was not
first
on that list.
I was.
**********
“It’s hard to believe
this is our last session for the year, Victoria,” Dr. Crane said.
“Please, call me, Tori.
You’ve earned that right by now,” I said, smiling at her.
She laughed lightly and
handed me a box wrapped in shiny red paper.
“I wouldn’t normally
give a Christmas present to a patient, Tori, but I felt this was appropriate.
You have worked so hard over the last four months and you’ve grown tremendously
since our first session together. I hope you can see that, too. Don’t get stuck
on what’s left to overcome, there will always be more to do, for all of us,”
Dr. Crane said. “I would be out of a job pretty quickly if
perfection
were
possible.”
I smiled at her and
unwrapped the pretty paper. It was a beautiful spiral-backed journal.
“Thank you, Dr. Crane.
This is very thoughtful of you,” I said.
“It’s not just a
journal to keep track of your days, Tori. This journal has a purpose. Its
spiral back is essential to that purpose,” she said, looking at me, willing me
to conclude her thought.
“So I can choose what
to keep in it and what to tear out?” I asked.
“Exactly. Closure of
grief, especially grief that bears guilt, can be a tough task. Writing may
prove helpful to you, but not all of it should be held on to. Some things we
write need to be released in order for healing to come. Clinging onto harmful
words, even those we write about ourselves, will never get us far. Think of it
like a dog that spends his days chasing after his tail, satisfaction will never
find him.”
Though she had never
spoken the words, I had a sense there was more to Dr. Crane’s understanding of
healing than her schooling alone could take credit for.
There was something
ultimately more divine at work in her.
“I will use it, I
promise. I will see you after the new year, then?” I asked.
“Yes, Happy Holidays,”
she said, hugging me gently.
“Happy Holidays to you,
too, Dr. Crane.”
I looked again at the
journal as I left her office.
Yes, something
ultimately more divine indeed.
**********
After another long and
dreadfully slow night in the ER, I headed home. December 23rd had held no real
significance to me, other than being the day I wrote my first journal entry.
The list I’d begun had proven longer than I first had anticipated. Due to my aimless
meanderings in the hallway at work, though, I had found plenty of extra thought
time. I added names and offenses accordingly.
Tomorrow I would test
it.
**********
Jack was awake when I
walked into the house. His jet lag hadn’t quite worn off yet, as he was often
awake during normal sleeping hours. He was in the kitchen now, pouring a giant
bowl of frosted flakes.
“Greetings, how was
your day?” he asked.
“You mean my night?” I
said, laughing.
“Oh yeah, right,
night
,”
he said.
“It was fine, painfully
slow, but no major complaints,” I said, taking my shoes off.
Jack shoveled the
cereal into his mouth with a spoon designed only for serving casseroles, and
gestured for me to sit down. We had talked several times since he’d been back,
but most of those talks were covering major bullet points of the things he’d
missed, and vice versa. I slumped into the leather recliner, drawing my legs
underneath me. I rested my head on my hand.
Jack drank the last of
his milk like a child on a Cheerios commercial, and then smiled at me. Likely
he already knew my thoughts regarding his breakfast-at-midnight-display.
“So, let’s hear it,” he
said.
“Hear what?” I asked.
His eyebrows narrowed
at me and he shook his head, waiting.
“Jack it’s midnight. I’m
not up for a Jeopardy round of whatever discussion you might want to have with
me at this particular hour,” I said.
“Okay party-pooper,” he
said, measuring me for a moment before speaking, “I want to hear about what
happened with Kai. I mean, what
really
happened,” he said.
“I’m sure Stacie told
you all there is to know-” I started.
“Yes, and that’s
Stacie’s version. You have your own perspective...and that’s the one what I
want to hear,” he said seriously.
I shifted on the chair
uncomfortably.
“Well, it’s a pretty
short story, Jack. He told me I could trust him and I believed him. I told him
everything about me: my shame, my pain, my brokenness, and he kept his secrets
to himself all the while,” I said.
Jack nodded. There was
no judgment on his face. He was purely seeking the facts, that was his way. He
was not a reactor; he was a gatherer only.
“Listen, I know you and
Kai are good friends and I don’t want that to change for you—either one of you.
I don’t hate
him...I don’t even
dislike
him, we just aren’t...”
“I’m waiting,” Jack
said, looking at me inquisitively.
“I don’t know. I just
don’t know, anymore,” I said.
“Anymore?” he asked.
I thought for a second
and then reached down for a pillow, slowly bringing it to my lap before making
my move. It was glorious; he was as unsuspecting as possible when I chucked it
right into his face. He startled back, but only for an instant. Then, he was
gathering up pillows in a fury.
“Oh, game on!” Jack
said.