Fully Grown

I wake up to the shrill sound of Janice in the hall again. She can’t stand the neighbors’ yapping Chihuahuas and thinks that yapping back will help. I’m actually accustomed to the chaos of incessant barking, thanks in part to my mom always having at least ten dogs in the house at a time. I prefer a little chaos. But Janice claims to have moved to New York City for “peace and quiet”. The whole building—the whole city—knows that’s a lie. No one in his or her right mind moves to New York City to find peace. No, you move here to get lost within the corridors of its commotion and incredible history, and quite frankly, to forget about your own past. You move here if you don’t know who you are and what you want, because you want this city to squeeze it out of you. At least, that’s why I moved.

I stay in bed a bit longer, ignoring my ringing cell phone for the fourth time. My eyes are heavy from both the vivid dreams and the one-too-many glasses of red wine I consumed the night before. My dad always loved a rich, velvety Cabernet before bed. Like father, like…hopefully not like father, actually. Suddenly, the memories of his hospital stay wash over me, creating a heavy weight on my chest and ache in my forehead. I’m still stunned by his passing just a few months prior. I’m stunned that I actually moved away, and panic sneaks up on me at the thought of dwindling funds.

Janice bangs on my front door loudly, and I scream at her from my bed. Why must she bring the drama to me? I grab a wool coat by the door and wrap it around my body. When I pull the door open, she thrushes her cell phone in my face. I lean in closer and squint my tired eyes to see who it is. I’m shocked to see my mom’s name on the caller ID; my heart drops. My mom insisted that she have Janice’s phone number in case of emergencies only. Yes, I’m still treated like a ten year old at summer camp for the first time. But here I am in this big city, attempting to feel more adult and truly feeling like a scared child. I grab the phone out of her hand and muster the courage to ask what is wrong.

My mom had suffered a bad fall in her icy Colorado driveway. She was not “old” by any means, but she could take better care of herself. Now more than ever, she resents me for escaping to New York and leaving her behind. I think of the letter my dad wrote me in the hospital just before he passed. The scribbled handwriting read, “Please enjoy your life to the fullest.”

To me, that meant a new life and a new career half as good as his. Even though he drank himself, quite literally, to the grave, he reached many incredible milestones with his business partners. I fear I will never reach a professional or personal peak. He will forever look down on me dispirited and disappointed. Despite my fears, however, I heeded his advice and flew somewhere entirely new. My mom, a divorcee of 20 years, still harbors strong resentment and does not approve of his advice or my decisions. But I made them. Am I selfish or brave? Well, I’m still figuring it out.

I arrive in Colorado the next day and find my way to mom’s house. She is in bed with what appears to be yet another litter of newborn kittens. My stepdad rolls my luggage into the guest room. It’s still chock full of antique toys and dusty linens from the move years prior. I would usually gripe at the condition of their home or the dog beds sprawled in every room, but I don’t dare complain this time. I don’t have it in me.

My mom goes into detail about the fall and the hours pass by. The conversation eventually comes to a lull, so I stand up to grab her empty water glass on the bedside table. I try to turn away, but she grabs my hand and stares into my eyes. I don’t want to talk about him, I think. Yes, of course I miss my dad. Of course, I regret the pain I saw him go through in the hospital and the years of binge drinking that led to his agonizing end. Of course, I also feel tempted to get numb from a bottle of wine; I yearn to be closer to him. But I tell my mom I am fine, a little lost, but overall fine. She predictably consoles me and then quickly succumbs to her envy. She has always felt jealously for dad’s unforgettable charisma and admirable success, regardless of his belligerence. I’ve long-played the referee for them, not ever knowing whose side to take or whose emotions to console first. Instead of becoming angry and telling her to move on, I squeeze her hand, kiss it, and tell her we will both be okay.

The next day I find myself driving back to my dad’s house. I head there to make sure nothing sentimental has been left behind; in reality, it’s a goodbye. I run my fingers past the gorgeous kitchen countertops and the sparkling glass cabinets he installed just last year. I then climb the winding staircase, grabbing the mahogany banister for strength—both physically and mentally. I wish I had brought someone with me. My mom would have scoffed at the ostentatious furniture and I didn’t want that right now. Flashes of holiday parties and social gatherings overcome me. I think of the laughter this house once embraced. I consider turning back around, running to the car, and never coming back. Nonetheless, I tread onward to the top of the stairs.

Almost all of his furniture and personal belongings have been removed, save a few lamps and pieces of furniture to stage for potential buyers. It doesn’t completely feel like his home anymore. The scent is different, the artwork is different, the energy is off. I finally muster the courage to turn the corner and walk towards his bedroom. Deep inhale, slow exha—what is that? I quickly stop at the site of his bed. To my surprise, something strange sits on the duvet. My heart stops and my eyes focus in on it. It’s a small black notebook.

I take a seat on the floor and inhale sharply, deeply. Maybe the realtor or movers left behind a notebook? Maybe it’s new and empty and not full of words that could pierce through me? I exhale sharply, fully, and then open it slowly. A folded letter tumbles out like a feather. For a brief second, I smell my dad’s cologne. I grab the letter quickly with one hand while the other clasps my mouth. It reads:

Sammy, I hope you didn’t think I’d only leave you one note. I have many more things to say, my girl. I want you to have an even fuller and longer life than I ever had. You should know that you made my life worth it. You made me feel like the luckiest dad alive in my darkest moments. And for that, your entire life’s purpose has been fulfilled. Please forgive my faults and take the gift I left behind. Do what you truly want and not what you think others want from you. And don’t you dare tell yourself you don’t deserve it.”

I slam the notebook shut and let my face fall into my hands. I try to comprehend the words left behind and what it means. Through the spaces between my fingers I spot a folded check on the floor. I open it and my mouth drops. It’s a check for one million and twenty thousand dollars! My hands shake as I peer at the “memo” on the check. It reads “1 mill for Sam and $20,000 for my ex.” I burst out into laughter.

So many emotions rush over my soul. I consider the pain and guilt I feel for not being able to save my dad. I consider how unworthy I am. I think of the weddings and baby showers he will miss or the stories about future jobs and boyfriends he won’t ever hear. I think of the arguments I will have with my mom and the moments I will miss him harder than my body can take. But, I also think of the new life I could live with this gift. I imagine the freedom I have to do whatever makes me happy in New York City. And best of all, my mom can have her freedom too.

I look out the bedroom window and stare at the setting sun with the notebook pressed firmly against my stomach. I feel both grateful and terrified to carry on dad’s legacy. I feel unworthy of his kindhearted letter and money, yet I feel warm from his encouragement. Maybe I’m more like Janice than I thought. Maybe all I wanted was peace and quiet too. I moved somewhere that would distract me from my emotions and let me move forward, no questions asked. But my dad found a way to blanket me with the light and love and confidence I needed, inspiring me to truly face my deepest apprehensions. For once, I feel just a bit freer from the self-depreciation. I feel comfortable with myself and the decisions I’ve made. For once, I feel fully-grown.