The Visit

I sit in this uncomfortable bus seat trying to find a position that will hold me over until I reach my destination. I sigh and look down at my watch and don’t see the time, my attention is drawn to the brown paper-covered gift box in my lap. I mindlessly start to fumble with the twine around it and try not to get sucked back into memories that will result in me jumping on the first bus back home when I reach the final stop. It’s been so long since you have seen me, I wonder if you will recognize me at first, I wonder if you will be able to look me in the eye at all. You stopped being able to after she died, I didn’t lose one parent the day she passed, I lost two.

It has been almost ten Christmases since we have sat around the tree together and this year was almost no different. When I saw the expected annual gift, something in my stomach told me I needed to go see you, that enough time had passed and I need to try to salvage whatever fibers were left of this relationship. I could tell how tired you are by the tone of your voice and I kept feeling I needed to head out the front door the second we hung up. I just kept thinking about how disappointed mom would be looking down at us and seeing us fall apart, she was the glue that held us together, that held you together.

We hit the last town before yours and, I feel the pit in my stomach grow five sizes bigger. I instantly regret even offering to come. What am I going to say to you? What would we even talk about? my job? My internal struggle is enough to send me back to the comfort of my home if I don’t get a handle on it. I swallow my anxiety and keep focused on the fact that mom would want me to see you. Mom would want me to be making more of an effort to see you more often. I start to pick at the corners of the box, this stupid box that made me feel guilty about not trying harder.

As we pull into the bus station and get ready to exit, the thought entered my mind to blow you off; until I saw you standing there. You look so thin and pale. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and sadness. Instantly I grab my bag and run to the front of the bus, barely waiting for it to stop and begging the driver to open the door already. I run to you and quickly pull you in for a hug. I feel you resist for a brief second and collapse into me, I feel you let out a heaving breath of relief. I lost track of time in our embrace. I let you pull away first; as you open your mouth about to speak, I tell you that it’s fine we don’t need to talk about it. Smiling at me but not looking me directly in the eyes, you grab my bag and the package from me as we head to your car.

When we get back to your house, I am shocked. The lawn you used to pride yourself on hasn't been maintained in what looks like months. The front flowerbeds are overgrown and, the front door needs to be replaced. I just let you talk about bowling with your friends and what is going on in the local news, I can tell you were happy. Entering the house is like stepping back in time but looking at everything through a film of dust over the lens. I can see the path you take every day and the places you never go. I decided then I was going to stay as long as you needed.

You start to apologize for the mess; I can see the embarrassment wash over your face as you start to clear a spot on the couch for me, I grab your hand reassuring you that I came to see you, not the house. I decide in the morning that we will go to the store and get everything needed to deep clean this house, but for right now, I just want to be present with you. I suggest we make some tea and maybe open the gifts we got for each other, we can worry about the mess later. I head to the kitchen and start to gather the tea and honey. As I grab a mug out of the cabinet, I notice I am enveloped by a feeling of complete love. I know she is here and she is going to help us.

Once I get tea made and get you settled into your chair, I hand you the gift I got you and watch you eagerly open it. You’re pleased with the thick cardigan and instantly put it on, I tell you how handsome you look and that the deep burgundy color brings out your eyes. You smile back at me and tell me it’s my turn. I grab the box and pull off the twine and paper to reveal a plain black box. I open the lid and gasp as I see my Mother’s smiling face looking back at me. I can feel tears starting to fill my eyes as I pull out the photo album and start flipping through our life together. I looked up to my dad smiling with tears streaming down his cheeks “I miss her so much” I put the album down beside me and rush into your arms again for another long hug.

The healing started tonight and it is going to continue for a long time, I was too immature to realize that it wasn’t just me who lost a parent that day, you lost your best friend and partner - the other half of you. I was too immature up until I walked through the door to realize that a big part of you died that day too, it’s okay Dad. We are going to bring you back to life. I’m going to wait until tomorrow to tell you I will stay, you will probably fight me on it, but you’re not going to have a choice because I can see you need me. That stupid box that initially made me feel so guilty was the missing piece I needed.