People have walked out of my life over the years for a number of reasons, but Iâve never lost anyone.
Itâs strange, this notion that no matter how much time passes or where you go, there are people you will never see again. Because theyâre dead.
My father is dead. My father is dead. My father is dead.
The following twenty-four hours after my motherâs call donât feel real.
I know I got to the airport only because a taxi dropped me off, and I know I arrived at Warlington because my brother was waiting for me at the gate, but I know little else.
My brain shuts down, my body gives up, and my heartâ¦
I donât think itâs working anymore.
A soft knock on my childhood bedroom door wakes me up from the state of nothingness Iâve been in for the past few hours. Jamesâs texts sit unanswered on my phone, but I canât bring myself to feel bad about it.
James: Did you get to Warlington safely?
James: Just wanted to send you a picture of Shadow and Mist. They say hi.
James: Iâm so sorry, Maddie. Iâm sorry youâre going through this. Iâm here if you need anything at all.
He left me at the restaurant. He said he was always going to be there, and then he wasnât. His reasons, his explanations⦠They donât mean much. Not when I canât even feel my own heart right now.
Him leaving isnât something I didnât expect, anyway. Iâll survive without him.
But do you want to?
I donât say a word, but my brother walks into my room all the same and closes the door behind him.
It doesnât bother me. Nothing does at this point.
Sammy doesnât speak. He only lies with me in bed, above the covers, and holds my hand in his tattooed, warm one.
My phone pings again. I ignore it.
My brother squeezes my fingers.
After five minutes, or maybe five hours, he asks, âHow are you feeling?â
âEmpty.â
And thereâs that.
Lila is the next one to open my bedroom door. Much like her father, she doesnât say a word as she approaches us. And when my niece, this little person I would give my life for without question, wraps her arms around my neck and presses her cheek against my own, I break down.
The tears fall, but my fatherâs name isnât written on them.
Instead, I cry for the person I wanted, IÂ needed, but never got.
I cry for Lila, who has an amazing dad who loves her more than life itself, and I cry because I donât ever want her to lose him.
And then I cry because I hate crying for my father, that vile man who doesnât deserve an ounce of my sadness.
âItâs okay to cry, Maddsy.â Lila soothes me like she can read my mind. Given who her mother is, it wouldnât surprise me one bit.
I hear my brother planting a kiss on her hair. âLet me talk to your auntie for a moment, little sunshine.â
âOkay, Daddy.â She kisses my tears away. âI love you, Maddsy. Youâre my favorite ever.â
A half sob, half chuckle escapes me. âI love you more, Lila.â
With one last kiss on my cheek and one on my brotherâs, she hurries out of the room and shuts the door behind her.
My head finds the space between Sammyâs arm and his chest, and I settle there in silence.
âI donât want to cry for him,â I finally let out. My voice sounds all raspy and wrong, and I hate the weakness in it.
âItâs okay if you do,â he says, but it doesnât make it better.
Our last meeting haunts me. I saw him for the first time in seventeen years in a dark parking lot after he stalked me for weeks, and now I will never see him again.
Because heâs dead.
My father is dead. My father is dead. My father is dead.
âHeâ¦â I start, not really wanting to bring this up, but itâs now or never. Now, when my heart feels nothing, I know it can take the pain. âHe said he came back years ago. He said you didnât let him see me.â
I feel my brotherâs muscles tense under my body. âHe did.â A pause. âYou were around seven. He came by the tattoo shop and demanded to see you. He was drunk, maybe something else, too, and I told him to fuck off. Threatened him. He couldnât do anything because I had custody of you, so he never bothered to try again.â
I nod against his chest. âI-Iâm not upset with you. You did the right thing.â
My brotherâs lips brush my forehead in a faint kiss. âI vowed to take care of you the very day you were born, and that man lost the privilege to see you when he left. When he came back⦠I could tell he wasnât healthy. He wasnât okay in the head, and I refused to let you see him like that. Maybe if the circumstances had been differentâ¦â
He runs a hand through his dark hair, his chest heaving with a deep sigh.
âYou did the right thing,â I repeat, and not only to make him feel better. Not so deep down, I know my father wouldâve abused the privilege of seeing me to hurt me again.
âThank you for understanding. It means a lot to me.â
It sucks. It truly sucks that my brother, abandoned by his own father before he was even born, had to witness his little sister being abandoned by her own too. And it hurts so deeply that Sammy, who has one of the most beautiful souls Iâve ever met, has to go through this mess with me.
âI hate crying for him,â I whisper. âI hated him, Sammy. I hate him.â
I fall apart in his arms, but heâs there to pick up the pieces. He always is.
Now that Iâve started talking, I canât seem to stop. âDoes it make me a bad person to hate him in death? A bad daughter?â I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer. I sniffle but donât wipe the tears away. âIs it wrong that I donât feel a difference even if heâs gone? He wasnât there for me before, and he will never get to be now.â
Sammy hugs me closer. âYouâre not his daughter, Maddie. You never wereânot in the way that matters. You might have his genes, but youâre mine. Ours. Youâve never owed him anything, and you sure as fuck wonât start owing him now. The fact that heâs dead doesnât invalidate your hatred, and it doesnât erase the fact that he was a fuckup who never deserved you in the first place.â
Burying my face in the inked rose on his neck, I weep.
I sob, break down and pick myself back up, knowing my family will always be there for me.
âIâm so sorry,â I hiccup.
His hand cups the back of my head. âWhat for?â
The words pour out directly from my heart. For once, I donât want to hold them back.
âIâm sorry that you had to raise me because my own parents couldnât, and Iâm sorry that you and Grace almost didnât make it because I was a burden. And Iâm sorry that you couldnât have more children because you had to take care of me even after I moved out, because I injured my ankle and flushed my future down the drain. Iâm so sorry, Sammy.â I stop, breathless, my voice cracking with the last word.
My brother wipes the tears from my eyes with his palms, just like he always used to do when I was a kid. So full of care and love, it only makes me want to cry harder.
âBreathe with me, princess. Inhale. Exhale,â he instructs. We repeat the motions until I calm down. âHow long have you felt this way?â
My lips tremble as I speak, and so does my voice. âA very long time.â
I canât bring myself to talk about my former therapist. Not right now. Not when Jamesâ¦
God, James.
Why did he have to let me down? Why canât I shake off the feeling of betrayal?
My brother curses under his breath and searches my eyes, worry plastered all over his features. âLook at me, Maddie. Listen to me.â
I nod, my chest heaving with painful sobs.
âYouâre my sister, my blood, my everything. You were never a burden, okay? Never. Since you were born, all I wanted was to keep you all to myself because I knew nobody would take better care of you than your big brother. You gave me a purposeâyou still do, just like Lila and Grace. You three are the only ones who matter to me, and you could never be a burden to anybody in this family. You could never be when we love you so much.
âGrace and I didnât have more kids because we didnât want to, Maddie, not because of you. Money wasnât the reason, nor was it a lack of love to give. We felt like our family was complete, and that decision had nothing to do with you and everything to do with us as a couple, okay? Youâre one of the most incredible people Iâve ever known, and Iâm not just saying that because youâre my sister. Youâre responsible, fun, generous, driven, mature, a fucking angel, Maddie.
âYou didnât flush your future down the drain because itâs only about to start, and Iâm gonna be there, cheering you on every step of the way. Youâll always have a home with us. Youâll always have our support, in any way you need, because we know you donât take it for granted and we know you want to make a life for yourselfâand youâre doing it.
âI couldnât have asked for a better sister. I love you and Iâm proud of you, you hear me? We all are, and I will remind you every single day for the rest of my life if I have to.â
By the time his speech is done, Iâm a mess of tears again.
Deep down I knew all of it, if only because heâs shown me all my life that itâs true, but I needed to hear it from him.
Today of all days, I needed my brother.
âI love you,â I say against his skin, my voice muffled. âI love you all so much. I love you.â
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a big bear hug that glues all my broken pieces back together.
âCry for as long as you need, princess. Iâm not going anywhere, and Lila would love nothing more than to cuddle with you all day long.â
I chuckle, my heart feeling lighter already.
âTomorrow, at the funeral, I donât want you to hold back. Cry, break something, scream, anything. But allow your heart to bleed because thatâs the only way to heal.â
Healing.
Itâs been a long time coming for me.
â½â½â½
Attending my fatherâs funeral sits at the very top of the list of things I never, ever thought I would do.
I mean, up until a few weeks ago, I didnât know for sure if he was still alive, if he was still in the country, or what even was going on with him. And I didnât care either.
My talk with Sammy last night helped immensely in the guilt department. Iâm not ashamed to say his words are the sole reason I can stand straight in this cold room of the funeral home, look at my fatherâs closed casket, and admit to myself that Iâve never missed him, never loved him, and Iâm not going to start now.
But the pain is still there, lingering in my heart, and at first, I donât understand why.
My father has never been a real part of my lifeâmore like an abstract figure I longed for until I realized my brother embodied every single quality a father should have.
And I couldnât have asked to grow up in a better family.
Better Place is a misleading name for this funeral home, I think to myself as I take in every detail around me, given how it sits in the sketchiest part of Warlington.
Who organized my fatherâs funeral? Grandparents Iâve never met? An aunt or an uncle I didnât even know I had? Why did they choose this place?
Who are all these people?
The service wonât start for another half an hour, but this room is crowded. There are men and women here, most around my fatherâs age, and theyâreâ¦crying. Some are holding back the tears; others just stand solemnly.
What the hell is this?
A few people have come up to me since we arrived, asking how I knew Pete. Clearly, my name wasnât one he mentioned around. So I simply said he was a family friend, and that seemed to be enough for hisâ¦friends? He had friends.
Friends who had no clue he had a daughter.
Whatever. I canât bring myself to care anymore.
Iâve been here for five minutes, and Iâm already overwhelmed. Maybe it was a mistake to come, no matter how much Sammy insisted I may need the closure. Iâm about to turn around to go outside and find him, Grace, and Lila, when her strong perfume invades my nostrils.
âHe wasnât a good man,â my mother says in a firm voice, eyes on his casket. She stands still, rigid, but not solemnly. âLiving with him wasnât easy, but I donât regret it. He gave me you, after all.â
Tears threaten to come for the first time today. She shouldnât hold this power over me, a mother who couldnât have strayed further from that role, but I canât deny that my heart doesnât hold the same kind of resentment for her as it does for my father.
My mom was a victim of her own circumstances. Normally I wouldnât feel sympathy for someone who didnât make an effort to be more present once she got sober, but Iâm tired of fighting the past.
Itâs clear that my mother has fought hard to get her life back on track, even if she still isnât the best at rekindling relationships that shouldâve never been broken in the first place.
Unlike my father, though, maybe she does deserve a second chance.
But it wonât be today.
âHow did he pass?â I ask her softly.
âHe was driving under the influence and crashed into a building. Nobody else was hurt.â
Good. In that situation, nobody else deserved to die but him.
âUnder the influence of what?â
My mother slides me a quick look before letting out a tired sigh. âOf the same crap that made him lose his jobs every couple of months when you were younger, Maddie. Cocaine, maybe something else. He got himself involved with the wrong crowd before we met. He was dealing drugs when you were a child, but I didnât know this, and then⦠Iâ¦â
She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but the words die in her throat. Instead, her bony fingers find my hand and squeeze it.
I let her because I need this too.
âIâm sorry for everything, Maddie. I will always regret what I made you go through. I hope someday, when youâre ready, youâll want to have a conversation with me. A real one.â
Tears prickle the back of my eyes, and I nod. Because somewhere not so deep in my heart, I know my mother deserves at least that. A conversation in which the new versions of us can have a chance to meet.
âI will call you,â I whisper, my voice too husky, and I swear her whole body sags with relief. âBut not today. Iâ¦need time.â
âYes. Of course.â She squeezes my hand again. âI love you, Maddie. Thank you for giving me a chance.â
I donât say it back, but I think she understands I canât. Not yet, but maybe someday.
âIâm going to look for your brother,â she says next, and I like the new resolve in her voice. I donât think Iâve ever heard her sound so confident. âI owe him an apology too.â
My mother leaves me at the casket, and only then do I give my tears permission to fall.
This is too much all at once. Too many conflicting emotions clinging to my poor heart, already shattered enough, and I donât want these people to think Iâm shedding a single tear for him.
Without thinking, I make a beeline for one of the doors in the room, which leads to an empty hallway. Thereâs a single wooden chair a few feet away, and I sink down on it and bury my face in my hands, letting it all out.
I donât even know why Iâm crying.
My mom, my dad, myself.
Everyone at once.
He killed himself in a car accident because he was a fucking junkie, and it makes me sob harder to think I couldâve ended up like him if my brother hadnât stepped in.
My mother couldâve ended up like him, too, dead or worse, if I hadnât tripped over that empty bottle of whiskey that night and gotten a head injury. If I hadnât hurt myself and gone to live with my brother, maybe she wouldâve never gone to rehab.
Would I have ended up dead as well? Consumed by alcohol and drugs? Abused and alone?
A loud sob tears up my heart, and maybe thatâs why I donât hear the approaching footsteps.
But I hear that voice.
âMaddie.â