My Life in Shambles(91)

When your mother and Clara died, I was so lost and angry and I turned from you because I thought it would make things easier should I lose you too. It was my biggest regret.

Now my biggest regret is telling you the things I did. I understand why you lied. I see into your heart Padraig and I see the young boy that I failed and I can’t blame you one bit. I felt foolish and stupid and I was so caught up in my pride that I said things I didn’t mean. You’re not a disappointment. I told you that already but I’ll tell you again. You are a fantastic son and I am so very proud of you and all that you’ve done and all that you will do. And I can tell you love Valerie too. How can you not? She’s a real looker.

I hope when you read this letter that you remember all of this. And remember the good times. We had those too. Take care of McGavin for me and your nan and even the Major too.

You are my world Padraig, all of it.

Love,

Your old dad.



I can barely read the last sentence because the tears have diluted and smudged them. I can only press the letter to my chest, and cry.

“I love you too Dad,” I say aloud through a choked sob, needing for him to hear me. Feelings of relief and grief wash over me, like being caught in a downpour, a raging river, a flood that clips you at the ankles and takes you off your feet.

I fall back asleep, holding that letter.





24





Valerie





“Valerie, breakfast is ready!” my mom calls from downstairs.

I’m at my computer, trying to finish the chapter I’m working on. I’ve been up since six am because I couldn’t sleep, thoughts and feeling invading every space in my head. The only way out of it is through this book. I don’t even know what the hell the book is about really, all I know is it’s helping me deal with the pain in my chest and every time I feel the urge to cry, I just start typing and let those tears fall.

I save my work and head downstairs.

My mom is making pancakes. Every morning this week she’s made some different kind of breakfast. Yesterday it was French toast, the day before was waffles. I’m starting to think that maybe she’s compensating in the other direction and trying to fatten me up now.

I don’t care. At least I’m getting good food out of it.

“Morning mom,” I say to her, sitting down at the table. “Where’s dad?”

She comes around and puts the pancakes in front of me and pours me a cup of coffee. “He’s playing golf.”

“In this weather?” February in Philadelphia is no joke.

“You know your father,” she says, sitting down beside me, sipping on her coffee. She clears her throat. “So I talked to Angie and Sandra this morning. They’ll be here this afternoon.”

“I thought they were coming here tomorrow?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess this was easier for them.”

Good. I mean, I love that my mom and I have grown closer over this last week but I’m needing more of a buffer. I don’t expect my mom to change overnight and she has a lot of work that she needs to do on herself, but the fact that she’s trying is also a bit of a strain. She’s going to be shitty again at some point and I need for her to know that it’s okay if she is. I don’t want it to unravel everything.

Besides, I’ve missed my sisters dearly. I’ve been texting with them all week and they’re such good shoulders to cry on because they met Padraig, so they know what the man is like and what I’m losing. But sometimes you need an actual shoulder to cry on instead of a proverbial one.

They’re only supposed to come out for the weekend but maybe after that I’ll go with Sandra back to LA and spend a week in the sunshine or something. I know I have to think about job prospects, too. I need to stop moping and get my shit together.

It’s just this damn heart of mine. It never listens to my mind and now my mind knows that I have to get things back on track and start over but the heart isn’t having any of it. It wants to drown and pine and burn and ache.

God, how my heart aches for Padraig. It’s this acute pain deep in my core that steals my breath and directs all my attention away from everything else. It’s the pain that’s so physical that you’re keeling over, praying for it to stop. That’s the loss. That’s the grief. That’s what I need to figure out how to move past. Every day I think I’m getting better and then something will remind me of Padraig and I’m on my knees again and bawling my eyes out.

After breakfast, I’m about to go have another writing session with the book when Angie and Sandra send me a group text: Hey we’re here come meet us!

I frown, texting back: What r u talking about?

I look outside the window but I don’t see anything. I add, R u at the house?

I wait for the long reply. We’re downtown. You know where Timothy’s coffee is? We’re there.

Why? Just come here.

We don’t want to go there yet. The less time with mom the better. Plus Sandra is spending money on stupid stuff.

Louis Vuitton is not stupid!

I guess a shopping date in downtown Philly doesn’t sound all that bad. It will get me out of the house and I feel like I’ve been stuck in here forever.

K what time? I’ll leave now. I’ll take an Uber.