One More for Christmas(85)

Mary stood up and fetched a glass of water. “Here. Drink this.”

She picked up the glass and drank. “I was upset. They were upset. I expected them to reach out and apologize, but they didn’t. And I was too stubborn, and lacking in self-insight, to reach out to them. I was convinced I was right and they were wrong.” Regret poured into her. “I pushed my own children away because of the way I was. And the gap grew wider, and Ella, my sweet Ella, didn’t know how to bridge it because so much was changing in her life. At what point do you tell your mother that you’re married with a child? It doesn’t get easier to do that—it gets harder. And she should have been able to tell me that.” A great lump wedged itself in her throat. “I wasn’t with her for the biggest events of her life. I wasn’t with her when she married Michael, I wasn’t there to help her when she was pregnant, and I wasn’t there for her when she gave birth. I’m a terrible mother.”

“That’s not true, Gayle. Not true.”

“It’s true. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I see I wasn’t.” The lump grew bigger. Emotion filled her, starting in her heart and spreading through her body. “I was scared, and it’s a terrible, horrible, awful feeling. I didn’t want them to feel that way.”

“How does that make you a bad mother?” Mary’s hand tightened on hers. “And as parents our responsibility is to make our children independent. You did that. You did a good job. Your daughters are strong, capable, admirable women.”

Gayle’s chest felt full. “Yesterday I watched my daughter playing with her daughter.” Tears filled her eyes. Mary’s face blurred in front of her. “There was no purpose to it. No educational goal. They were simply having fun together, enjoying each other’s company. They laughed. They hugged. They talked to each other about everything and nothing.” She almost choked on the words. “There were no teachable moments, just joy for the sake of joy. I never made time for that. I used to think there was no time for that. But how can we be too busy for happiness? How?”

The tears spilled over, big fat tears of regret that stung and scalded. She tried to stop them, but the barrier she’d built had weakened and now there was nothing holding them back. She felt raw and vulnerable. A drowning swimmer with no life preserver. A skydiver with no parachute.

“Gayle—”

She felt Mary’s arm come round her, but that simple act of kindness simply accelerated the outpouring of emotion. She’d never talked to anyone like this before, but now she’d started she couldn’t stop.

“I never built a snowman with them. I never did that.” She was drowning in her own tears. Choking on them. She couldn’t catch a breath. Her head was filled with all the things she hadn’t done and hadn’t said. “Not—once. No—” She hiccuped, sucked in air. “No snowman. We didn’t—” it was hard to breathe “—bake cakes together at weekends—we didn’t dance—I don’t know how to dance.” All the things she hadn’t done multiplied in her head, replacing every last good opinion she’d ever had about herself. She felt Mary’s grip tighten, and instead of pulling her hand away, she clung, holding tight, the arms of her new friend the only thing preventing her from falling right to the bottom of the dark pit lined with her own maternal failures.

Mary rocked her like a child, and she cried until she felt sick from crying, until her body went limp.

“There.” Mary’s voice soothed. “You’ve been through so much, and frankly I don’t know how you’ve held it together. You’re a true inspiration.”

“How can you possibly think that?”

“How can you not think it?” Mary sat down next to her, but kept hold of Gayle’s hand. “I don’t know what I would have done in your situation, how I would have coped, but I know I wouldn’t have achieved what you’ve achieved.”

“Two children who resent me?”

“I doubt they resent you. It sounds more as if they don’t understand you. And if we’re to blame for anything in this complicated game called parenting, then maybe it’s that.”

“We?”

“You don’t have the monopoly on frustrating your children, you know.” Mary gave her hand a final squeeze and then stood up and walked across the kitchen. She opened a drawer, pulled out a clean cloth and dampened it. “You protected your girls, and the downside is they have no idea of the reasons behind all the decisions you made. Maybe you should tell them.” She sat back down and held the cloth to Gayle. “For your eyes. They’re swollen.”

“Thank you.” Gayle took the cloth and held it to her face. She’d experienced emotional lows before, but always on her own. At the beginning, when life had fallen apart, there hadn’t been anyone she could lean on and then she’d become so used to handling things alone, she’d forgotten how to reach out. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel supported. “What’s the point of telling them now? It feels like excuses.”

“You’re not making excuses. You’re saying ‘these are the reasons I made the choices I made.’ And you made plenty of good choices. No one is perfect, Gayle. I’m not, you’re not, and I’m sure your girls aren’t, either. No person is perfect and no relationship is perfect.”