- 2.
And that was it.
She cut the visit short.
I left the prison and went back to the house.
The house that used to be full of laughter.
Now it just had a black and white photo of
Dad on the mantelpiece.
It felt like someone was stabbing me in the
chest.
I went to their bedroom, desperate for some
kind of clue.
Their clothes were neatly folded in the closet,
side by side.
Mom always said Dad looked good in white,
so that’s all he ever bought.
She loved gold, so he got her a whole drawer
full of jewelry.
Mom wasn’t in the best health, so his
nightstand was piled with her medications.
The more I looked, the less it made sense,
This room screamed love and happiness.
Dad was so good to us,
Why did Mom want to blow it all up?
I needed answers.
But after that last conversation, Mom refused
to see me again.
Her coldness broke my heart.
I packed up and moved in with my boyfriend,
Mark.
He was my rock through all of it.
Always there, always supportive.
He was kind, understanding, patient, always
putting me first.
Three years later, we set a date.
“Sarah,” Mark said, “your mom’s out now,
right? This is huge, you’re not even inviting
her? Are you still mad at her?”
I paused.
“I just don’t get it,” I said, “Dad was such a
good person. Why would she do that to him?”
“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding?” Mark said.
“How could anyone make someone kill
themself with a few words?
Maybe your dad’s death hit your mom harder
than you know. Maybe she’s just hurting too
much to talk about it.”
He took my hand. “She’s still your mom,
Sarah. This is your wedding. She needs to be
there.
Can you imagine how she’d feel if she knew
her only daughter was getting married and
didn’t even want her there?”
Mark was always like that.
Always seeing the best in people.
In the last few years, he’d been my sunshine.
Warming me when I was cold, showing me
how to walk towards the light.
He had a point.
I finally gave in and sent Mom an invitation.
