Chapter 33 Today, and Every Tomorrow Cara
I’VE LEARNED MORE ABOUT MYSELF in the last year than I have in all of the twenty-seven years before that.
I’ve learned that even the strongest people are capable of breaking.
That bad things happen, that things don’t always make sense, and trying to understand the why behind them will tear you apart.
That searching for an answer when there isn’t one, when some things just are, will create space for doubt to seed and grow and eventually spread like wildfire.
I’ve learned that it’s eons easier to let the doubt win.
That putting yourself first, loving yourself despite the doubts, can feel impossible to even the most confident of people.
I’ve learned that loving myself looks different at every stage.
It means giving myself grace, seeing my worth at my best, and finding it at my worst too.
It means reminding myself that I’m enough.
That I was enough yesterday, am enough today, and will be enough tomorrow, no matter what happens.
I’ve learned that loving myself doesn’t require perfection, but it does require me to show up for myself every damn day, and celebrate all my efforts, no matter the outcome.
Loving myself means understanding that I can’t do it alone.
It means asking for help, letting people in, letting them love me extra on the days the love escapes me.
I’ve learned what it means to be a mother.
That it’s the single hardest thing I’ll ever do.
That being a mother means loving someone so much you’d give up everything for them.
I’ve learned that being a mother is full of quiet sacrifices, not just because of the sleepless nights and the plans you cancel, but because of the life you rearrange.
The person you say goodbye to, the pieces of yourself you let go of as your heart and soul are gently reshaped, molded into a version of you that somebody else needs, and maybe one you needed too.
I’ve learned that being a mother means healing the parts inside you that still bleed, the hurt you’ve held so tightly, and bravely watching as that hurt peeks out for the first time in so long, desperate for someone to shine some light on it.
I’ve learned that it’s okay to take up space exactly as I am.
I am no less worthy on the days I struggle, on the days I can’t stand on my own, when the voices in my head try to convince me that anything less than the best version of me isn’t good enough.
I am allowed to exist, happy and full of life.
I am allowed to exist, lost and afraid. I don’t need to apologize for being here, for having a hard week, or an impossible year.
There is room for every good day, and every bad one too.
Room for the laughter, the smiles, the tears, and the anger.
There is room for all of it, and there is nothing, not one single thing in this world, that makes me any less worthy of being here.
But maybe most important of all? I’ve learned that the most important person in the world to convince of my worth… it’s me. All the love in the world will never make up for the love I need most: my own.
I gaze at the rearview mirror, watching Abel’s reflection as we drive along the coast, trying to beat the sunset. He’s carefree, smiling as he watches the world pass by outside, while I try to feel like mine isn’t ending.
Emmett reaches over the console, laying his palm up.
I slide my hand into his, closing my eyes as he sweeps a feather-soft kiss across my knuckles.
It’s no secret that I found my way out through to the other side with both Emmett and Abel’s hands tucked into mine, but watching Emmett and Abel heal their childhood hurt at the same time has been a beautiful experience I’ve been endlessly lucky to experience firsthand.
My husband is what “breaking the cycle” means.
He is every single deep breath, every step forward when your body demands you freeze instead.
He’s the patience he was never granted, the cheerleader he never had, the love that shouldn’t have ever come with conditions.
And Abel… he’s a kid. That’s all he has to be, all he should be.
There is no greater joy than being able to provide him that opportunity.
“Is Ireland coming?” Abel asks when Emmett parks the truck off a dirt road hidden among the trees, tucked just high enough that we can gaze out at the water below, the ships in the harbor, the city off in the distance. “Connor? Lily? Is Uncle Carter coming, and Auntie Ollie?”
“I don’t think so, honey,” I tell him gently, holding his door while he unbuckles the straps of his car seat.
It was Emmett’s and my anniversary yesterday, which also means today is Canada Day.
There’s no other way I’d prefer to spend tonight, except perhaps without the crushing weight of what tomorrow might hold sitting on my chest. Because tomorrow morning, right after breakfast, we head in for our meeting with Abel’s social worker, and we learn what Catharine’s next steps are.
I don’t know how to describe it, the war that wages inside me. All of me is so proud of Catharine, of every accomplishment and the incredible woman she is, of the life she’s chasing. I want her to win. I see how hard she’s been working to change her destiny.
And yet the thought of the window seat in that bedroom being empty, of wishes on stars left unsaid, of paints left in their pots instead of on my table, and rain boots without mud on them… it’s unbearable.
I close my eyes to the gut-wrenching pain, glancing away from Abel as I help him jump down from the truck.
He looks up at me with a frown so wounded, so dejected, my heart aches. “Because it’s Canada Day? That’s why they can’t come?”
Last night, we told Abel we’d spend the day doing whatever he wanted. We said it was to celebrate his birthday month arriving, not that we were terrified it was our last night together. And what did he choose for his day?
Making pancakes for breakfast with Daddy and eating in the backyard with Mommy. Painting on FaceTime with Mémère, and playing hockey with Daddy in the driveway while Mommy cheers for him. Making homemade pizzas for dinner, and watching the fireworks with his family.
“I’m sorry, Abel. It’s tough to get everyone together on a holiday.” I crouch in front of him, smoothing his hair off his forehead. “They really wanted to be here, though. I promise.”
He hangs his head. “Okay.”
Abel wanders around the trail while Emmett takes out the blankets and pillows we packed earlier, spreading them out and setting up a comfy spot for us to watch the sunset and the fireworks.
“Mommy.” Abel tugs on my shorts, looking up at me with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. I is just sad that my whole big family isn’t here, but I is still happy that my little family is here.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize for feeling sad, Abel. You feel however you need to feel, and we’ll help you through it. Okay?”
He nods, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his cheek into my hip. When Emmett and I take a seat on the blankets, he climbs in the middle, snuggling up between us. “This is my favorite,” he says with a happy sigh.
“Fireworks?” Emmett asks.
“You,” Abel answers.
Before we can dwell on the single word, an engine rumbles in the near distance. Headlights illuminate the quickly dimming light, and Abel leaps to his feet as one car pulls into the space, followed by another, then another.
“They’re here!” Abel shouts as Carter and Olivia jump out of the first truck, unloading the kids from the back. Adam and Rosie and the kids come next, and Jaxon, Lennon, Garrett, and Jennie climb out of the last truck. “They’re here!”
Adam dumps a pile of blankets out next to us, Garrett and Jaxon following with heaps of pillows.
Carter drops a large cooler to the ground, popping it open and rooting through its contents.
He tosses a container of jelly-filled donuts at Emmett, a package each of M&M’s and Skittles to me, and a dinosaur-shaped popsicle to Abel.
“ ’Course we’re here,” he says, ruffling Abel’s hair. “Family fireworks under the stars. Where else would we be?”
I don’t try to stop my tears. Not a single, half-assed attempt. I let them slide proudly down my cheeks, owning every single one of them as they drip off my chin.
Emmett wipes his away with the neck of his T-shirt, sniffling as our family climbs in around us, one tangled pile of warm, giggling bodies. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Olivia smiles. “In this family, we show up for each other, plain and simple. No thanks needed.”
And maybe that’s the truth, but as the sun paints the sky in hues of pink and purple, streaks of orange and red, as the colors fade and the stars begin to twinkle, and as the black sky is lit up with fireworks, I can’t help but sit here and bask in the gratitude I feel for a life so good, a life I’m so lucky to be living with people like this, a family who just shows up, plain and simple.
Thank you.
I DIDN’T SLEEP LAST NIGHT. Not a single wink, and neither did Emmett.
Every minute of it spent staring at the boy snuggled between us, the one so at peace, marveling at the progress he’s made in only a handful of months, the amount of space he takes up in my heart and in my soul. Some days, it feels like it’s all him.
“Hey, you. Can we talk to you for a minute, before we go in there?”
Abel pauses on the steps outside the social worker’s office. He skips back to Emmett and me, grinning. I open my mouth to say something, though I don’t know what. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that would suffice. But before I can try, Abel wraps his arms around us, squeezing us tight.
Emmett blinks. “What was that for?”
“Just because I love you, and you’re my bestest friends in the whole wide stinkin’ world. I’m so lucky to be your Abel.”