Epilogue
Sven
. . .
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vanessa looks up at me, her eyes focused on mine. “We don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
She studies me for a moment before she nods. “Okay. I’ll support you.”
I’ve written a letter. It was a long, rambling letter: eight pages long, full of heartache and long-repressed emotion. I wrote it by hand, alternating between English and Swedish as I felt the need, pouring out my heart.
And then I shredded it.
There’s nothing to gain by sending my parents a fully itemized detailing of all the ways they’ve disappointed me. Yes, I could try harder to maintain a relationship. But when it’s obvious they’re not interested, why should I push for it? They call me every six months, if that.
Tucking the card in beside the sonogram picture, I seal the envelope and place an international stamp on it.
We weren’t planning on conceiving quite so soon… but we didn’t plan on any of this, to be honest. Sometimes it’s the things we don’t prepare for that teach us the most.
As soon as the test turned up positive, I gave her the ring that had been waiting in my dresser drawer for the last six months, and a few weeks later, we went down to the courthouse to make everything official.
Next month, we’re having a party to celebrate the wedding. My parents aren’t invited.
And neither are hers.
We’ve made our own family. Bex and Elsy, Wyatt and Mitch, Robby and Madison and Sadie and Arielle and Johanna and Ceci, MacGregor and Jenkins and Jacky…
We don’t need loving, doting parents to be the kind of parent our kid will have. We don’t need to worry about our terrible relationships with our parents seeping into the next generation.
We’ve made our peace with our pasts, and we’re working diligently to make sure those things don’t affect the way we parent.
I wish I understood why parents fail so often.
Mine think I’m silly for playing a game as a career. No matter, only a small percentage of people in the world get to play professional hockey.
Vanessa’s have new families and seemingly forget she exists.
Robby’s don’t approve because of his sexual orientation.
The olive branch I’ve extended to my parents of simply letting them know they have a grandchild on the way may not change a single thing about our relationship, our dynamic, but I can sleep at night, knowing I’ve done what I should.
Two weeks ago, just when I thought life couldn’t get any sweeter, I lifted the Stanley Cup over my head, surrounded by my teammates and my wife, and the party the book club threw for us overwhelmed me – in a good way.
Showed me that we’re bringing a kid into a world where they’ll be loved and supported. A world where anything they can dream, they can achieve.
Even if it takes a second chance at the goal.