Prologue #3
But the thing is, when the meetings ended, I didn’t leave the church. I spent hours in the nave (are you proud of me that I know that word??). Sometimes the priest would join me, and he’d just sit quietly while I worked through shit in my head. Other times, I’d be alone, but not alone, ya know?
In that space, that spread of time, I figured something out. I realized that was the one place, the only time, I felt peace. I wasn’t itching to leave and find a dealer, I wasn’t scrambling to come up with the money to buy my next fix. I was just… breathing.
I spent so much time running from my past, my childhood, when all I had to do was turn around and look.
Really fucking look. Yes, my first 7 years sucked ass, but after that, life wasn’t terrible.
I was loved by people that weren’t required to love me.
I was accepted by people that didn’t give a damn what society said. I was part of something bigger than me.
So, Whitney, turn around and look. Take stock of what you have before you make the decision to run because everything that’s good in the world, everything you really fucking need is right there.
I was stupid. Don’t be stupid. You’re too smart for that.
I wasn’t (clearly because I’m dead). I found exactly what I needed, but it was too late.
The peace, the acceptance came too late because I thought I’d gotten a grip on not chasing something that isn’t real, but I was wrong.
I quit going to the meetings, to that church, because I thought I didn’t need it anymore. How crazy is that?
You might be wondering how I came to be writing this letter, and the answer is simple.
I know the end is coming for me, faster than it should be, because I don’t have the willpower to stop for long.
I’m going to keep using drugs. I’m going to keep chasing a high that never lasts.
Hell, as soon as I put this letter in the envelope, I’ll probably shoot up because the needle has been calling my name and taunting me from its place on my nightstand the entire time I’ve been writing.
I just needed to get this out before it was too late. Because it WILL be too late. Sooner rather than later.
Please think about staying right where you are.
You have a family there, even if it isn’t a conventional one.
You’ll have me no matter where you go, but I’d prefer to haunt you there where it’s safe (I want that to make you laugh but I doubt you’re in a laughing mood right now).
You are loved there, by the nuns, by Father James, by God.
You were the light in my dark, and I know you could be that for so many more children who come through those doors.
Stay, Whitney. Pledge your life to something that is so much bigger than you or me. I’m not saying become a nun because then you’d never have sex (trust me, you don’t want to miss out on that), but just don’t run, okay? When you leave, have a plan. When you leave, don’t leave for good.
TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND LOOK!
Well, the needle is getting louder, so I’m going to stop writing. Maybe I’m wrong, and I’ll get to talk to you again, see you again before you’re given this letter, but just in case…
I love you, Whitney. Thank you for being my person.
Love,
Ryan
I fold the letter and return it to the envelope. The words ‘my person’ are like a beacon, and I can’t stop staring. Ryan left when he turned eighteen, but he never really escaped. No matter where he went or what he did, the past caught up to him.
That was the one place, the only time, I felt peace.
Years of seemingly insignificant moments flash before my eyes. Times when I hated my life and the cards I’ve been dealt became overwhelming, so I stand from my bed and make my way to the small chapel.
Sister Beatrice is sitting in the front pew, her head bowed in prayer. I settle next to her, and neither of us speaks. My mind isn’t quiet though. It’s loud, like a freight train barreling straight for me. It’s screaming, crying, begging me to… what?
TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND LOOK!
I close my eyes and mentally ‘turn around’, and that’s when it hits me.
Ryan spent his life believing he’d been abandoned, believing he’d been thrown away and that the answer to his pain existed somewhere else, somewhere bigger or better.
But in the end, he discovered that what he’d been looking for had been here all along.
Love.
Family.
Acceptance.
Purpose.
God.
A sob catches in my throat, not because Ryan was wrong, but because he was right.
I think about Sister Beatrice sitting beside children after they had a nightmare, about Father James listening to broken hearts in the chapel, and about the nuns giving their lives to children no one else wanted.
I think about Emma and every other little girl who arrived terrified and alone.
I think about the children who walked into the home after me, the ones who needed someone to tell them that they mattered, to show them that they were loved, to simply… stay.
The longer I think, the calmer I feel. Peace settles over me with such ferocity that my shoulders relax for the first time in years.
Sacred Haven isn’t just the place where I grew up. It’s my home. Yes, it’s where my parents left me, but it’s also where God found me, where I found God.
The realization is overwhelming, and I instinctively reach for Sister Beatrice’s hand.
“What is it, child?” she asks.
I glance around the chapel, my eyes landing briefly on the cross before focusing on the woman who’s loved me for thirteen years without asking for anything in return.
“I know what I’m supposed to do,” I whisper.
“What’s that?”
I smile. “I’m going to stay.”
Her breath catches, but she remains silent. Shifting my gaze back to the cross above the altar, my heart feels lighter than ever before. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel unwanted.
I feel chosen.
“I’m going to become a nun.”