Even though I didn’t knock on the door, my mother didn’t even know I was coming. It’s been twelve years since I last saw her. Not even close.
During that time, I did nothing except stand there outside her apartment, holding my breath and listening to the muffled sound of the television through the door. The idea of turning around crossed my mind. Considered sending her a text message first, perhaps with a message along the lines of “Hey, would you mind if I came by for a moment?” However, it seemed insufficient in light of all that we had gone through.
Twelve years have passed.
There were twelve birthdays, Thanksgivings, and New Year’s! All of it was either skipped, delayed, or disregarded entirely. After my father passed away, we got into that enormous argument. I departed. But she did not pursue. In addition, we continued to be strangers.
However, I received a letter around two weeks ago. This is a real letter. There is no return address, and there is no apology. I just had a handwritten letter that said, “Hope everything is going well for you. Do not remove your photographs off the refrigerator. I really apologize for anything.
That really destroyed my heart.
I ended up boarding a train. A ride that took me halfway across the nation. There is no prior notice. Not a plan?
And this moment, I found myself standing in this cramped corridor, staring at the door that I had left twelve years before.
When it was eventually unlocked, she gazed at me as if she had an encounter with a ghost. Her palms quickly moved to her face.
I was asked whether I had returned to apologize for my behavior. While looking at her with a perplexed expression, I informed her about the letter. At that moment, she began yelling, “I must know who was responsible for this!”
It turned out that the letter was sent to me by her new partner. He desired to get to know me and to get back in touch with me.
I had no idea that she was dating somebody at the time. That concept seemed strange to me.
Even though she was still in shock, she drew me within, as if she was afraid that I might vanish if she even blinked. The flat has not undergone significant changes. Continue using the same old lamp with the crooked shade and the same old brown sofa with the faded armrest. But in some way, everything seemed more diminutive.
While she was walking back and forth in the living room, I stood in the center of the room in an uncomfortable position.
She eventually revealed, “His name is Frank,” she added. “He has been in existence for almost two years. This is the one who has been requesting that I get in touch with you.
With no idea what to say, I just nodded. I got the impression that I had strayed into the life of another person.
I then became aware of footsteps. Heavy ones, to be sure. As he entered, a tall guy with silver hair and pleasant eyes approached with a shopping bag in his hand.
When he spotted me, he became very still. According to him, “Well, I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed as he put the bag down. It is true that you arrived.
“I’m going to guess that you’re Frank?” I inquired about it.
He smiled and said, “Guilty.” Since she refused to write to you, I decided to write to you myself. Are you sure you’re not angry?
It seemed as if my mother wanted to reach out and give him a hug and a smack at the same time.
The only thing that Frank did was look at me and say, “You deserved to know that she still loves you.” Even if she is too proud to admit it to herself.
I was affected in some way by it. Throughout the years, I had accumulated a great deal of rage. On the other hand, it seemed as if someone had made a hole in all of that wrath and let the air to escape.
The table in the kitchen was where we sat down. No shouting is allowed. There are no allegations. There are just three individuals there, and they are having an unpleasant discussion.
My mother went to make tea at one time, and Frank leaned over to me and whispered, “She kept every photo you ever sent.” My mother had gone to make tea. Even the one in which you seemed to be a mop while you were in college.
A few weeks had passed since the last time I laughed.
The memories began to come flooding back to me as I sat with my tea. A little bit of sweetness. There is some bitterness. She inquired about my employment, my life in general, and my apartment in particular. The bookshop where I worked, the tiny black cat that I had acquired, and the night courses that I had been attending were all topics that I shared with her.
According to her, she was now working at a nearby clinic on a part-time basis. She said that it made her feel useful once again. When I looked into her eyes, I saw something that I hadn’t seen in years—perhaps remorse.
She muttered at one point, “I never stopped thinking about you,” and she continued to do so. However, considering the manner that we parted ways, I didn’t believe that you would want me back.
I was quite honest when I said, “I didn’t know if I did either.” On the other hand, I suppose I needed to see it for myself.
We remained up and continued to speak until after midnight. It was quite peculiar. At the same time, not just familiar but also unfamiliar.
I eventually went to bed, but I was unable to fall asleep on the old sofa that had a pullout bed. It wasn’t because I was uncomfortable; rather, it was because I felt overpowered.
“Had to run to the clinic,” was written on a letter that I discovered left on the kitchen table when I woke up. Come back by ten o’clock. Put yourself at ease and relax. I adore you. “—Mom”
That last phrase, “Love you,” struck a chord.
There was still Frank at home. As he prepared pancakes, he reminisced about the fishing expeditions he had taken in the past. He wasn’t making an excessive amount of effort. It’s just being… typical. Additionally, it was reassuring in its own way.
As the days went by, I found myself staying for a longer period of time than I had intended. It was supposed to be a one-night visit, but it turned into a weeklong stay.
Even though it had been more than a decade since I had one of my mom’s coffee, she still prepared it for me every morning in the same manner that I enjoyed it. She was still able to recall.
It was then that we began watching those criminal dramas that we used to like. She continued to chat throughout the episodes, and it continued to drive me absolutely insane.
Nevertheless, I confronted her with the question of why she never pursued me after I had finished viewing an old replay.
The inquiry was not sidestepped by her.
“I let out a rage. And in a shattered state. “I was terrified that you detested me,” she remarked. It was the loss of your father that tore me apart. At that moment, as you left, I had the impression that I had lost everything.
Her first time uttering such words out was at that moment.
I informed her that way I left was not something I was proud of either. that I was in need of space but was unsure how to voice my want for it without causing the whole globe to catch fire.
We both shed tears. Those ugly, sloppy tears.
Nothing remained the same after that night.
The next morning, she went to her closet and retrieved a box from there. Not only did it include all of my school artwork, but it also contained birthday cards and report cards. In fact, I created her a macaroni necklace when I was just six years old.
It dawned on me as I glanced at the box that she had never allowed me to go.
On that particular evening, Frank took me aside and told me, “Your presence here is the most wonderful thing that has occurred to her in the past few years.” I am grateful that you visited.
Even before I had a chance to answer, he continued by saying, “I have something else that I should probably tell you.”
My body braced itself.
“She’s sick,” he said in a low voice. An early stage of Parkinson’s disease, but nothing too outlandish just yet.
It was as if the floor was shifting under me.
She did not want to break the news to you. We didn’t want you to feel like you had to obey.”
It took me a whole day to really comprehend it. On the other hand, she did not refute it when I brought it up.
She said, “I didn’t want pity,” and she was right. “Before it was too late, I wanted to make things right,” she said.
It was at that moment that I made my choice.
With a phone call, I informed my employer that I would be extending my absence. It was five streets away from her residence that I discovered a little flat. It wasn’t much, but it had the appropriate vibe about it.
As soon as I informed her, she was taken aback.
“Are you going to stay?”
I said, “I believe it is time that we give this another shot.” “Not in order to forget the past, but in order to construct something new.”
Yes, we did it.
It was not without flaws. On sometimes, we continued to quarrel. In spite of this, she continued to irritate me with her persistent remarks and recommendations about my washing routine. However, we were once again gaining a better understanding of one another.
After some time had passed, we celebrated Thanksgiving together as a group. Including my friend Lena from back home who came to see us, there were just three of us gathered together.
The turkey was cut by me. The one and only sweet potato pie that Mom has ever baked. When Frank saw that the carpet was covered in cranberry sauce, he blamed the cat.
Almost like being at home.
She presented me with a picture book for Christmas that year. On every page, there were images and little handwritten remarks, some of which were from the recent past and others from a very long time before. At the very end of the page, she wrote:
It’s not always the case that families do things right the first time. On sometimes, however, they are given a second chance.
After a period of twelve years, we both gave up too quickly. Nevertheless, life provided us with a second opportunity.
I had no intention of returning at all. Moreover, she had no intention of forgiving. Nevertheless, maybe that is the allure of it.
When you least expect it, healing may sometimes come to you unexpectedly. Even if it takes twelve years to hear the knock on the door, there are times when the individuals we thought we had lost are only waiting for the proper opportunity to come back.
It’s possible that it’s not too late to get back in touch with someone you’ve broken up with in the past.
It is possible that the door stays open.
If it moved you, please give it a like and share it with others. Also, tell me, have you ever reunited with someone you thought you had lost for good?