On the Rocks (Pub Fiction Book 2) (3 page)

“He’s watching her, sweetheart. Don’t you dare think he wouldn’t be.” Grams words pull me back to the here and now. She hugs me close while offering a tissue.

Having Shawn in my life was the only thing that kept me from falling apart when I was pregnant, so when my parents turned on me, it didn’t really affect me as much as it could have, because I had him. He was supportive and insisted I was his and he was mine forever. And that we were in this newly, approaching parental-role-thingy together.
“We will kick the shit out of being parents, Wynnie, we can do this. All I need is you—and you, me—so fuck the rest of them,”
he’d say whenever my fears would show and my panic would shine through the cracks in our relationship’s foundation. Shawn would hold me and rub my midsection, sharing the way he saw our life playing out. I’d indulge in his dreams and smile, taking comfort that he was my family now—all
we
needed. So, with the promise of a future together, I’d excitedly prepared for the role of mother and full-time live-in girlfriend (and eventual wife) of Shawn Parker.

Until the day I found his lifeless body.

“I just figured we’d make it, is all. I never ever imagined it would be like this.”

“You are making it, you hear me? Maybe you’re a little slow at allowing yourself to move on, but I have faith you’ll get there. He’s watching, Braun. I have no doubt Shawn will always take care of his girls. Emmerson is a precious gift, look at her smile. Shawn is with you both every day. You have Emmerson, she has you, and Emmerson will have the memories you have to offer her of her father. You’re a survivor, Braun. Don’t you ever forget it.”

“Look at her, Grams, she’s perfect. How can my mom and dad not want to know her? How do they live with themselves knowing they have a granddaughter? It’s been four years, Grams. I thought things might have changed.” My chest feels tight, thinking about it. I could never do what my parents did to me and Emmerson.

“I know, sweetie. Me too. I’ve spent many nights wondering what the hell’s wrong with that mother of yours. I mean look at our precious girl. And her mom isn’t too bad either.” She nudges me, offering a smile.

God, I’m blessed to have this woman in my life.

Shawn’s suicide destroyed me for a while and changed not only the way I view life now, but the way I see myself too. The reality is, I know he suffered with depression and mental illness his whole life, but I always thought I was his medicine, his lifeline, maybe I was his
enough
. I went from feeling like I was a positive to questioning whether I was his downfall. Well, me and Emmerson. Everyone around me seemed hell bent on the idea that it was my “allowing myself to get pregnant” that drove him to the brink. That maybe he couldn’t handle the commitment I was “forcing” him into. Our families were the first to share their theories with me, especially Shawn’s mother.

She went as far as berating me in front of everyone at the funeral. Telling everyone how I killed her baby and was nothing but a sinner—“a murderer”—and that I should give up my rights as a mother, as I didn’t deserve to have a piece of him to hold on to. It was awful. My own parents didn’t even come to meet their granddaughter when she was born. They couldn’t find it in themselves to forgive me. According to my parents, they were too embarrassed over my choices. They repeatedly reminded me that they’d warned me this would happen if I kept up with “That Boy.”

I just can’t believe how judgmental and unsupportive my family has been, given how strong their faith in God was. Where was their faith in me? I needed them.
Besides, doesn’t God offer forgiveness?

I was the only one other than the police to read Shawn’s note. A note I hold sacred. A note I have read over and over, one I will probably continue to read for the rest of my life. Once the suicide was officially verified, I was given a copy of it back, along with the rest of Shawn’s personal effects (Officer Riley told me that she shouldn’t really be giving me a copy, and to keep that tidbit to myself). I will be forever grateful that she was kind enough to bend the rules for me. Other than Emme, it’s the last piece of him I have. A note he left for me, and only me, a note claiming his decision to leave this world had nothing to do with me. A note that tells me over and over that he was sorry, and he loved me so much that it hurt him to feel the way he’d always felt—sad. Saying he’d wanted to do this for years, but it had been me who’d always healed him long enough to push him through another day and the next day.

“Now, take one last look at your happy girl, and go catch the bus. You have a job to get,” Grams says shaking me free of my thoughts. I hate when I do that. I hate when I allow myself to get tangled up in the past, how it sidelines me like that. I watch Emmerson playing on the swings.
It’s their loss.

In the end, Grams is right. She’s always right. Emme is already
way
too heartbreakingly busy with the other kids to even notice me waving at her. And I need to go or else there won’t be a potential job.
But
I’d
know I left before the entry bell.
Too bad my legs don’t want to go.

“I know she’ll be fine. I just can’t seem to leave.”

Looking back over to where Emmerson was playing a moment ago I see her walking towards me.

“You can weave mommy, I’m gonna keep playing. Go now, I’m a big girl. See you after the day. Don’t worry, Grams is here, too, for more time.” I nod down at my brave girl. Tears threaten to escape once again.

“You’re right. You are such a big girl and Mommy is so proud of you. I’ll pick you up right out here at two-thirty. I can’t wait to hear about your day.” I bend to my knees taking her in a big hug. She squeezes me tightly, giving me a super smooch.

After finally building up the nerve to leave Emmerson, I drag my feet along the concrete sidewalk heading toward the bus stop.

I’m trying to milk every moment with Emmerson, but also, all the while, possibly trying to delay the inevitable job interview. I pop my ear buds in place trying to drown out my worried thoughts; I lose myself in the music of my favourite band. I think about how sweet and intuitive my girl is, even at her age, trying to give me that last ounce of comfort to know it’s okay. She’s right, she is becoming a big girl. I keep turning back to see if I can spot her as the deep bass sound of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” comforts me, matching my heart beat-for-beat.

Leaving Emmerson at school was hard, like ache-in-my-heart-hard; she’s my baby but not my baby anymore. I’m struggling to bite back tears as I walk. Turning back one last time before rounding the corner, I smile thinking of my brave girl. This will be the first time she won’t be with either Grams or myself for the day. Unfortunately, no parents are allowed to stay or else Grams would have jumped at the chance to ensure Emme transitioned all right.

I wipe an escaped tear from my face as I head for the bus stop.

Braunwyn

I
wait at
the bus stop with a cluster of other people, all doing their best to avoid contact: listening to music with their heads bobbing, faces sucked into the gravity wells of their phones, glaring crankily down the street to see if the bus is finally coming. I smile nervously as I try to make eye contact with an older lady, but she continues staring blankly ahead, at nothing. Ahh, the “human behaviour” of which Grams speaks. The bus is nowhere in sight, so I turn up my music and stare into nothing myself for a while.
So much for my attempt at human interaction, but at least I tried.
Hopefully, my interview will go better.

As I’d mentioned, my goal after graduation is to become a social worker. I’d love to work in a high school or group home. Despite not having a ton of job-related experience, I have life experience. All I want to do with my life is to help others to not have to experience what both Shawn and I went through. The way I look at it, we’re both victims. And I’ll always wonder if his suicide could have been prevented.

My biggest inspiration to chase this dream, from having seen firsthand that a difference can be made, is Hillary Jamison. My own social worker.

After Shawn’s death, it was Hillary who helped me repair my faith in myself, and adjust to my new role as both mom and dad to my sweet Emme. Through active therapy, countless hours of crying, and in the end a friendship, I realized that I wanted to be just like Hillary when I grew up.

Am I fully healed and believe that my life is perfect and I’ll get a happily ever after with some dream man one day? Absolutely not. I’m still totally messed up emotionally when it comes to the opposite sex and I’m such a chickenshit to even think about getting involved with anyone ever again. I quite honestly could be a friggin’ nun at this point; London is right. ’Cause I have had
none
in the last four years and I have no real plans on changing that anytime soon. I just can’t allow myself to go through that ache and hurt ever again. How the hell can I ever trust another human male with my heart?

Hillary insists that I’ll will change my mind, and that I just need to put myself out there more socially.
Jeez. Her, London and Grams. I swear they are all in cahoots.

Hillary is absolutely right about me, though. I never put myself out there at all. Right now my social life consists of the Disney Channel, dress-up with Emmerson and her stuffies, playing euchre with Grams and her gals Tuesday nights, and hanging out with London. I know, I know, I’m thrilling.
Sarcasm alert. Clearly, thrilling I am not.
I’ve been lame for a while now—but I’m really hoping to change that this year.

I’ve decided that being in my last year of university and having hid behind Shawn’s death and motherhood for so long, I owe it to myself to start trying to have a good time…well, more of an
adult
good time. I’m both excited and scared shitless about the prospect of making some changes in my ever-structured routine. But with Grams, London and my Little Miss all cheering me on, I know I can do it. I can become more of a “human” as Grams has so eloquently put it time and time again. However, I constantly struggle with questions like: will people even like me? Accept that my life is a little different than most twenty-two-year olds? Will they want to be friends with a mom?

Only time will tell, I guess.

Guilt
. Guilt plays a huge role in my daily life. I know I need to move forward but I just can’t seem to stop looking back. I know Shawn never wanted this for me, but I just can’t seem to get past the idea of being with anyone other than him. He was so many of my firsts, so I’m conflicted that he won’t be my lasts. I think because of that, I don’t allow myself to take the risk of falling in love.

Shawn wrote that he would always watch over our daughter and me and that one day he would bring us our “Knight”. He was clear that he wanted us to be happy over the years to come. I’ve re-read certain parts of his letter repeatedly looking for some justification for his actions, but in turn it only ends up confusing and upsetting me, and making my body and my soul ache to breathe his breath just one last time. These beautifully scrawled words of love coming from my beautifully broken man in the worst time of his life are killer on my being, but I pull the letter from my purse.

“Wynnie, I promise you will know when I’ve sent the happiness cavalry for both you and my baby. I’ll make sure you meet your Knight. The one who’s meant to care for you just as I should have. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you, I hope you know this has nothing to do with you, I just can’t take it anymore, the daily fight to not feel the heavy weight that overtakes me when I’m on my own, away from you. I want to be the man you deserve, but I can’t. Please believe me that my only light has only ever been you. I know you will always guide me in the darkness as I will guide you in the light. I’m about to begin a new journey without you and I’m so fucking scared, but I have to. I’m tired of hiding my anger, my hate for myself; I need the torment to end. I’m sorry for being selfish…I just can’t.”

I may have lost my birth parents because I chose Shawn and my baby, but in the process I gained the best people I could ever have now standing in my corner. Thank goodness my Grams was there to get Emme and I the hell out of that town once and for all. Unfortunately, all my family saw was a sinner who chose the wrong path and deserved to deal with whatever consequences came my way, rather than a broken girl who lost so much and needed help to find herself again.

I’ve learned some important life lessons over the years since Shawn’s death, the main one being:
love is for fools and I will NEVER be a fool again
. The second lesson: I will never understand the choice to take your own life.

The saying, “Suicide doesn’t end pain, it just passes it on to others” is a lesson I’ve found to be true the hard way. Despite my wavering on my feelings over Shawn’s suicide as the years pass, I still move through the grief stages. I fluctuate from anger to blame to understanding; I still struggle to compartmentalize my feelings toward the man I assumed was my forever. The man I thought I knew. The hardest part was getting over the final images I saw of him, ones that have plagued me over the years. But after talking it through with Hillary, I realize Shawn wasn’t thinking about me finding him that way, it’s not like he was being malicious. No, he was simply hurting, and not in any frame of mind to think of those around him. I just can’t ever seem to stop asking
why?
Or
how could you?
Along with the contents of his note, I also can’t seem to shake the belief that I am in some capacity a reason Shawn isn’t here. Lucky for me, Hillary assures me my feelings are completely normal and that his ultimate choice was not my fault.

If I can ever help even one person cope—as Hillary’s helped me—it will be worth every effort I have to make to get there.

However, the greatest overall life lesson I’ve learned over the last four years is that, yes, I can do this. I can be a survivor and the best damn mom to the person who matters the most in my world.

My daughter
.