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“I’m so sorry, Norah. I hate to have you bring up all of this. You know, you don’t have to continue, if it’s - hard for you.” Katherine looked almost ghostly. I sighed.
“You know what? I think talking about it is curative. It hurts, but sometimes you have to endure a little pain before everything is okay again.” She nodded.
One day I came home to find her lying like a rock on the carpet. I called 911, and spent the night praying. It was then I realized what a mess my life was. The two of them had taken over my life.
“What did you do?”
“The next morning, I packed my suitcase.”
***
Toronto had been a welcoming city, full of charming people, including my Uncle Glen, who took care of me from then on. I explained everything to him. He made sure I was safe and went to a good school. I refused contact with my parents for many years. I started seeing a therapist. Gradually, I began to try and understand the past. I tried to come to terms with it. Then, one Christmas, my therapist suggested I go out to New Brunswick. I didn’t call before, like you’re supposed to. I took the first flight out there I could find and packed the same old suitcase. It was old and tattered, but I had it fixed up, and it shone like a proud antique. The flight over there felt like days. I stared out the window, contemplating the clouds. They looked so complete. I had someone drive me to my old house, and it took an hour or so, just to get out of the car. I begged the driver to just have five more minutes in the warm limo. Finally, I paid the poor man and I walked up the icy steps to the front door, and knocked, loudly. I was trembling. My life swirled by me in an instant, that short moment, waiting for someone to come to the door. I closed my eyes. The door finally opened slowly. It was my father. He had aged much since I had left.
“Norah?” His eyes filled with tears. Mine didn’t.
“Dad.”
“Why are you here?”
“Where’s Mum?”
“Out. She moved out.”
“When?”
“A couple months after you left. That really tore us apart, kid.”
“Oh I tore you apart?” I could feel my anger lurching up, threatening to rear its ugly head.
“I’m not blaming you for anything,” he said. “It made both of us realize a lot. Now, would you like to stay for dinner?” I looked into his eyes. The eyes I hadn’t seen in years, the eyes I’d yearned to see again, but couldn’t bring myself to trust.
“Sure.” He prepared a chicken Cesar salad, and saddled it with a couple of well-buttered rolls. I carried the food into the dining room and resumed the spot I always had as a kid.
“Oh, come on, Nor. Sit closer to me. So we can see each other more comfortably?” I changed seats. We ate in silence. Breaking ice - not my responsibility.
“Had he changed?” Katherine asked.
“He had, but not completely.” I stopped narrating. I didn’t stop thinking though.
Near the end of the meal, Dad lifted the big bowl of salad. His hands shook wildly, as he brought it up to his chest. He asked me if I wanted another serving. I politely refused. He held on to the bowl though. It was violently shaking all over the place. Before I could get up and out of my seat, he dropped the bowl, and it cracked severely.
“Dad!” He looked up at me. Tears were skiing down his cheeks. “What is it Dad?”
“It’s these hands,” he sobbed. “They shake because of all the harm they caused in the past. I can’t forget. I lost my daughter, and I lost my wife. I had a problem, Norah. I had a problem.” I hugged him long and hard. We both looked to the salad bowl. I helped Dad spoon the wilted lettuce leaves onto our empty plates. Then I helped him pick up the pieces.
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