A Mended Heart

Sensitive content includes substance abuse and physical abuse

The first time I met him; I didn’t like him. His goofy smile was untrustworthy, but so was everyone else back then. I eventually warmed up to him and trusted him. He was my friend. A true one. He was kind, I didn’t know what that was like. Only it couldn’t last, we left once summer was over and I never saw him again.

…

I was raised mostly by my mom. My dad left her when I was barely a year old. Whenever I asked my mom, ‘why?’ She gave a different answer each time. Left for a younger woman. Just kept searching for an empty hole inside. We traveled around a lot. House to condo to apartment to trailer. We were never in one place for long. I seemed to have blamed my dad for that. I think my mom hated him so much, she made sure I did too. She was a good mom, at least in my rule book. She fed me and when she didn’t, she promised more the next time. Whenever I tripped or fell, she’d sloppy kiss my knee and put a Band-Aid on it. I try not to focus on the bad moments, like when she would smoke, till she felt sleepy enough. Despite all of that, she was a strong woman, even if she got high or drunk. She unfortunately got in prison for too many DUI’s. It wasn’t until I was nineteen, she overdosed. I wasn’t sure if it was an accident or not. She didn’t really like her life.

After working two jobs and getting accepted for scholarships, I was able to get into college. Working constantly, I didn’t pay much attention to anything else, but school. A guy on the track team noticed me, I kept him at a distance. I wasn’t very pretty like my mom, so I didn’t see what he saw. After a while, he wouldn’t give up, so I eventually said yes. I had a very high standard for a guy, in which my friends told me to lower so I did. I don’t know what it was about him that I liked. Probably his smile or laugh. I think back and laugh at the thought of myself. We dated for over a year, even moved in together, until I found I was pregnant. When he wouldn’t commit, I moved on. That was my first abortion, I regret it to this day, but back then it seemed like the right thing to do. We probably would’ve lasted for marriage, if he didn’t move on to the next woman. I felt bad for the girl, she didn’t even know.

I practically threw myself at the next guy who would take me. Which to my surprise was a lot. I wasn’t really attractive like all the other pretty blonde girls, so the attention gave me pride. That wasn’t something I needed in college. I dropped out, awaiting the attention before me, just like mom had, but the longer I stayed in these toxic relationships, the sicker I got. I wasn’t a person anymore, just something these men could pick up and drop just as fast. I was an object and I didn’t like the feeling. By this time, I had already done four abortions. Which was stupid too, 'cause by the time I turned twenty-two, I longed to have a child in my arms. I didn’t realize it back then, but those abortions were tearing me apart.

I eventually started working at a barber shop, where I met a businessman who entered my heart, running circles around it. He promised me the world. He treated me nicely, loved me well, and adorned me with gifts. It was too good to be true. I found out about his wife, six months later. Heartbroken, I ran with nothing, for I feared what she’d do. Homeless and alone, I got addicted to drugs. Grabbing anything I could get my hands on. Only nothing would last long enough to permanently block out any kind of horrible memory. I remember thinking I’m never going to get out of here. There I was 23, laying on the floor, not remembering how I got there, but had nowhere to go. I remembered the cops shut down the party.

I was clean for a year, mostly 'cause I was in prison. I turned to alcohol. Guys liked girls who drank. Besides, the bar was full of men. It worked out. Finally, I got what I wanted, a kid. I stood sober for about a week before I committed yet another abortion. I checked into a mental hospital, but I don’t remember doing that. It was helpful, I stayed sober for two years before I started up again. My heart had weak defenses, so men were able to push the right buttons to get what they wanted.

I married an abusive man, when I was 25, he was charming, but as cunning as a fox. After a divorce, I ran away from my problems in a foreign country, only to be right back where I was. When I wasn’t being beaten, I was caring for my twin girls. I don’t really remember their names, which sounds horrible to say. They were born early, thanks to a good beating, so they didn’t last the night. I mourned forever, which I would later learn was depression. One night, he dragged me out of bed. I could smell the alcohol on him, as he beat me to death. It scared me, but the echoing of small cries throughout the room awakened me. I remember grabbing something and killing him in the process. I still can’t stand the smell of blood to this day. I ran away back to the states, where I tried to go on living, but found myself with needles stuck in my arm instead.

Two years later, I found myself in a AA group. It both hurt my heart and warmed it as I listened to other people's stories. Making me feel less alone. I didn’t tell mine, but I had mentioned my addictions. I had been sober for a year when I met Thomas Davis. He must’ve been curious about my story, 'cause he always checked in on me. He was a speaker, he spoke about his fifteen years of sobriety. Said the only thing that worked for him was Jesus. He spoke often about the man, but the more I heard about him, the more I wondered if he’d ever been a man at all. Thomas always invited us to his church, but I didn’t have the guts to show up, until a couple of months later. Thomas, not only a Christian man, was happily married to a wife of thirty years, became the father I never had. He was a good man. I was sober for five years before he died at 72, his wife following after him.

Grasping for straws, I went searching for my father, but he was unfortunately dead and gone. Left to nowhere, I moved to the only place I felt safe. In the two weeks I was there, I saw him. We were both forty, I remembered that we only had a couple month age difference. He wasn’t the same boy with the goofy smile, he was a man now. I saw the wedding band around his finger and laughed at the thought of marriage. I didn’t think I’d do it again. Sometime later, I opened a hair salon, having liked cutting hair. ‘Bout five months later, I almost fell back into drugs, but I could feel God knocking that little door of my heart, so I let him in. One of my customers recommended a church, one that I liked. Soon the pieces just fell into place.

“Is this Carla Mitchells?”

“Yeah,” I said as I was closing up.

“I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Who is this?”

“James Lawson.”

I remember my heart skipping a beat.

“What do you need?”

“My daughter has a prom in two hours and I’m…not good with hair. Could you, do it?”

“Bring her on over.”

He stood next to me, his fist on his chin, waiting for the magic to happen. I remember the silence bit at me, so I opened the conversation.

“Where’s your wife?”

“She died three years ago.”

“Then why still wear the ring?”

He twisted around his finger before answering, “I still love her.”

I don’t remember much after that, but from then on I became Ashley’s hairdresser. In which most cases James joined by. I know we talked quite a bit, but I don’t remember half of the conversations we had. Age does that to a person. I do remember one night, him and Ashley were heading out, he turned to me. I could tell he was nervous.

“Hey, uh Carly?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you maybe want to go out…with me?”

It felt like we were young again. He took me on many dates, each of which I enjoyed, but it wasn’t until I year later, he brought me to my favorite one. He made me feel like a princess. He took me to the park, and we had a wonderful little picnic. I remember by the end of the night, I was crying.

“I don’t think you really want me.”

“But I do,” He lifted up my chin, giving me a kiss.

We got married two years later. After the reception, we soaked our wedding clothes in the lake. Splashing at each other for hours. I still can’t get the smell out. Unfortunately our happiness didn’t last, I lost yet another baby and got depressed, again. James stayed with me despite this. I guess it got me thinking about all those other babies. Depression took over for a little while before anything ever got better. I don’t really remember much of it. One night, James held me close and whispered in my ear.

“What scares you the most?”

“Me.”

I eventually did some therapy, which helped a lot, but it had never taught me to forgive myself. It’s not easy forgiving in general, forgiving myself was going to take a lot longer. After a while of crying and praying, we moved to a lake house, the same lake by our wedding. A place I could breathe.

“Carly, what hurts the most?”

“My heart,” I told him.

Even though we were married for three years, I didn’t tell him much about my past. He was patient, wanting to grow old with me. So, on the day of the lake I told him. And after I had finished, he kissed my chin.

“I still love you, Carly. I’m not going to stop, even when you push me away. I’m here.”

He held my hand and kissed my head, then my cheeks. We were already fifty by this time. Sitting there, our bones growing tight, but that still warmth in my chest, whenever I look at him and he looks at me. I know he loved me, God did too, but I guess it was kinda hard to love me. The doubts still simmered, but I don’t think it was until menopause that my depression came back. I’d sit in the dark for hours, in a quiet room, but still he stayed with me. I didn’t deserve him, which is probably why God took him ten years later. Everything slowed down before us, it was a part of getting old. He did get to meet his grandson, Bailey, watch him grow, just a little bit.

“I love you, Carly.”

“Love you too.”

My tears had become dried, like everything else in my life. I watched everything go before me, life not moving quick enough. I had become too weak in my bones to speed up the process. Ashley and her husband eventually took me in. I sat most days, barely saying anything above a whisper.

“Nana? Why are you sad?”

“Life is something sad.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause people are mean and time is cruel.”

“Am I mean?”

“No, sweetheart, you're not mean.”

“Nana?”

“Yes.”

“How do I keep from being mean?”

I sat there for a moment, knowing James would’ve known what to say. Little Bailey didn’t say anything, he only waited, patiently. It must’ve been something he got from his grandaddy.

“Don’t let your heart get mean.”

“How do I do that?”

“You live as God tells you to live.”

“How?”

“You read that bible of yours.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I watched that kid grow up, which quickened up my days. He came to me for wisdom. I didn’t understand why. Maybe ‘cause I’m old. Even after he’d become a man, he still came to see me. He’s a good man. I thank God, Ashley had allowed me to watch him grow, especially since I hadn’t seen any of my own.

“Nana Carla, can you hear me?”

“Hm?”

“I brought you a guest.”

I turned to the boy and smiled. He put something in my arms, it was soft and warm. I could barely believe my eyes.

“Her name is Hannah Carly Rodgers.”

I cried, “She’s beautiful.”

She held my finger and cooed at me. Her blue eyes shined at me. I hadn’t had many joys in my life, not since James died, but this was perfect. I didn’t get to hold any of my children this long, not even my twin girls. She was beautiful and I wanted to give her the world. I kissed her head, her beautiful smile staring back at me.

…

It wasn’t later, ‘till I got sick. Real sick. The kind you don’t come back from. Bailey came with his wife, little Hannah too. Ashley and her husband with the rest of ‘em kids.

“Hey, baby.”

Hannah rested on her father’s lap. Showing me, she could count.

“One…two…four.”

Bailey held my hand, gently rubbing it.

“Love you, Nana.”

I could feel sleep coming. Maybe I just closed my eyes for a second.

…

I had awakened to the sound of singing. Joyful singing. A beautiful light in front of me. I smiled as I found James next to me, a hand on my shoulder. I stood over some little ones and in which a man pointed over to me. They glanced at me and ran over. All nine of them with their pretty smiles. They were beautiful. I glanced up to the man who had saved my life.

“Thank you, Jesus.”