The Walls We Build

           Sharon carefully crept up the creaky attic stairs to check the buckets. It’d been raining all afternoon, a real downpour, so she knew she’d need to empty them. The leaky roof was getting worse and needed to be replaced before the winter, but there wasn’t any money for that. Between her paycheck and Glen’s disability, there was never enough.

           Lugging each bucket down, Sharon dumped them in the tub and put them back, thinking about dinner. Something easy, she thought. She was tired after a long day. Glen was asleep in front of the TV again. She let him alone, with his bad back it was difficult to get comfortable, so she was glad he was able to rest.

           Deciding to heat up some leftover spaghetti, Sharon was startled when Glen came into the kitchen.

           “Hey,” she said, stirring the sauce.

           “You got a certified letter today,” he said, by way of greeting.

           “Oh?”

           “It’s from a law firm,” he added, dropping it on the table.

           “You want some dinner?” Sharon asked, turning down the heat.

           “Sure. How was your day?”

           “Long,” Sharon said, without elaborating. “I wonder what this is?” she said, fingering the letter while Glen set the table.

           “I think the A/C is on the fritz again,” Glen told her.

           “I don’t even want to know,” Sharon said, holding up her hand. “No more bad news. We don’t have the money to fix it, so whatever you did last time, you need to do it again,” she said, as they sat down.

           “Let’s go out for ice cream,” Glen suggested.

           “That’s not going to help us pay our bills,” Sharon protested.

           “I know, but it’ll get our minds off our problems for a bit.”

           By the time they returned home, Sharon had forgotten all about the letter. Glen had on the ten o’clock news when she finally sat down to open the mail.

           “Glen!” Sharon shouted after she’d read the letter from the law firm. “It says a great aunt of mine died and left me something.”

           Glen immediately put the TV on mute. “Who was it?”

           “I don’t recognize the name. Someone from my father’s side of the family, I think. Oh, my goodness! Glen! She’s left me $80,000 with a stipulation!”

           “Is it legit?”

           “Sure, looks that way. $80,000!”

           “What’s the stipulation?”

           Sharon squinted through her reading glasses as she read the letter. “I don’t believe it!” she said, the air suddenly going out of her lungs. She slapped the letter down on her lap in frustration. I have to visit my father before I can inherit the money.”

           “Oh,” Glen said, letting out a little whoosh of air. He knew that was about as likely as winning the lottery.

           “Why?” she whined. “We could really use this money. Why do I have to see him of all people?"

           “He’s in a nursing home, Sharon. Maybe it’s time to let the past go.”

           “I don’t think I can,” she said, tearing up. “You don’t understand how mean he was to us. How am I supposed to forgive him?”

           “But this would get us out of the hole,” Glen reminded her. “This would be life changing.”

           Sharon tossed and turned that night. Old demons coming back to haunt her. She had managed to put her father out of her mind for years, but now this letter has opened old wounds. It had taken 15 years of therapy to get over her childhood and move on, if you can call her life moving on. She’d been stuck in a rut for years. Her father had managed to annihilate her self-esteem growing up. At 56 she was still struggling to love herself. And now she was expected to let bygones be bygones? There was no happy ending to be found here, yet forgiving her father was the one thing her therapist had tried to get her to do with no success. 

           $80,000. The letter just said I had to visit him. Singular. I don’t have to let him back in my life. Sharon tried to imagine how that would play out. It’d been over twenty years since she’d seen him.

           “Can’t sleep?” Glen said, when Sharon punched her pillow.

           “No!”

           “He can’t hurt you anymore,” Glen said, in a whisper.

           “I beg to differ.”

           “You don’t have to give him that power anymore, Sharon.”

           “That’s easier said than done,” she spat out. “I’m afraid he’ll have me back right where he always wanted me - cowering to him.”

           “I think you’re stronger than you think,” Glen nudged.

           “You just want the money.”

           “Not as much as I want you to have closure.”

           “I will never have closure with him!”

           “You don’t know that. He’s an old man now. I’m sure he has regrets,” Glen pointed out.

           "But what if he doesn't? What am I supposed to do then?"

           "Forgive him anyway and move on."

           "I can't talk about this now," Sharon hissed, and flipped over facing the wall.

           Thankfully work the next day took her attention away from the letter, but on her drive home the weather report called for more rain in the forecast, which made her think of the leaky roof. $80,000. It would be a game changer for them. 

           He was 86 years old now. According to her brother, Kenny, he didn't get visitors. That wasn't surprising. He'd been a bitter man.

           On impulse, Sharon took a detour home. It was only a half hour out of her way. By the time she pulled into the nursing home parking lot her heart was racing.  As she sat in the car it started to rain. She watched as the rivulets rolled down the windshield like tears. When Glen texted her wondering where she was, she texted back that she was on her way and pulled back out. 

           Unable to explain the roaring emotions running rampant through her mind, she mentioned nothing of her side trip to Glen. Knowing better than to push her, he never brought up the letter. They sat side by side in the living room watching TV, but Sharon's mind was on that little girl who proudly showed her dad her first report card only to be told she was stupid. It was memories such as this one that came flooding back.

           The next day, Sharon left work early, determined to face her father. Glen was right, she was stronger now and his verbal abuse couldn’t hurt her the way it once did. But a part of her knew it would still hurt. When would she stop hoping for love from him?

           Sharon parked in a visitors’ spot and got out before she could lose her nerve. With her head held high, she walked as if she’d visited him a million times. She knew her walls were up - walls that he had forced her to build - her protection from the pain around her.

           “Who are you visiting today?” the receptionist asked when she entered the lobby.

           “Frank Miles,” Sharon said, his name sounding strange spoken after all these years.

           “He’s in room 221,” she told her, handing her a visitor’ badge.

           Sharon’s heart rate pumped in her ears, giving her a surreal feeling. When she came to his room, she stood outside his door trying to shove all the painful memories away. Finally, she knocked but no one answered.

           “You can just go in,” a resident passing by told her. “Frank doesn’t talk much.”

           “Oh, ok,” Sharon said, opening the door. 

           The silhouette of an old man slumped in a wheelchair, staring outside greeted her. At first, she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. This old man was nothing like her father. Gone was his thick, dark hair and his tall, intimidating frame. He barely nodded when she came in and continued to look out the window.

           “Hello, Dad!” Sharon said, coming into the room.

           At this, he looked at her with such emotion that Sharon had to look away.

           “Shari,” he all but whispered in his cracked voice.

           “It’s me, Dad,” she said, pulling up a chair next to him.

           “Shari,” he said, again, as a tear ran down his face.

           This was not the same man who raised her, who towered over her with a threat in his eyes. Kenny had told her he’d had a stroke, but she wasn’t prepared for this broken, old man.

           He reached out a shaking, gnarled hand and Sharon steadied it with her own. “Hi, Dad,” she said, again. “It’s been a long time.”

           Tracks of tears ran down his face which broke down Sharon’s walls at last.  

           “Sharibear,” he said, squeezing her hand. 

           “Yes, Dad,” Sharon said, releasing a dam of pent up tears. She’d forgotten his nickname for her. There were good memories too. Maybe she should try harder to remember those. They sat that way for over an hour, as Sharon filled him in on her life with Glen and the granddaughter he’s never met. His speech was slurred, so Sharon couldn’t quite understand most of his words, but he knew her.

           He seemed to tire easily, so Sharon left him as he nodded off with a promise to come back.

           The ache in her heart felt lighter as she walked out. Sharon may have come because of the money, but she’d received so much more. Buried beneath all his bitterness, there was love.