Getting Better

Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. Today is the day, the day that you are finally leaving. It was easy getting out of bed this morning, so much easier than it usually was. Usually, your morning ritual consisted of dragging yourself from bed and dragging your feet to the kitchen where a small breakfast was eaten. You drug yourself around, getting ready, preparing yourself for the undoubtedly dreadful day ahead. But it was different now. You were finally leaving. Today was goodbye. Goodbye to all the past mistakes that would now be erased, to all the burned bridges that couldn’t be rebuilt, to all the pain that you didn’t know how to numb.

As trains rattled through, you bought your ticket. Not only was it your ticket to a city miles upon miles away, but it was also your ticket to a new life. A fresh start.

The memories came in waves.

“Please, please. You can’t do this anymore, Sarah. You’re hurting him!”

Your begging falls on the woman’s deaf ears.

“One step closer and it’s over, I’m warning you,” she breathes, a deadly whisper curling into the air.

Screams follow close behind.

You take a seat on one of the nearby benches to wait for your train and to collect your sanity. Those words and those screams haunt you. You can’t sleep without hearing them, you can’t breathe without feeling them. You can’t do anything without the guilt and rage swallowing you whole. It was your fault. All your fault.

“Please Sarah, come on. Just let go of him. Let go of him and come with me, we can get you your pills.”

“So you think something’s wrong with me, do you? That’s another scar for the little boy,” she screams, insanity rearing its ugly head.

A scream erupts from the child in her arms and from you. You can’t stand it anymore, you need to do something but you don’t know what.

“Mommy,” the boy whispers, tearing your breath from your lungs and breaking your heart.

The woman in question does not care.

Your eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill in a moment’s notice. You knew about her disorder, you knew she hadn’t been taking her medication, but she seemed okay. You thought that maybe she could control it after all.

Finally, your own train comes, clanking, into the station. You follow the mob of people and board. Your heart tries to lunge from its space in your chest, beating roughly against its cage. You don’t like cramped spaces or big crowds and your anxiety is beginning to soar, but you will make it through. You have to. For him.

“Daddy please, make her stop,” he cries out later that night when his mother has finally let go.

“I’m trying. I promise you, I’m trying,” you whisper in response, holding him close to you.

“Please Daddy.”

You pull him closer against you, holding him tighter. You won’t let him go this time. You can’t. You can’t let him continue to be hurt.

His screaming wakes you hours later. His mother has him again. You don’t hesitate, you grab whatever object is closest to her and run. You pull her away from your son, your little boy. You hit her and she falls. You fall too and so does your son. You’re crying, you’re screaming. You don’t know what to do.

The tears unleash now and the people on the train around you are giving you odd looks. You don’t care. After all this time, you don’t feel guilty for being sad anymore. She was the woman you loved, the woman you built a life with. To you, it didn’t matter that she had schizophrenia. To you, it didn’t matter that sometimes the voices in her head told her to do bad things. It didn’t matter to you because she was trying to reign it in. She went to the doctor, she took her medication. It didn’t matter. Until it did.

Your wife’s lifeless body is cradled in your arms as you dial 911. Flashing lights and sirens are soon noticeable. They’re coming for you, for your home. Your home. The place that was supposed to be a safe haven, a place meant for warmth and love. It was no longer a home. It hadn’t been for the last month. The cops come and they ask questions but it is all a blur. You don’t remember everything that happens or everything that was said. You just keep clinging to your son, whispering to him that things will be alright now. You call your mother. You don’t know where else to go or what else to do.

So, you take your son to her, you plan to live there until you can get back on your feet. You try, you really do, but you’re no longer you. You become a zombie, just a figure wandering from room to room. Your mother hates seeing the state you’re in and it scares your son.

So you leave.

You go back to the town and to the house you once called home. You know what happened but you need the closure. You need to know that Sarah, your wife, is in a better place. You promise to come back soon. Every day after that is torture. You miss your wife and you miss your son, you want them desperately. You pack up again, planning to go back to your mother’s once again, but you stop yourself. You can’t. You’re still shattered. You know that you will always be broken, that you can’t be fixed but you also know that your son needs a father. A real father. A father that can provide for him, care for him. You will never be the father you used to be, things are different now, but you need to try. For him.

“Sir? Are you okay?” a woman asks you as you begin to sway.

“I- I’d like to sit down. Just for a moment,” you breathe.

Nodding, the woman stands to give you her seat. Worry is evident on her face as she leans forward to rub your arm. For a second, you glimpse the wife you killed, the mother that hurt her son, and you flinch. And then it’s gone. You see the woman on the train with wide blue eyes who just wants to help you and you relax. You don’t get angry or scream or cause a scene. You just relax. That’s how you know that you’re getting better. That’s how you know that you’re okay enough to see your son again.

“Max.” His name falls from your lips.

“Is that your name sir? Max?”

“No. Not me, my son. I’m going to see him. It’s been almost a year since I saw him last,” you reply quietly, unsure of why you’re sharing so much.

“Really? How old is he?” the woman inquires, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Seven. He turned seven last week.” A fresh wave of tears fall from your eyes.

You had missed his birthday. You had missed one of the most important days of his life all because you were too broken to be a good father to him.

“Max,” you say again. “My sweet little boy.”

“He’ll be so happy to see you,” the woman smiles.

You nod, forcing a smile of your own, praying that what the woman says is true. You don’t know what you will do if Max doesn’t want to see you.

A few minutes pass before you stand, giving the woman’s seat back to her. She was a kind woman, the kind of person your wife had once been. You missed her, of course you did, but you knew that you would be alright. You were on your way to see Max and things would be alright again. Everything would be alright.

When the train came to a screeching halt at your designated stop, it took a moment to get your feet to work. You were nervous, you were scared. You thought of your son’s bright smile and your mother’s reassuring eyes. Your feet began to move again. You were getting better and things would be alright.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your mother’s door. A soft rapping noise filled your ears as you knocked. You took a deep breath, stealing yourself for whatever came next.

“Jeremy? Oh my. Jeremy!” your mother exclaims, giving you a tight hug. “I can’t believe you’re here! I’m so happy to see you!”

You smile. “Hi Mom.”

You’re getting better and things would be alright. You follow your mother inside.

A boy stands further down the hall, watching you.

“Max,” you say, dropping your suitcase.

“Dad!” he yells and runs, throwing himself into your arms.

“Max. Max, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry,” you murmur to him, holding him tight while tears stream down your face. “I love you. I love you so much.”

You’re getting better and things are already righting themselves. Every day was torture, but you survived. You made it through and the reward is so much sweeter than you could have ever imagined it.

“I love you too.”