A Silence Like Thunder

“I am sorry.” Her voice was soft, gentle even, as it always was. It was a voice that used to bring me comfort.

Used to.

“Are you?” It was harsh, I knew that, harsher than I even meant it to be.

But I was….Angry? Disappointed? Hurt? All of these felt both accurate yet inadequate.

I was in pain.

A pain she caused.

“Of course I’m sorry.” Her tone sounded wounded. As if she couldn’t believe I would ask her such a thing.

I raised my eyes to look at her. She looked remorseful. And between the words, the voice, and the sad expression she wore I almost believed her. Probably would have, if I still had even a little bit of trust left.

I didn’t.

“But you have to take responsibility for your part,” she started. “These things happen when you make a public post like that. And you never reached out, your silence was telling.”

“There it is.” My voice was barely a whisper. I swallowed against the lump that felt like it was choking me. My eyes pricked with tears I refused to shed. “You’re unbelievable.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by her lack of accountability, not after everything. But I think a part of me was still holding on to the person I thought she was.

I should’ve known better.

She frowned, upset with my response. “What you said hurt me.”

“What I said?” I snapped. The anger returned, burning hot. “All I ever said was that I was disgusted and disappointed. I never said who or what that post was about. No one knew. No one. You still don’t know. You’ve never asked. You were too busy making yourself the victim. Because, while I never mentioned anyone’s name, you had no trouble throwing me under the bus.”

I could feel myself getting worked up. Feel the anger become a living, breathing thing. I wanted to yell, scream, curse. But I refused to allow her to see me crumble that way. Instead, I squared my shoulders and continued.

“What I said isn’t what hurt you. You did that all by yourself. That little story you made up. You know, the one you told anyone who would listen. About how I was some terrible person after your money. How I didn’t love you unless you were giving me your money. How I said horribly mean things about you. That story.

Never mind that I’ve never asked you for anything. Not your money. Not your time. I’ve never even held you to the promises you’ve made. And why would I? You’ve been breaking promises since I was little.

The best part is, the whole story is fake. All a fabrication of your own making. And you hurt your own feelings with it. Then had the audacity to blame me.”

My anger had begun to turn to rage. I was shaking with it. My voice was cold, almost cruel. She looked close to tears. Right now I didn’t care.

“Do you know that none of them will speak to me now. Our family. Even the ones who used to. Now it’s just silence. Ironically, this is the loudest silence I’ve ever heard. It’s the kind of silence that roars in your ear, like thunder, with its nothingness. Most of the time I’m too busy moving, desperately trying to keep going, to notice. But sometimes I’m still and the silence creeps in. And I feel so alone.”

My voice cracked as the sadness returned and fought the rage for dominance. She was silent, like it had never occurred to her. It never occurred to her what her lie had cost me.

“Even worse, this has been one of the hardest years of my life. I’ve lost so much.” The sadness won. My voice broke and my eyes filled with tears that left hot trails down my cheeks. “And I needed you. I needed my Aunt and you cut me out.”

Every bit of sadness I had pushed down, surfaced. My chest ached with it.

It felt like I was drowning.

“How could you do that? How could you say those things about me?” I wanted to know. I wanted to understand how someone could be that cruel. “And how could you say it to other people?”

She said nothing. She just stood there. Staring. Staring and fidgeting in discomfort.

“I didn’t know….I didn’t think….” When she finally did speak, it was in sentence fragments. She began to wring her hands together as she searched for a way to excuse what she had done.

“What? That your lie would have consequences? Or that people would believe it?” I spit at her. Rage began creeping back in while I watched her flounder.

She finally settled with, “you should have said something. Attempted to clear up the misunderstanding.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“Me!?” I asked, incredulously. “I wasn’t aware of the misunderstanding until you had already spouted your lie.”

“Well, why didn’t you reach out then? You could have, should have said something.” She kept going, trying to rest the blame, solely, on my shoulders. “Why did you stay silent?”

“I was angry. You said awful things about me. You lied. And I was angry.” She wanted an answer to my silence, I’d give her one. “If I had said something in that moment, it would have been cruel.”

I had wanted to. When I finally heard what was being said about me, I had wanted to lash out. To defend myself. To fight back.

“Anger would have been better,” she responded.

No, it wouldn’t have. If there was one thing I inherited from my birth father, it was my temper. And I knew that. I knew how easy it was for me to be truly cruel when I was hurting. Especially, when the wound was fresh.

But that wasn’t the full reason behind my silence.

“My mother asked me not to. She asked me to stay silent. And I did. For her.” She seemed surprised, not expecting that response.

My mother had begged me for my silence. And I gave it. I gave it because she had just lost her mother. We were saddled with the funeral, the property, the bills…and the debt.

She couldn’t take one more thing.

So I stayed silent and it cost me everything.

“You’re an adult, don’t use your mother as an excuse.”

I sighed, defeated. I realized nothing I said would change anything. She had no intention of taking responsibility for what she had done.

“Are we done?” I asked dismissively as I stood from my chair. “Never mind, I’m done.”

“Excuse me?” She seemed annoyed.

“I’m done explaining. I’m done defending myself. I’m just done. You are never going to take accountability and I am never going to apologize for something I didn’t do. So, I’m done. Done with this conversation. And done with you.”

She looked like I had slapped her. That probably would have been less jarring. I turned and began to walk away, then stopped.

“I forgive you by the way.” With that said, I left. And I didn’t look back.