He looked at me like the answer was obvious.
“That we were never what he thought we were.”
I swallowed around the lump that rose so suddenly it surprised me. Then I nodded.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I will.”
We ate lo mein at the kitchen table. Talked about work, the bar exam, whether the Browns would disappoint everybody yet again. Ordinary things. Good things. And sitting there across from my son, I understood something I wish I could go back and tell that younger version of myself.
You will not always feel this scared.
You will not always feel this alone.
One day, the life you build will hold you up.
One day, the child you worry over will stand beside you.
One day, the past will knock on your door and find it no longer has a key.
That doesn’t erase what happened, but it changes what it means.
If you’ve ever had to rebuild your life piece by piece, then you know strength rarely looks dramatic while you’re living it. Sometimes it just looks like getting up again tomorrow.
