Isabella McCall, Columnist • email@example.com
Laurel looked at me, studying my reaction to her statement. I knew she didn’t want a shocked expression that would turn to a faked sentiment of understanding. I didn’t need to fake empathy, I understood her sentiments with every neuron in my mind. I, too, had feared my future after children. It was all too possible I might react the way my mother had, repeating the cycle of sadness.
“My mom left about a 18 months ago after my senior year. She didn’t have any friends, any romantic interests, and though I tried, I couldn’t be her only supporting column. I had a pattern of trying to support her only to fall back on being a selfish-minded teenager. I couldn’t even support myself, much less the both of us.”
I paused, breathing in and holding the air. Trying to stop the emotions that were burning the backs of my eyes
“When I was little I thought she was the strongest woman I knew. Even in the end I thought she was like a piece of dried leather. Unbreakable. She wasn’t though. She tried to tell me, but I would just argue that she needed friends. I didn’t know what else to do, I still don’t know if there was anything else I could do. I’m was and still am in a gray-area where I don’t know if I did everything I could or I didn’t. I actually came here to fathom it. I took the job at the fish shop because it was mindless and I could both numb myself and think through the work. I’ve been here a month and I’ve made no progress”.
Laurel sighed, “I could tell you it was not your fault, but tomorrow you’ll deny my words to justify yourself. The only thing I can offer you is the salve for any wound- time. It is a hard thing to be patient, but it is nearly impossible to be patient when you are in pain. Unfortunately that is the only thing that can heal you.