Many people would say, "ah..." when they saw the little six-year-old girl cling to a particular man, nearly twice her age. She'd throw her spindly arms around his neck and snuggle against his jacket as if he were her father, or brother, or uncle. It confuse them to find out that he wasn't any of those things, because it seemed that the girl was seeking tremendous refuge in him. He'd carry her to her wheelchair and rub her arms until warmth oozed over her frail body, and he'd kneel before her and look into her eyes as if he were saying, "I got you," and nod to her with his eyebrows so she'd relax. As the years went on and her physical strength progressed, observers would chuckle at how the two of them appeared to be connected on an invisible level, like a guardian angel watches over someone.
I remember those years, and I remember the incredible sense of security that I'd feel with Henry in my life. I remember getting older and thinking how sweet it was to know he was going to be there every step of the way, to dry my tears and give me hope. I'd talk to him about everything and anything, but sadly, took him for granted. When I was 15, he'd seemed to have drifted away with the wind. I became a punching bag to illness so intense that I spent much of my time in the hospital. I was convulsing and waking up every morning sick to my stomach. I would double over in agony out of the blue, and I'd sob myself to sleep. I was flailing and falling and drowning, and even the medical staff didn't see my flare.
I was being bullied relentlessly and faced some traumas that year the completely altered my life forever. There aren't any words to fully describe my mental and emotional state at that point. I wanted to die. I wanted to scream and get away. I wanted liberation from the bondage of my pain, fear, guilt and failing body. My diagnosis wasn't supposed to worsen, but it was and rapidly, I watched it tumble downward faster than I could chase after it. I was in a very dark place by May, 2011. I didn't know who I was anymore; I felt like I was made of wax, like I'd been stripped of my fortitude. I was so utterly lost and my heart couldn't hold on any longer.
On the 15th of May, 2011, I slipped intentionally under the bathwater. I was a slab of lonely driftwood, rotting from the inside out, crying tears of spoiled milk, and screaming until I'd taste blood in my mouth. I'd bite my arm until it bled. I'd tear my blankets down the middle with just my teeth, because the use of my hands was slim. I'd see the blood in the blanket stuffing and hear my ears ringing out, telling me I was moments away from fainting. I'd punch my legs hard until they'd bruise, and whenever my mother asked me about them, I'd find a way to not tell her. I was a zombie, floating through life like a piece of litter in a sewage tunnel. Somehow though, I managed to have enough strength left in me to pull the strings I'd tied my frown to, so that I could force it in an upward, pathetic arch, some people called a 'smile'. But it wasn't. It was only a diluted echo of the last true smile I gave before I capsized.
To be so near death that night in May, was for me, experienced by an overwhelming tingling sensation from lack of oxygen and then exhaustion gripped me. I was seconds away from losing consciousness, having pinned myself under the water completely, and in some part of my battle, my heart let out one last final war cry, that was a desperate prayer and plea to a God I no longer believed in. I remember what it was like a few months before to be told I might need surgery to remove one or possibly both of my ovaries. I remember being stuck thinking it'd take away the pain, but also my dream of biological motherhood, and while yes, I was adopted myself, I'd always wanted to try to have children from my own body. I was so young and in such shock. I couldn't allow myself to accept the idea that my body really had let me down, turned on me. I remembered the traumas and I remembered Henry. He'd never leave, and yet he did.
While I survived the suicide attempt and renewed my faith in God five months later, I still fought. As the years went by, Henry had almost gone into another dimension, in that I knew he was real and well, yet I was grieving for someone I couldn't put a face to anymore. He was everywhere. He'd come to mind if I saw a peacoat, or a black car. My grief hit it's peak when I turned eighteen. A friend took a walk with me in the driveway one day after opening presents and eating cake. It was my grandma's recipe and because she passed away a month prior, it made me think about how valuable each moment is. My friend left me outside momentarily so that I could spend sometime with The Lord.
Deep down, I'd been holding on to the hope that Henry would surprise me and walk toward me at any moment. But the breeze came through and as I sat, my little wheelchair began to quake. A fountain of grief exploded from me and I started convulsing and frothing. As my loved ones helped ease my seizure on the lawn, I hallucinated that Henry had indeed, returned. I only mention this so that it's easier for you to understand the level of heartache I was experiencing. Upon driving to his house and finding out he wasn't home, I cried. That's when my counselor and my mother encouraged me to write him a letter.
I spent over a year writing it. During that time, my trip to Lancaster, PA served as a chance for me to bury my guilt regarding the loss. There were still days however, where I'd just drop my head and wail from the pain. Many people told me to let him go, and I refused. My parents became concerned that I was dwelling too heavily on Henry, but no one knew what I held inside. Writing the letter was agonizing and helpful all at once. I saw it as my final chance at reconnecting with him, and held onto it for several weeks. I thought, 'So long as I don't send it, I know why he hasn't replied...' When my counselor moved, I moved also, to a completely different clinic.
At last, I told my new counselor the story of Henry and how I'd discovered that he'd been my buoy as a little girl, keeping me above the trauma. My voice broke and I had to stop speaking occasionally. When I looked up, she was crying. After a pause she leaned in toward me and said: "He understood you..." I laughed and nodded with tears in eyes. Then she whispered, "He abandoned you."
Those three words made my gut curdle. I kept shaking my head no, faster and harder, and backed away. The denial swamp I was drowning in, grew thicker by the second. "Is a seizure coming, baby?" I felt like I was gonna throw up. How could she be so tuned in to my heart? Ach, I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry. My belly was sore and my fingers went numb. "I've exposed you now, haven't I?"
"I don't like it when people 'figure me out'..."
"Why? Why is that?"
"I... I can't... Breathe."
"Sarah, honey, look at me. You can't grow unless you love yourself enough to nurture your heart. Do you see yourself as God sees you?" Tears burned. "What do YOU want? What does Sarah want?"
"I want... to be heard."
"I hear you. God hears you. You want to be free don't you? Free from your past, free from this chair. I get it, I do."
"No..."
"Yes. You're panicking now because I just ripped the band-aide off of a wound that you've tried to ignore all these years... You know what, love? That's what I'm here for. This isn't just a place for you to vent, this is for me to help those wounds heal. You gotta let that wound breathe, honey." I was angry. "It'll sting when the air hits it, but it's healing. And you know what? I'm right here."
"No..." I felt like wax, oozing by the heat of a once dormant fire that now was spitting and spewing through me, raining through my pores. It was fogging up my vision with a heavy smoke of dear Lord, I want her to hug me and hold me and rock with me. I want someone to just feel this pain with me and cry with me and close this void in me that he dug, that Henry burdened with with.
"I am. Right. Here." She had tears ready to fall. "Sarah, he 'loved' you. But he went away. Everybody goes away. Nobody stays in our lives forever. And at your core, it's your faith and strength that keeps you going, even if everything else around it falls to pieces, yeah?"
I wanted to let my walls crumble down like Jericho. I wanted to just SCREAM!! After a protracted moment of silence while she studied me further, she inhaled and said, "let's write that letter to him, and let's get it sent." My caregiver, Heather was waiting for me in the other room. "I missed you while you were in there," she beamed. I was blessed by that but my heart groaned. I remember in the first few months following Henry's leaving, that I'd think he was coming back, that it was only an "I'll be seeing you" or something, but it wasn't. I was like a puppy waiting for it's master to return home, only to see days go by without it happening. I had been so oblivious to the hints he gave regarding his leaving, and now, years later, I've finally woken up to the fact that he chose to go.
To honor her memory, I wrote a letter to my deceased grandmother, and part of it read:
"I've always gotten truly sick to my stomach watching a balloon drift into the sky until you can no longer see it. I never understood just why I'd feel like I was shrinking and shrinking as the balloon grew in altitude, the huge dome sky overhead. No matter what age I was, even today, letting go of a balloon makes me so sad and ill in my belly. And now I think I know why - because for as long as I hold onto the balloon, it stays with me, but with any sudden movement or if I were to just take my eye off of it for one second, it would float away out of my control until it reached the point of no return. And the sad part about letting a balloon go is that you know somewhere in that sky it's still there, but you never know where or if it'll survive or come back down, and should it come back down, you know that you will never be able to get it back.
The difference in [my] loss between your passing and Henry's leaving, is that I know what happened to you, grandma, but with Henry, I don't. You left my life because your body gave out; he left my life for a reason unknown. That's what hurts the most: wondering what I did to make him vanish. I'm nervous that he won't reply to the letter I'm sending, and I'll be left watching the balloon climb and climb and climb until the sky claims it and I am permanently changed. How can someone vanish from another's life and go on living like they've never met, like they died? Death hurts, grandma. So why would someone want to pretend it happened when it didn't?"
Grieving alone is the worst. Nobody knows why you're crying, why you're yearning for a goodbye or a final word with them so that they can hear you say how much they meant to you.
The next day, I dreamed again that he was back. I saw his face, his beard, his jacket. I heard his laugh and I felt his embrace. It was a long dream of just us hugging. I kept my face pressed into his jacket mostly and his scent came flooding back - sweet hay. I looked into his eyes and breathed, "Oh, friend," like the world had stopped on a dime and allotted me a century to greet him again. I was wearing my Beachy Mennonite Prayer Kapp and slumped like a sloth in the center of his arms, cocooned in the coat that represented the Plain Way, he twirled the strings of the Kapp with his finger.
He said, "Don't you think you've taken what I taught you to an extreme, Lady?" I scooted into a sitting position against him, and he rested his arm on my shoulder. Not wanting to waste the dream, I fiddled with his dangling fingers, as if to hold on and absorb all I could before he'd deteriorate by my waking.
"No," I replied. "You just influenced me in it. This is my choice."
"Well, I always knew you'd never join the Amish like you'd once thought. I wouldn't either, but this is a nice balance."
There was a brief pause and I reached my hand up to the side of his beard and stroked it once. I would never do that in real life, but any chance I got to relive his presence, I took.
"Henry?"
"Hmm?" He took my hand down.
"Why do people scurry so much? I mean, nobody ever stops to breathe or sit in the moment."
"They're afraid time will come to bite them in the butt, that's why. And it does... eventually, no matter what we do. Time keeps going."
"You've never answered a question like that straight out before."
"Didn't I make it clear to you, Lady, when you were little: I'll tell you things when you need to know them, not when you want to."
"But you never came out and told me you were leaving."
"All I knew was I needed to say 'something', but I didn't 'want' to have to say 'anything'." He leaned his face into my hair. "Do you remember when you were pinned underwater at 13-years-old?"
"Do I ever! You kept staring at me, waiting."
"We both were thinking you'd come up for air, so we both did nothing but wait."
"Haha!"
"Then you realized you couldn't move, and you shot me a look of terror I can never forget. I realized then that if I waited any longer, you'd drown beneath me, and so I dove down to grab you."
Henry sighed and wiggled from his coat. A familiar red sweater contrasted well with his kakis. He gently cascaded the coat over me to block out the Autumn chill. "Sometimes we're toads. If you drop a toad directly into boiling water, it'll hop out. But if you slowly introduce the boiling water to the toad, it'll drown him without him ever making a move. We're so quick to freak out and have a reality check at the drop of a hat, yet, if the chaos trickles in and slowly piles up, we're oblivious to what's really important."
"I think I'm following," I answered.
"My point is that what happened between us and to us didn't happen over night. It happened over the space of 8 years. It happened when we least expected our lives to ever change course. We got so accustomed to being near each other, to having a bond that seemed to stretch on endlessly, that we forgot that at any moment, all it'd take would be a pair of scissors to snap that cable in half. And when that bond was broken in two, it was so fast and so strong of a snap, that it sent both of us catapulting opposite ways."
I spun around. "Carry me... Carry me to the table," I begged. Henry never believed in reward or giving in to a childish plea. He was adamant when I was little, that he was never going to allow me to beg him for anything, or expect from him, something "extra" than routine. Mom was setting up lunch at a picnic table, and Henry was joining us again. To my surprise, he smiled and swung me in his arms.
"Just this once," he said, "will I carry you when you don't absolutely need me to." I leaned my head into his shoulder and laughed. "For you, Lady. You are the exception. You've always been the exception."
"Henry..." For the first time ever, he hushed me.
"This is a moment for you decide how to spend it. Do you want to spend it hearing your own voice, or do you want to spend it just by being in it?"
"I want to feel the happiness in it," I admitted.
And, just as he had when I was younger, his voice rang out. "My Ballerina Lady..." He said. He swung me once in a circle and he was gone.
The next day was the start of a weekend spent entirely at church. My heart was encased in the peace of God, and my new chair gave me the opportunity to move around inside my reverend's house. Baby Mackenzie was lifted to my mouth and encouraged to kiss me on the cheek, more than once, and each time, I wanted to just take her hand and walk beside her. She's such a light in everyone's life, most especially mine. Her innocence, curiosity and kindness has been so healing to me and such a beautiful reminder of the little flower having yet to blossom in my soul. Watching her loved ones snatch her up and tickle her and be there while she learned so much, brought me back to the early days of Henry and me, when I'd jump on his back or play a serious game of volleyball with him, or when we'd sit beside each other years later, dancing and laughing.
Saturday was full to the brim, in fact overflowing, with so much to be thankful for, and I found my heart trying to take off and soar from the peace that it was finally receiving. Then everyone was encouraged to close their eyes and pray for someone. I shut my eyes and the whole world slowed. Henry. I'd never really prayed for him before that moment. But the urge to pray for him was so powerful, it startled me. I knew I was going to send the letter in two days on Monday, the 27th, but I was trying to ignore that, though I couldn't because our laughter twirled around in my head, and the prayer seemed a blanket fanning out over me. I couldn't ignore my heart any longer and just silently said, "Father God, do something."
Much later that night, I felt my chair close in on me all over again, like a cage. A moss-laden anchor fell to the bottom of my heart, and I choked. I wished Henry was there next to me to take me out of my chair and twirl me around or teach me new tasks again. I wished he was there to rub my shoulder as I cried. I couldn't cry. I resorted to spinning my chair at 1.4mph loop after loop after loop. The sensation was so wonderful. I grew dizzy and with the dizziness came forgetting... Forgetting my wheelchair, my pain, my wanting to scream until my eyes popped out. I forgot I couldn't walk, I forgot that my autonomy had to be inevitably expressed via my caregivers... Trevland's "Scroll In The Woods" was playing in my head, and my eyes smarted. I felt God wrap me in a hug. I felt Him take my heart and dance with it, until it was just us - Father and daughter - sweet, little doll of a daughter, swaying on Daddy's feet. There was nothing else in the world.
I knew more than ever before that if no one else in the world could ever understand my heart, The Lord did, better than myself, even. To think about that was to put the letter in a wine bottle, secure the cork and send it off to sail across the Heavens by the most reliable Messenger possible. When I stopped spinning, I parked by the aging dog in the dining room, sound asleep in a snoring slumber. After a few minutes, though my reverend's wife encouraged me to join everyone, I sat alone in the playroom.
The teacher that morning said unknowing of my dream or my pain, "Let me tell you about frogs in boiling water..." My, was I so shocked! It was the first time I'd ever cried in joy at a Bible meeting.
It was passed 11 at night. "How do I do this? Just like, under the legs or something?" A friend of mine was about to carry me up the flight of stairs to the upper bedroom. My limbs stiffened as he climbed gingerly up to the room. I could feel his muscles straining slightly as if he were carrying a couch alone up a slope. The reverend's wife followed and he laid me in the bed. My neck was bent awkwardly and my muscles were so tight I wondered if my blood had solidified. He readjusted me, and there was no improvement. Three tries later, I was set.
While my other friends, Di and Kel, slept on a mattresses on the floor at the center of the room, I slept in the bed with my mother. As everyone slept, I curled under the blankets and whimpered. "Father," I thought, "Let me fly. Please, I beg You. No one hears me like You do." Right then, I felt Him speak to my heart in that still, small voice: "You've got peace like river, dear. Shhh now, My dearest girl. It's been a very long, draining night, yeah? There now, sweetie, rest now. Tomorrow's a new day. I won't take my hand from your shoulder all night."
The next morning, Mama pulled back the covers and bathed my arms. God kissed my hair and said, "Keep your head high, darling girl. I've seen every tear, heard every dream, every prayer. I hear every scream, feel what you feel." Mom got me up to sitting and dressed me while the girls slept.
"Will you put my hair in a ponytail today?" I asked as she rushed around.
"Depends on if I have the time."
"Can I put on my makeup?"
"It's in the car. I'll have to run out and get it..." While she got the things from the car, Di woke up and went about getting herself ready. I watched and adored her steady movements. She could speed up her pace just by thinking about it. She could put on eyeliner and mascara and blush so gracefully.
"I'm just running across the hall really quick," she told me and was gone in a flash. I looked down at my legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
"Toes up," I instructed myself. No movement. "Fall down." I let my body fall back over the bed. Once mama was finished preparing her 19-year-old daughter for the day, she went back to the car for a few more items for herself. I was kneeling by the bed while Kel woke up. God squatted next to me and said, "Looks amazing, doesn't it? To move like that and be able to do what you want to, when you want to..." He placed a hand on mine. "You're learning too." Thanks, Father. "Good morning, hummingbird," He continued. Downstairs that morning, I was truly struggling to renew my mind. I was cold and could only rub one arm. My Godmother wrapped me in a blanket and as the teachings went on, I prayed for Henry.
Monday came. Counseling came and I read my revisions to the letter I was sending him that day. She said, "Now... Are you ready for no answer back? Are you ready to let go? Are you ready if he does answer? We've gone over every possible scenario, yes?" I nodded, thinking about Little Me clinging to him in a hug. I also read to her some memories of the traumas I'd buried away. She whispered, "I'm so sorry you had to experience those things. I'm honored that you feel comfortable enough to share them with me. But oh my gosh. That writing is unbelievable. People go through years of schooling to learn how to express themselves [through writing] like you can." She sniffed. "It was like I was right there, seeing and feeling the same things, my goodness!"
My caregiver, Heather, also read the memories and was floored the same way. Most memories she read, expressed how Henry's friendship kept me afloat all those years. When I got home that afternoon, mom took me to go see a dining room set she wanted to buy, but the home wasn't accessible, so I stayed in the car. A few minutes of solitude and the music in my headphones had catalyzed an eruption of pain and grief and anger and hope. I was surrounded by the music and the flashbacks to the events the shaped who I had become. I wrapped myself in a hug and praised myself for getting through such land mines so resiliently. Then an anger I hadn't felt rose up inside me from my core and as soon as mom got in the van, I asked, "Will you take me to Henry's? Forget about the post office. I wanna put this letter in his mailbox myself. I can't take this anymore."
She drove to the supermarket first, turned to me and said, "We'll head there after some dinner." It was around 7.25pm when we started in the direction of his house. It was a half hour away. I wasn't going to look behind my shoulder at the chance to back out of this. I wasn't going to keep this note another day. I needed him to know my thanks. I needed him to know how he helped me believe in Tomorrow. Whether he wrote back or not, all I cared at this point was just that I knew my gratitude reached him. I felt God coaching me, "Don't turn around, keep going, keep going..." I felt so strongly about this.
We turned on his street and nausea overtook my senses. I was gripping my knotting belly and moaning, drooling as I supported my head on the passenger seat. It was pitch black out. No cars in the driveway. My stomach screeched. But in the window of his house was a string of white Christmas lights. Weird, for someone who once said he hated unnecessary technology and would love to live off the land. "They painted the house," mama noticed. It looked very welcoming now. Again, mom paused. Breathed deep. "Here we go," she said.
She walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. "Oh, God," I groaned. "Not again. Please, no..." Again, she knocked and waited. "No!" Tears were approaching as my stomach twisted violently. I was in so much pain. Then the door opened and a woman appeared. Katie, I breathed, and the name squeezed out like I was breathing through a straw. My entire being just collapsed when my mom beamed at her and Katie's hands folded over her mouth. I started to sob. Katie raised a phone to her ear and mom nodded what looked like an apology. The door closed. As she returned up the pathway, I didn't know what to think. She still held the letter. I was desperately trying to contain my screams of hurt.
"Katie was thrilled to hear that you came. She's calling Henry right now and she left a message saying, 'Henry, you're not gonna believe this, but Sarah Hamlin's here. Get home 'right now'!" That's when my strength split and I started to wail. I scared myself by the level of intensity that I was crying. "He'll be home in a half hour. He's coming from work." I had my hand over my mouth, throwing up buckets of tears into my palm. I wanted to laugh, but all I could do was sob. I screamed into the passenger seat until I nearly lost my voice. "Four years!" Mama rejoiced, "Four years!!! No more guessing!!" I was rocking in my chair and squeezing my face, soddened with tears, willing myself to breathe. "Do you want me to come and hug you, honey?" Mama offered. I couldn't talk. I was an absolute mess. The jubilance that showered over me was none like I'd ever felt before. "Oh, honey, I never knew he'd meant this much to you... I never thought you were grieving this badly.."
God joined in my joy and said, "FLY, BABY!" And in that instant, I threw my arms out to my sides and lifted my head and screamed, "WOOOOO-HOOO!!!!" Mama was laughing, watching me in the rare view mirror, and I was laughing. God was laughing. He picked me up and twirled my heart for me and I was dancing. It was at the deepest part of my soul, but I knew I was dancing. I kept leaning my weight into the passenger seat, laughing and crying and celebrating. Mama was calling my Godmother, my caregivers... Telling them the news. I was in absolute shock.
When we drove back to his house forty-five minutes later, his black car was there. Mom jumped out and I heard her say, "Henry!" And I heard his muffled voice for the first time in nearly four years. The side door of the van opened, and a man was standing there. I was trying not to look at him, to buy myself some time to swallow more tears. But then he said it: "How've you been, Lady?" The nickname stabbed me in the heart.
Only he called me that. He had since I was twelve-years-old.
I looked his way and a man stepped into the car, kneeling on one knee beside me. He touched my arm. I closed my eyes and sucked in a shuddering breath. My saliva turned to a thick paste as I swallowed it, and I had to stretch my neck up so I wouldn't aspirate. I opened my eyes again and saw his face, his eyebrows perched with worry etched on his brow. He held the letter in his hands. Mama must've given it to him. I was so quiet. He tapped my hand, and tickled my arm. "What's happenin', hmm?"
"I've grieved every day," I told him. His brown eyes became glassy with tears and he gave a slight nod. "Do you remember when you'd drive me home after dinner and I'd squeak, 'I don't wanna go yet'?" He smiled. And nodded. "You were my buoy." I coughed and sucked in another ragged breath.
I proceeded to tell him in detail my past traumas. As I did, I'd go in and out of flashbacks and looking at the floor, to looking at him, and the more details I gave, the more pained he appeared. He took my hand as if he could use it as a rope to pull me to shore. I told him every terrifying inch of every trauma, one right after the other. "Remember when I got stuck under the water and you had to dive down to bring me to the surface?"
"Yes..." He laughed weakly.
"That's what I did when I was 15. I almost drown myself." Ambulance sirens from various memories were screeching in my head, as he looked at me in utter disbelief. He licked his lips and stepped a bit into the night to get some air and then scooted in between me and the driver's seat. "My mom found me slumped over in the tub. She found the suicide note, but thankfully, with God's strength, I was able to free my arm seconds before I fell asleep." He rubbed my arm and whispered, "Why would you do that?"
I cried. "Because I was so tired. I was so tired of being sick. Henry, I was in so much pain..."
After about an hour of relaying to him the traumas that lead to my suicide attempt and were the reasons why I looked up to him so, he said, "I had no clue." He looked angry at himself. "This happened while I knew you?" I nodded. "Dear God. Whoa. Oh, honey... Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was so young... I was afraid..." Henry let his eyes fall and he held my hand. We went from joking, to crying, to laughing.
"Everyone always rakes their leaves. I came home the other day and nearly tripped out of my car at the sight of my leaves blowing away..." He reenacted his reaction. "I was like, "Ahhhh! No!!! I like to use the leaves for my gardens and things when they decompose." Haha. Same Henry. He kept changing position.
"I'm so sorry..." I said.
"Oh, no, I'm old. I work on my knees all day... You know that." When he said that, Mama was passing him to start the van to warm us up and replied, "You're 'so' old, Henry..." The two of them exchanged a chuckle. When she left us alone again, I asked him why he hadn't replied to any of my mother's tries at reaching him in the past year.
He sighed. "The reality of it is this... Lady, I'm anti-social, I guess, if you haven't figured that out yet. I just... I'm really horrible at getting back to people. It's a terrible, awful flaw, I know." I didn't want to press him anymore with it so I mentioned that I came across a couple journal entries from the last couple times we interacted. "Funny you should say that, Lady... I just recently came across our emails from a few years back..."
"Goodness, you still have those?"
"I saved every single one." My heart lurched. He was grieving too!
"Do you still remember me when I was six?" His eyes glowed.
"Haha, yes! I found a few photos of you from that age the other day, too."
"So you didn't forget me?" He came closer to me again.
"I never let go, ever. I never let go. Sarah, I'm not the best of friends anyone could have. But I don't shun people unless there's absolutely no profit in having them in my life. I've only had to do it a few times, but you will never be one of them."
"I blamed myself for your leaving," I admitted, and he sunk down sitting on the car floor again.
"Honey..."
I kept touching his arm, petting it. "I'm not trying to be creepy, but I just can't believe you're not a hallucination."
"I can pinch you if that helps... I'm here. Good God, is it cold out! You warm enough, sweetie?" I nodded and touched his hand. He snatched it and hid it in his palms. "Yeah, right! You're ice." Then another surge of tearful relief spilled from me. Henry rubbed my shoulder. "Sarah..." He soothed... "Hey, you alright?"
"I just... Oh my gosh, I missed you so much. Henry..."
"I missed you too."
"I feel so... Trapped." Over the next half hour, I opened up like I've never done before, about my stresses, frustration, illness, and aspirations, and he guided me through each emotional hurdle with the wisdom I'd come to cherish as a teenager. "I have so much inside, but I can't get it... Out... I want to dance and run and skip and do my own hair. I wanna be a surgeon, I wanna do this and that and this and that, and I can't unless someone else has time to help me." He squeezed my fingers. "I don't want to live on someone else's time; I want someone who can just be my hands and feet and help me learn. I want to scream."
"Then scream. Why do you care what others think? You wanna scream? Let it out, Lady." I bowed my head, hoping I could cry like I had earlier before he came, but my well was almost dry. "Oh, Sarah..." His voice displayed a sympathy for me, that was very new to me. It added a whole new depth to who he'd become as my friend growing up. I never was aware he cared that much for me. "I was driving behind someone very slow the other day and passed a church announcement sign that said, 'be as patient with others as God has been with you.' I just sat there stunned, like, whoa, that's deep. But it's so true though!" Hearing him speak so happily about The Lord, blessed me beyond expression.
Winding down, he got very quiet and asked, "Would you like to see me again?" I wanted to peel the tears from his eyes, but my vision was getting blurry too.
"Is that a joke?" He shook his head solemnly. I wanted to cry.
"You choose where we go. I don't believe I work the following weekend." Mama took our picture before Henry hugged me and shook Mama's hand again.
"We'll call you," she assured. "Katie's always welcome too..."
"Alright, I'll let her know." He smiled again. The doors shut and I heard Mama say, "God bless you..." And Henry stood back a bit unsure and relieved and said, "God bless 'you'," in a hushed tone. "See you in a few weeks."
As we drove away, I kept thinking that in some splice of time, my little six-year-old self was holding my present hand, bridging the four-year gap that had eaten away at my and Henry's hearts. It was surreal and I was numb with surprise and so overwhelmed with gladness. Never, had I seen Henry cry until Monday, October 27th, 2014 - when we reunited.
Dear brother, oh how I've missed you, my friend.