Page 106 of The Blessing

Forever yours,

Felicity

I must’ve been quite the fucking burden for my dad—despite how much he loved me. He had a family with someone else, and I was just his bastard son. I can’t imagine the fucking mess I caused. I can tell they don’t regret their affair or the consequences they had to face because of it, but there must’ve been some guilt there. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to play house with one family before going home to another. It’s so disingenuous. They must’ve known their charade would come crashing down eventually.

I move onto the next letter. It’s dated October 1992, and it’s worn down to the point where the writing is barely legible. It doesn’t help that the handwriting looks frantic, as if the words had been practically scribbled quickly across the page. It’s my mom’s handwriting, I can recognize that much. I can only make out a few sentences; I can’t decipher the letter as a whole.

He’s coming home soon. What should I do? I can’t keep this secret for much longer.

While I can’t make out the specifics, I know she must be talking about Vince returning home. Based off her handwriting, her husband must’ve frightened her more than I imagined. That fucker! I’d kill him with my bare hands if I had the chance. The way he died was gruesome, but not fitting for the crimes he committed against her. As soon as my angry haze fades away, I continue with my attempt at reading her words.

He’ll know I’m lying… can’t afford to go… maybe he’s changed... need to protect my baby…

The ink is so smudged and the paper is so worn down due to water damage and exposure, I can’t make out much more. I frown at the paper before giving it another shot. The only other sentence I manage to make out is the last one. As soon as I read it, a chill runs down my spine.

Promise me, Arthur. Promise!

There’s a heaviness in her words and the distress is clear by her handwriting. Her handwriting in her other letters had been so elegant and precise—even when she was rambling. This letter, however, is a different matter entirely. I can practically feel the horror she’s feeling jumping off this flimsy piece of paper as I look at it. This letter is so incredibly haunting. Unable to stomach it for a moment longer—I move onto the next one.

When I sift through the stack to find which letter came next, I come up fucking short. That frantic letter was the last one she sent while I was still with her. That must’ve been written right before her husband came back from overseas. She had ten happy months with me before her life upended. She must’ve begged my dad to take me—or so the letter would suggest. I wonder if she knew something problematic was going to happen. Although, if she had such a bad feeling about it, why didn’t she just run away with me?

I can probably surmise an answer to my own fucking question. Fuck, when I lived in Cali for a while I stayed with my fair share of random fucking strangers. Not all of them were decent human beings, let's just put it that way. One night in particular, I stayed over at a friend of a friend's house. I crashed on his couch because I had been too fucking drunk to drive my sorry ass home. Wherever “home” was at the time. He and his girlfriend—who’s at least a foot shorter than he is—got into a huge argument in the kitchen. I was way too fucking drunk to recall what they were fighting about, but I'm sure it was just some petty shit. That's all it takes with guys like that, one insignificant little slip up, and they're fucking wailing on you. He ended up beating his girl pretty badly. I tried to call the police, but he immediately stopped me. With drugs all over the house, we weren't in the position to be inviting cops over—although, in hindsight, I should’ve fucking called anyway. The biggest shock to me was the fact that his girl didn't want to press charges. She was so certain he would “get better” and she would make every excuse for him in the fucking book.

I don’t want to think of that behavior as being weak because it’s like their abusers’ brainwash them or some shit like that. They start off sweet, giving their girl everything she could ever want; then, once they get comfortable in the relationship, the abuse begins. They cut the person off from their friends and family; the piece of shit will monitor what the “loved one” does twenty-four-fucking-seven, and ultimately convince them that it’s all for her own good. They’ll claim they love them so much and the fear of losing them is why they acts so insane. I’m sure this Vince guy was a shithead, too. And I’m sure he did that shit to my mother. Just like that guy I vaguely knew in Cali did to his girl. They get their claws in you, and by the time you want to leave… it’s too late. I wonder if my mom ever saw leaving him as an option. I don’t know if she was too brainwashed to leave, too scared, or what the deal was. All I know is, I can’t judge her decisions too harshly since I don’t fully know what the situation was. Besides, I constantly forgave Evelyn for her fucking terrorizing ways because I’d always hoped that she’d change. However, it seems people like that never do.

Moving on, I pick up a new envelope that’s addressed to, whom I assume are, my mom’s parents. My grandparents… how fucking weird is that? As I open the letter, a few wallet-sized photos come tumbling out. They’re baby pictures of me. I look so small in the photos, but I have a huge smile on my face. I look like one of those babies you would see on the cans of baby food. I can hardly fucking recognize myself at all. I’m definitely not cute like that anymore. The photo is dated August 1993, so that means I had been in my dad’s care for a while. I remember Evelyn telling me he took time off work to care for me. I wonder what I looked like when he first took me in.

Felicity,

These pictures are the best I can do. Trevor is thriving here. He’s happy being around Dean. They’ve become practically inseparable since he’s arrived. Dean had been wishing for a brother, so he just believes his wish was finally granted and Trevor came just for him. They love each other so much already.

Honey, I just wish you could be here. I don’t want to tell you how much Trevor misses you because I can’t bear the thought of you being upset. I just don’t know what to say. I’ll do the very best I can. I’ll give him the best life possible. You agreed to Evelyn’s stipulations to stay out of his life, but I don’t want you to miss anything. I’ll send you pictures of him whenever I can. God, Felicity. I just wish everything could be different.

Yours forever,

Art

I couldn’t imagine how tough it must’ve been for my mom. To say goodbye to me without knowing when, or if, she’d ever see me again. She thought she was doing the right thing, and she loved me enough to let me go. If she hadn’t given me up, I wonder if I would’ve survived. It’s easy to criticize her decisions in hindsight, but at that moment in time she was making what felt like was the best the decision for me. I would’ve done the same for Grey if I had to. As much as it would’ve fucking destroyed me, I would’ve done it because I love him so much more than I love myself.

As I continue to open one envelope after the next, I find that each has photos of me along with updates on my progress. Dad had sent her every one of my school pictures throughout the years with long letters describing how proud he was of me. It’s uncomfortable to read his words because, at the time, I hadn’t been proud of myself. Fuck, I hated myself completely up until recently.

There’s more than just letters sent back and forth to each other; there are various cards sent from my mom to my dad’s office, as well. I’m sure this was so Evelyn would remain completely fucking unaware. She never missed a birthday—and that thought crushes me more than I imagined it would. I can see her now, sitting at a desk with a pen in hand, all alone as she writes to her son which she hasn’t seen since he was a baby. I can’t imagine the pain that she must’ve endured. Fuck, just looking at all of this shit is difficult for me. I never understood the extent of what a fucking mess my family once was.

With a heavy heart, I open one birthday card after another. The first one is so fucking sad. She was two months shy of spending my first birthday with me when she gave me away. Just looking at her scribbled handwriting across the card makes my stomach fucking twist until I think I’m going to vomit. I vigorously rub my face in an effort to loosen up the muscles in my jaw, which are tense from suppressing my emotions. I take a deep breath, and begin to read, coming across a quote from a Winnie-the-Pooh storybook I read to Grey constantly. I guess my mom used to read it to me, too.

To my special little boy on his birthday,

I can’t believe you’ve been on this Earth for an entire year! You are so very special to me, Trevor. It felt like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Although I’m not with you now, know that you’re in my heart, always.

I wish I were there to read to you on your special day. I’ve been reading our favorite stories every night and I came across a quote I wanted to share with you. I’ll enclose it for you. It’s from one of your favorite’s. I know we’ve read it so many times, but now, it’s more relevant than ever. We may be apart now, son—but I’ll always be with you...

Happy first birthday, son. I love you more than words. I know we’re separated now, but I’ll always be your mother. I’ll always see your face in my mind and feel your spirit everywhere I go. And I promise that you’ll be in my heart, forever.

Mommy loves you, Trevor.

I reach up to rub my jaw because my muscles are now feeling as hard as a fucking rock. My skin is wet, and I realize I’ve been fucking crying. I’m still crying. The tears keep coming and I close my eyes, allowing myself the freedom to let my emotions escape. There are no words to describe the feelings which are coursing through me. I can feel her love, her pain, and the loss she felt when she gave me up. I can relate to every single feeling because I lost her, too. I lost a mom who loved me for so many years because the circumstances that surrounded our lives were complete shit. I can’t say I wish things were different, only because if they were, my present life would be very different, as well. However, I do wish I could carry her pain for a while, just so she could be happy and free of all this baggage which haunts her. Even if only for a moment.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and finish reading my birthday cards. They’re all similar, and while they’re uplifting and encouraging, they’re so fucking melancholy at the same time. She’s kept me in her thoughts for all of these years. I regret not being able to do the same. Of course, I hadn’t known about her, but if I had, I’d make sure we had some sort of relationship; even if it was strained.