The Letter: Part Two

PART 2!!!!

I’d given up on trying to get more information out of him and waited the final five minutes of the journey in silence. As we began to draw near the destination, Michael tossed me a blindfold.

“Put this on,” he instructed.

Again I saw myself changing. There was no chance would have put it on without the events of the last week. But still I ignored my mother’s teachings and put on the mask. The world was instantly black. It was quite an eerie feeling, being completely absorbed in darkness. I spent almost half an hour under the blindfold. It was so peaceful that I spent most of the time in complete silence, so much so that Michael felt the need to nudge me now and then saying, “Are you alright.”

To which I would always reply, “Yep. You’re not killing me that easy.”

After just under two and a half hours in the car I felt the car pull up to a stop. Michael opened and closed his door, and I heard his muffled footsteps as he came around to my side of the car. He opened my door, and then helped me out of the car. We began to walk what felt like a dirt path, and I guessed that it was the parking lot. The two of us reached a staircase, which led up and up. I could tell by the clicking of my shoes that it was concrete. Michael held my hand the whole way up, guiding me carefully with each step.

Finally we reached the top of the stairs, and we walked to what felt like a banister, so I guessed we were on a viewing platform or lookout of some type.

“Alright, now before I take this blindfold off, you have to promise me that you won’t go diving off the edge of this balcony,” he joked.

“Excuse me sir, but I was definitely pushed,” I laughed back.

“Either way, I don’t want to get wet today. And there is no way you’re getting in my car with water all over you.”

“Fine, but I never took you for the scared of water type.”

“I will not dignify that with an answer,” he said in mock disgust.

I felt the straps at the back of my head being loosened, and then they fell away. In the first few moments I was unable to see anything, blinded by the sudden rush of light. But then my vision cleared and I was greeted with the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.

A blue lake, so pure in its mirror like reflection, that I could see even the clouds dancing in the water. Across the lake was a group of trees, which banded tightly together, hiding the base of a huge mountain which rose over the top of the branches. Trickles of snow ran down the sides, giving it a milky look. I found it hard to perceive the awesome beauty of the world around me, and looking into the clear, blue sky made me realise just how small I was.

“Michael, it’s beautiful,” I sighed.

“I know, that was my thoughts when I first saw this place. It’s amazing isn’t it,” he replied.

“Where did you find this place?”

“When I was young, about six or seven, my parents moved away from my home in Manchester and took me to Venice for twelve months, while they worked. They were both painters, and were offered positions in the prestigious Gallerie dell'Accademia. They saw this as a once in a lifetime opportunity, and tried to dress it up for me by saying that it would teach me a lot about life.”

I was listening intently, savouring the ever secretive knowledge of his past.

“Well, five months into our stay, I still wasn’t happy. My life was laced with depression and my worries grew each day. Like my parents worries for me. They had no idea what to do, but a doctor told them that they should try and distract me with another activity. Their problem was that neither of them knew anything about anything except painting. So they bought me my first paint set and gave me lessons on art. It turns out I was quite good at it and I won a few awards and prizes. After I won my first competition my parents decided to reward me with a weekend away where I was able to draw and sketch the environment around me to my hearts contempt.”

“So they brought you here,” it was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, we stayed in that house just over there.” He motioned to an amazing manor which was situated just up the slope of the mountain.

“Wow, so did you hire it out?”

“Nah, my father’s parents owned it. They bought the land cheap and my grandfather built it with his own hands. Obviously we added our own modern touches to the building.”

“Do you still own it,” I couldn’t imagine living in such an amazing house.

“Technically my parents own it, but they never use it, so I stole the key when I left.

He threw me the stolen key saying, “Let’s go have a look.”

The two of us walked our way back to the car.  We got in and began to drive up an amazing road, which wound up through the trees of the forest then up the base of the mountain. There wasn’t any snow at our level, just a rocky slope which made driving very difficult. I could see the stress in Michael’s eyes as we hit one of the steepest slopes. At one point the road ran so close to a deep crevasse in the rock that I was sure we’d fall in, but we soon reached the top of the road safely.

**/**
 
My jaw dropped as Michael parked the car and we got out. The house was amazingly large, two stories high, stretched out along the side of the mountain. Around the very front of the house was a grand entrance way, with pillars holding up an amazingly white balcony above. I could see carvings on the underside of the balcony above us as we moved towards the front door.

Michael fiddled with the key, twisting it left and right in the golden key hole, which sparkled brilliantly compared to the mahogany door. Finally the door swung open, allowing us to see an incredibly beautiful welcoming room. The walls inside were a brighter red than that of the bricks outside, but it gave the room a warm feel, which made me realise how cold it actually was.

We walked in, and I began to see more artwork on the walls, surrounded by golden frames. The front room was a rectangle in shape, and it was the portal to the rest of the house. Straight ahead was a magnificently intricate staircase, which led up to the next level.

I saw Michael grinning, “What are you smiling at.”

“Ah… I was just remembering the last time I was here. My mother wouldn’t let me use those stairs because my grandmother always said that we children would wear them out,” he chuckled.

I kept moving along the room, finally arriving at the base of the stairs. At the end of the first flight was a massive portrait of a man, obviously painted in the early nineteen hundreds.

“Is that your grandfather,” I inquired.

“Yes, but a younger version of him. Before the war.”

My ears picked up, “he went to war?”

“Yes, he was a part of the first World War. He fought on the Western front. He must have seen some terrible things. My father told me that he was never the same after he came back. The things he had been forced to do had turned him into a cold hard man. Dad said that he could hear him most nights, yelling and mumbling while he slept.”

“That’s terrible. But he still built this house.”

“This house was built as a distraction from the visions that plagued his mind. It gave him a project to dull his memories, and it worked for a time. It took him ten years to build. Obviously he didn’t do it all by himself, but while my grandmother worked, quite a strange thing for those times, him and some hired workers would wile away the hours.”

“He would have been overjoyed when it was finished,” I commented.

“He never really got to see it finished. While he was working on the roof one day he slipped off, bringing down all the tiles with him. He died instantly. But even if he had lived, I don’t think he would have even been able to walk, let alone build a house. That would have destroyed him anyway.”

Michael’s past was strange and terrible, and it had me enthralled. The complexity and meaning to his life story had me longing to know everything about him. But, his past was lucratively deceptive, and my few glimpses I got were always short. It seemed as soon as I asked questions he closed up. It wasn’t a strange thing for me though. In my wild partying ways I had met many people unwilling to talk about their past. Those people seemed to want to forget, while Michael just… didn’t want to remember.

“How did your grandmother take it?” I asked, prodding for more answers; but he closed up again, and just dismissed the question politely.

With that conversation over, we continued to walk around the house. Michael seemed very proud of each intricate detail, and spared no time or effort in explaining the historical significance of each item.

“Now this painting has a very important meaning to my family,” he explained, motioning to a beautiful portrait of the mountain we were on and the surrounding lake.

“And why might that be,” I said, expecting yet another blown out answer which involved artists names and dates which I had no idea about.

“This… Was my very first painting of the area,” he commented, proudly.

“It’s wonderful,” I exclaimed.

The painting suddenly meant more to me than it had when I was first looking at it. I looked back over the last week and saw that Michael had breathed life into the different areas of my existence. Where my life had been just another painting on the wall beforehand, now it was a piece of art, controlled and cared for by a loving artist.

I smiled at the thought. It had been just three days since I first met Michael, and those three days had healed twenty years of damage. I hadn’t had a bad upbringing; in fact I had very good parents that would do anything to keep me safe. But that was the problem, they wrapped me up in cotton wool so that I was never allowed to take risks, or take chances that would help me grow. In many ways I was still a child, no more aware of, or prepared for, the world around me. The world was a dark and terrible place. It offered no hope for losers, no second chances. I had always been given that “one more chance” as a kid. I never was punished for doing wrong. And that led me to believe that I was special. An individual who was higher than the rules. But since I had met Michael, everything had changed.

The two of us kept walking through the indescribably exquisite house. The sheer beauty of the world around me left my normally racing mouth shut. I was awed by each majestic figure: each painting, sculpture and even the rooms themselves were beautifully laid out. So elegant and dainty, so fragile that I was terrified to touch anything as to break the aroma of the air; it even had its own elegance in the smell.

Finally the tour of the mansion came to a close. We were back in the front room, standing near the beautiful staircase when I noticed something strange.

“You know Michael, the incredibleness of this house has put a spell on me,” I said.

“What might that spell entail,” he played, his accent sweetly strung each word.

“Over the last twenty minutes, I actually haven’t been staring at you.”

“I did feel some kind of release,” he laughed.

“But now I have a problem,” I said, playfully.

“What might that be,” he replied.

“I have twenty minutes of staring to get back!”

He laughed then pulled me close to his body. His thick, dark arms held me tightly as I nestled my head into his chest, breathing in his warmth. After a long time, I looked up and pecked him on the mouth before stepping away.

“Is there any food in here, or should we go out and get something,” I asked, politely indicating that I was very hungry.

“Well, this house has been empty for nigh on ten years, so even if there was food, I doubt we should eat it.”

I laughed, “Well then; going out it is. Do you know any good cafes around here?”

He took a moment to think then said, “I think I know the perfect place.”

The two of us left the house and drove down the side of the mountain. The view on the way down was even more spectacular than on the way up. Even Michael seemed to be mesmerised by the beauty of the lake. It was only after he nearly drove us over the edge of that crevice that he decided that paying attention would be crucial. We reached the bottom of the hill and then drove into town.

**/**
 
Back in the attic, I was getting very cold. I’d been shivering for a long time before then though. My emotions were being battered from all sides, as a new and strange view on my past was threatening my structured beliefs. I found it easier to believe that my father was in fact a monster, than try to rationalise his decisions later in life. I could see that he was good at heart, and from what I could hear my mother was very happy around him. Still, why would he run out on me like that? Hopefully it would be explained. But nothing, nothing could explain how he could do that to me. He hurt my mum. She had never dated afterward, never seen another male besides me. It scared me to try and consider what he could have done to make her so terrified of going back into a relationship.

I saw a note written at the beginning of the next section.

**/**

Timothy, the twelve months after these moments were amazing. But I only have a limited time, a consequence of my stupidity, so I have to skip forward. You have heard of how Michael proposed to me, and of our wedding. I have told you these things as a compromise to myself. I have, and always will regret the things I did and didn’t tell you, so I explained those two moments in so much detail that I thought that I would counteract the lies and deceit. The truth is, our wedding day was so insignificant in your life story, and the things I am telling you now are your true history. We continue from four months after our wedding.

The plane was an exciting experience, not because it was a new one, but because I was going home. I had always loved the exhilaration of take off, being pushed back into your seat, looking out the window as the world rushes away from you. And just as you think you can’t go any higher, without spinning off into outer space, the world is instantly consumed by thick white clouds. And almost as quickly as they appeared, the clouds are gone, and you are floating across a thick carpet of white.

I never liked landing as much, going back through the carpet of clouds was almost like waking up from a dream. And the hard crunch as you hit the tarmac was like the alarm clock. Although, hitting the tarmac on that day was more like a homecoming call…

Sydney Airport had always seemed like the centre of the world for me as a kid. I couldn’t believe that anywhere could be busier than that building. But travelling around the world had given me a wider perspective than before, and I almost enjoyed the quick quarantine checks. Michael’s hand in mine we stepped out into the main foyer. My eyes peered around for my parents, who had promised to pick me up. Finally I spotted my mother and father, walking towards us, punctual as usual. My mother’s tiny frame, in her usual black pants and blue, long sleeve shirt, was almost lost in the crowd of chattering foreigners. My dad stood out though, his head high above the rest of the people as he hurried towards me.

I slipped out of Michael’s hand and ran to meet them. As we neared each other my dad held out his hands and I embraced them, he held me close to him for almost a minute. I slipped down to my mother, who had tears running down her face, and I realised that I was crying as well. I just hugged and kissed my mother for minutes on end. Michael had caught up behind me, and was shaking hands with my father. I felt his hand on my back as I broke away from my mother reluctantly. I hadn’t seen them since the wedding, and I had missed them so much.

Michael and I had chosen to stay in Venice for a while after our wedding, to earn a bit more money before coming over to Sydney to start our life together. We had originally planned to wait six months before leaving but I had missed my parents too much, so we were home four months later.

The drive from the airport was full of light chatter, about Venice, about our jobs, about marriage. My parents had been married for thirty years, a time frame I couldn’t have imagined, and I saw them look at each other in a ‘we were like that once,’ way. I just bounced off of Michael, elaborating on all the tiny details, talking about every moment as if it were a year.

Conversation dribbled to a stop though as we neared our new home. We began to drive down a narrow road, with trees lining the edges, casting a thick roof of leaves above us. The car pulled to a halt in front of a small house, almost a cottage. Number Thirty Two Oak Street, our new home. I turned to Michael and let out a girlish squeal, before jumping out of the car.

It was a fairly humble residence, but I loved it. As I ran through the house I began plotting out exactly how it would look. I chose our bedroom, the living room, where I would place all of my precious belongings. And when my mind had everything sorted out, I noticed something very interesting.

“There’s a room left over,” I murmured, looking slyly at Michael.

I’m not the kind of person who wants anything to go to waste, especially not an entire room, so I knew exactly what we would need to get…

“A baby,” Michael sighed, facing me on the other side of our new couch.

“A baby,” I repeated, looking around our living room.

“Money?” he tried to argue with me.

“We have enough savings between the two of us.” I’d done my research.

“Our careers?”

“We have enough savings for me to stop work for two years, and with your new job you’ll be earning twice what we had before.”

“Time together?” He was running out of ideas.

“You just can’t think of reason not to,” I challenged.

“I do want kids, Mel, it’s just… I don’t know if now is the right time. Another couple of years maybe. We can focus on our careers, get some savings up, and be a bit older and wiser. Settle in to our new home”

I gave him my most pleading look, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Later Mel, not now.”

Four weeks later I was pregnant. I danced around the house, yelling out to Michael. He ran out from our room and gave me the biggest hug I’d ever had.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” I shouted.

He just laughed and danced with me. If I’d looked closer I would have seen the apprehension in his eyes.

I can only guess what he was thinking at that point. He’d had everything planned, our life was simple and secure up until that point. Each of my cries of joy was like a nail through his plan. I’d made things complicated, I’d ruined everything. That baby inside of me, while I truly believe that he wanted it, was a serious detour.

Seven of my nine months of pregnancy went very quickly. I held my shape well, or at least that’s what my mother told me, so I was able to work for quite a while into it. I wasn’t upset to leave my job though. The last two months of my pregnancy were slow and dragging. I couldn’t believe the things that were happening to my body. I had always been an active person, not athletic, but I did enjoy walks on the beach and the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Sitting at home all day, by myself, with only terrible daytime television to confide in, drove me almost insane.

I became grouchy, constantly looking to pick a fight. As time went on, Michael learnt to avoid me. He came home later and later every night, so I was seeing less and less of the outside world. Even my mother was avoiding me. I took to living in darkness, lying in my bed, wallowing in my own self pity.

Those days dragged on, but finally the birth came.


Look Timothy. I don’t have the words to express the pains of childbirth. I can’t even begin to explain how it felt, but you know what’s even harder to explain, the joy after you were out. I couldn’t believe the incredible feeling as I held you in my arms. I looked down on this tiny figure in my arms, looked how helpless, how dependant this tiny baby was on me. You were the best thing I could have ever imagined, and you stayed that way the whole way through my life. I hope you knew that, because even when times were tough, you were always my little baby, who I just wanted to hold in my arms forever.

**/**
 
I tried to remember every moment with my mother, fixing them with a point of the history she was telling me. Trying to see those moments when she had held me in her arms. Trying to remember her smell, the sound of her voice, trying to remember the feel of each breath as I lay in her arms, remembering the nights that she stroked my hair as I fell to sleep, remembering the times when she held the tissue for me as I wept. Remembering the times that we had laughed together, cried together, talked together, ran together, hugged each other, fallen asleep together, lived together, ate together, read together, learnt together, loved together, protected each other, been abused together, fought together, won together, lost together, cheered together, made mistakes together, got it right together, dreamt together, failed together, hoped together, submitted together, been hurt together, been healed together, felt bad together, felt good together. Remembering each moment, each second which was so easily taken for granted, just another moment in an insignificant life. Each moment which were now gone forever, just memories which weren’t studied enough.

Finally, the tears that had been welling up in me came out. Weeks and weeks of mourning escaped from me in those few minutes. I dropped the book onto the ground and jut cried and cried. My despair overwhelmed my senses and I just cried out to a nameless figure.

I must have woken my grandfather as his worried figure soon appeared at the top of the stairs. His heart must have broken at the sight of me. He came and lay down next to me, his great, thick arms wrapping around my small body.

“Shhhh… it’s ok… it’s ok…” he whispered to me, but I couldn’t hear him through my wails of agony.

I don’t know whether I had really thought it through before, the fact that I was never going to see my mother again. Never going to experience all of those moments together again. I felt this sense of hopelessness, like there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

My grandfather held me so close to his warm body, that even in the cold of the attic I felt warm to the bone. His tears joined with mine, as we just sat there, holding each other, crying for reasons we couldn’t explain.

But one can only cry for so long, and as the tears began to stop, I wanted to keep reading; I wanted to hear the rest. I turned around to look for the book, and found it in my grandfather’s hands. He passed it to me slowly, and I opened up to the page I was reading.

**/**

I heard from one of the midwives that you didn’t want to get a cute baby. When I questioned them they told me that cute babies were always the naughtiest. From my own experiences, they weren’t wrong. You were an incredibly cute baby, and one of the naughtiest imaginable. You bit when I was feeding you, you took anything you could get your hands on, and you even learnt how to get away with it! But parenthood wasn’t all that we expected, and it was taking its toll on Michael and me. After almost six months, cracks started showing in our defences. The cost to keep a baby in the house was getting more than expected, and even though Michael was making good money, it was going out faster than it came in, and we were struggling to keep up the rent.

Michael’s hours were extended, forcing him to get up very early in the morning. This caused him to be very tired by the end of the day, which caused him to be grouchy and stressed when he got home. He walked into a battlefield, with me trying to cook, clean, and look after the baby. He would often walk in and stub his toe on a toy or piece of clothing which had been left in the walkway. Normally what would follow would be a string of shouted phrases, then a slammed door.

This routine lasted for just over eighteen months, the house we were in never seemed clean, never seemed welcoming. But the family was getting by, and with a careful budget we were lasting off of Michael’s pay cheque.

Timothy, there are times in life that you are going to get a break. There are times in life that you are not going to get a break. There are times in life when you need a break and aren’t going to get one. People say that things always turn out for the better. I don’t know if that’s true, but sometimes that better isn’t going to come for a long time. The world can be a good place, but the world can also be completely unfair, and you’re about to hear a latter example. A warning for you, what you are about to hear is the messy part of our story, and sadly the end of it. I wish that this didn’t have to be the end, that it didn’t have to end sadly. I wish that I could have written on and on forever, talking about our time together, but I have to leave a story for you to write.
**/**
 
Michael worked as a mechanic for a large mining company. When one of their trucks went haywire, they sent it back to him. It was one of the best paying Mechanic jobs in the state. The mining company employed thousands of people, running hundreds of jobs across the country and the world. No one expected it to go bankrupt, especially us. Michael was one of the first costs cut from their budget, and even with the redundancy payments we were facing some serious financial problems.

He got home that evening grief stricken and hopeless. I could tell something was wrong.

“What is it honey,” I said smoothly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Get off of me,” he snarled, shaking my hand off.

“How was work,” I said gently.

“Over,” he replied menacingly.

“Over! What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s over,” he shouted.

“Quiet, you’ll wake Timothy,” I tried to reason.

“I couldn’t care less. There’s going to have to be some changes around here. First, you’re going to have to stop buying clothes.” It was a ridiculous complaint

“Michael, I never buy anything for myself.”

“Of course not. All that make-up sitting in your drawers is for Timothy I suppose.”

“Oh well then! Well maybe the person whose here all by herself all day is allowed just a little bit of self respect?” The argument began to heat up.

“Yeah. But four hundred dollars worth!” he yelled at me.

“Oh. And all of that money you spend on all of those tools which sit out in the shed. Where’s that money going?”

“I’m trying to contribute to the family. Unlike some.”

“Oh, alright. So while you go off and work, who’s back here sitting with Timo--…”

“That’s right. All the hard work that is involved with looking after a child. What’s that they say, it’s the hardest job in the world? Ha! They’ve obviously never worked a day in my life.”

“You take that back,” I threatened.

“No. I’m sick of your sob stories about how Timothy did this. Timothy did that. Timothy is two years old,” he yelled, “and if you can’t look after a two year old, then you’ve got serious problems woman.”

The final word hung in the air. Michael had never called me that before, he was always kind to me, even when we argued. I was never called such a derogatory term.

He could see that he had hurt me, so he tried to comfort me.

“Mel…,” he reached out his hand towards me but I flicked it away.

“Don’t touch me,” I spat out, turning on my heel.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. You, Timothy, just a two year old, was standing in the doorframe silently, just staring at the two of us.

“Mummy,” you whimpered.

“I’m sorry darling,” I said, scooping you up in his arms.

I took one look behind me as I left, just to see Michael standing there, looking lost and hurt.


Michael and I had a few brief words the next morning, trying to forget the events of the previous night. He explained to me about the company, how he was fired. The redundancy payout was going to help a little, but if he didn’t find a job we would lose the house.

Over the next few weeks, Michael went out each day, applying for jobs, doing job interviews, looking for even the slightest of breaks. Nothing ever came though. There was very little work for a Mechanic in the world at that time, as the mining company wasn’t the only one that had to tighten its belt.

It was at this time that Michael took up drinking. His life was battering him from all sides; his career was down the drain, and he wasn’t able to support his family. He felt like a failure to the world, to himself. Alcohol seemed to drown his worries perfectly; it numbed them for a little while, so he could spend a few moments without the pain of life. He couldn’t be reasoned with, every night he’d come home smelling of brandy and scotch.

But alcohol didn’t treat his system well, and he was getting sicker and sicker. The drinking played with his emotions also, turning that once incredibly sweet man into an aggressive, angry human being. His friends turned away from him, no one would hire him. Even his doctor stopped lecturing him on the dangers.

Four months after he lost his job he came to the lowest point. He stumbled in the door after another night at the pub, to see me sitting on our couch looking at him.

“Michael, sit down,” I commanded.

He obeyed, whether out of participation or a lack of a mental state to argue.

“Michael, you have to listen to me. It’s been four months, and I can’t keep this up. I can’t turn a blind eye any more. You have a child to raise, and at the moment, I’m scared what watching you kill yourself is doing to him. We are not going to raise a child on a foundation of cheap booze and unemployment. Timothy deserves better.”

“Why don’t you try living my life?” He managed to put together that sentence.

“Michael, I am living it. Or I’m living the consequences. I love you. I have loved you since the day we met, but I have an obligation as a mother to step in if you aren’t able to.”

“I’m trying my best.”

I shook my head, “Michael, you’re not trying at all. You don’t go to job interviews, you’re at the pub. You’ve gone from being an incredible, sensitive, talented human being, to a drunk in the gutter. This is coming from someone who has stuck around longer than anyone else.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” he looked like he was about to pass out.

“You’re right. You don’t. But if you choose not to, I’ll be gone in a week. You’ve got that much time to show you’ve started working on it.”

“Whatever,” he slurred, before collapsing onto the couch.

**/**

How funny. Adults choose to try and make things better by making it worse. My father had almost instantly gone off the rails, when he could have tried that little bit extra and done even better for himself. He could have gone and done a bit extra, and tried to fix up those problems, studied for a better job even, but he decided the best way to fix the problem would be to drown himself in alcohol.

I was remembering some of those nights, just on the edge of my memories. I would have had no idea about the meaning of those actions.

**/**
 
The next morning I made no mention of the previous night, I just wrote the number seven on the refrigerator. When you asked me what it meant I said, “It’s a last chance countdown,” making sure Michael was within earshot.

The week went on, and Michael continued to come home either drunk or hung-over. Each day I crossed out the previous number, writing the new one, praying that it would be the last. But they never were, and the day that I wrote the one on the board, my hope was minimal.

That night Michael stumbled into the door, as usual. My final hopes were crushed. I had kept you up late, just so that you could hug him one last time. As he stepped in, I watched you run up and throw your arms around him; he gave you a quick squeeze back, and then walked almost through you on his way to the sink. I saw your disappointed face as he threw up.

The next morning I woke you up early. I carried you out of bed, threw a pair of clothes and put you in the car.

I walked back inside, to put a pile of papers on the table. They were the divorce forms. I cried as I quickly put my signature down on them. My marriage had lasted just under three years.

I ran out of the house, throwing my key on the carpet near the door. I promised never to come back. When I reached the car I saw you, asleep in the back seat. I told myself that I would explain it to you when we reached the hotel, which we were staying at before I found a place for us to live. I never told you.

As I drove away from the house I remembered all of the times we spent together: the backstreet in Venice, when I first met Michael; leading me hand in hand to that tiny coffee shop above the water; him kissing me over the table; falling into the water; exploring the markets of Venice; visiting his parents house in the mountains; his proposal; our wedding; quitting my job; moving to Sydney; the cottage; dancing around the house; pregnancy; birth; raising a child. We were always in it together. Through thick and thin. Michael was always there to help me make my decisions. Sadly, he helped me make mine then.

So you and I drove off. Went to the hotel, I got a job working in retail, rented a flat in Melbourne. You started school, I started life. We both grew up way too quickly. The last time I saw Michael was at the court, officially signing his divorce papers. I remember his face, it looked so sad. That night I drove home, put you to bed, and cried and cried. But I moved on, and I guess he did as well.

Life went on.  I worked my way up the ladder of work, got thrown down again and again. We lived. We hurt. We survived, and we were happy most of time. I’ve decided that if I had lived a life with all the riches in the world, and hadn’t have had you with me, there would have been no point living. You gave reason for me to live. This would have been no story if it hadn’t led to something, all stories have a beginning, middle and an end, your life story is just the same.

Everyone has a story. Some begin well, and all their problems come in the middle. Some stories are tales of tragedy, with sad beginnings, terrible hardships, and a dead end finish. Your life is not a tragedy. Your life is an adventure, live every day like there’s no tomorrow, I didn’t and look where it’s got me. This is not the end of your story, this is the start, and you’ve got a long way to go before you come out of the other end shining. I believe in happy endings, no matter what happens in the middle.

I’ve got one adventure which you could do for me, just to start your story. Michael is still alive. He still lives at Thirty Two Oak Street. You will find another note in the envelope.

I saw the note, folded very small lying on the ground. I picked it up and inspected it. I opened it and saw that it was addressed to Michael.


Don’t feel forced to do anything, but I would love it if you would take that note to him. It is explaining my actions, letting him know what has happened since I left.

I looked at my grandfather, who had just read what my mother was asking me to do. I studied his face, looking for permission to see my dad.

My grandfather looked at me and nodded.

The next day we started packing…

Like I said, we both made mistakes. And it was unfair of me to shut you out of his life like that, as it was cruel for him to be shut out of yours.

I expected the plane to bring back bad memories, but the thought of completing one last task for my mother made me feel hopeful. The takeoff and landing were so much more interesting if I imagined myself in my mother’s shoes, and it did feel like going home…

Time is short, and while this is the way I would love to spend my final moment, I must leave. Remember this Timothy, live every day fully. Make every single moment count, so that you can remember it even when you are old and can tell it to your kids.

Sydney Airport looked different since I had seen my mother describe it. I looked upon it with the same sense she had, each moment trying to imagine it as calm and easy. I’d been through Heathrow Airport, and I still thought that this was fairly busy. Still, I walked through the different quarantine areas calmly, trying to hide the incredible excitement that was welling up inside of me.

Think things through; make sure you spend your life with the right person. I wish I had done more with my life. I loved Michael, but sometimes love isn’t enough.

Conversation was slow the entire drive 

One last thing, Timothy.

We stopped in front of number thirty two. The garden was strangely neat and tidy, compared to what I would have expected. But that was my old knowledge talking, I now knew so much more.

Always remember

I walked past the white picket fence at the front of the property, up the narrow stone path. The note felt heavy in my hand as I stood up to the door. As I stood up to whatever lay in store.

That no matter what happens

I knocked sharply on the rough wood, like I thought my mother would have. I waited a few seconds and the door began to open slowly. I looked up smiling.

I love you.

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