†
LUKE
Voices and music carry over the warm afternoon air from the backyard of my mom’s house. It’s the end of the summer and this will probably be the last cookout of the season.
I sit on the front steps and sigh as I’m finally alone. My family has been worried about me and I know I’ve given them reason but it’s almost as exhausting to have them all hovering. Thank God for Seven.
Just the thought of my girl brings a smile to my face.
Her love and patience have been a balm to my ragged soul. As the days pass and I love her deeper still, I can feel the wounds in my heart starting to heal.
She has moved in completely and my living room has become her office. My apartment never seemed small before but now that we’re both living and working from the same space, it suddenly feels microscopic. My brothers know more about real estate than I do so they’ve been keeping an eye out for property we might want to buy. Just a few months ago the idea of buying land and living with someone would have freaked me out but now I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Seven’s laughter carries over the sound of the music. I was worried that after years alone that she’d think it was weird to spend so much time with my mom or resent having to entertain my grandpop and my overly friendly uncles. But she fit right in from the very first time she met everyone. I think they get along better with her sometimes than with me!
A delivery truck pulls up to the curb and the driver jumps out. Whistling, he makes his way up the driveway, a parcel in his hand.
“Luke Marshall?” he asks.
I stand. “That’s me.”
He holds out his clipboard for me to sign and then once I’m done, hands me the large padded envelope. “Have a great day!”
I don’t respond, my mind already on the contents of the envelope. Not just on the contents but on the fact that it was delivered here. I haven’t gotten mail at my mom’s place in ages. I don’t recognize the sender but when I rip it open, I immediately recognize the distinctive blue paper inside. With trembling hands, I unfold the letter. It’s dated over a month ago.
Dear Luke,
Writing this letter is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I feel that in death a man should be able to set things right. Though nothing can ever atone for the things I’ve done, I want to try. I’ll start with an apology.
I am truly sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.
Your mother is a beautiful, strong, spirited woman and I loved her even though I had no right to. She has raised you to be a man of integrity and honor. Because of this I know that you will be looking back on our last interaction with sadness or even guilt. But any guilt you have, I ask now that you let it go.
My son, things happen the way they are meant to. I could never be angry with you for anything. I’ve watched you grow from afar these many years and I hope one day, perhaps when you have children of your own, that you can understand a fraction of how much I’ve loved you. Or that you’ll at least be able to look back and remember me without anger.
So many emotions bounce around inside of me as I read my father’s final words. Guilt, sadness, shame, weakness. I’ve been eaten up by guilt and self-recrimination but I see now that Max wouldn’t have wanted that. He had his faults but he wanted me to be happy. My heart lighter, I pick up reading where I left off.
What I wish most is for you to go forward with the knowledge that I am at peace. That’s all a man can ask for in this life though I do have one final request.
Live. Live well. For life only happens once.
And now I leave you my son with a bit of Irish wisdom.
Go bhfana í ngrá linn,
Iad siúd atá í ngrá linn.
Iad siúd nach bhfuil,
Go gcasa Dia a gcroíthe.
Agus muna gcasann Sé a gcroíthe
Go gcasa Sé caol na coise acu
Go n-aithneoimid iad as a mbacadaíl.
May those who love us,
Love us.
And those who do not love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles,
So we'll know them by their limping.
With love,
Maxwell Marshall
While I was on the verge of embarrassing myself by crying right here in the open when I read the last stanza, I burst into laughter. The sound rolls through me, erasing weeks of guilt and doubt.
“You always have to get the last word, don’t you?” I look up to the sky as I ask the question. Who knows, maybe he can hear me.
It’s too late for us to have a relationship but it’s not too late for me to heed his advice. That’s the ultimate way to honor my father’s legacy. Despite his faults, he sacrificed quite a bit so that we could live free from the burdens of his past. To give us a life that was our own.
The least I can do is live that life to the fullest.
“What are you doing sitting out here, sweetie? You’d better get back in there before your Uncle Eddie eats all of that apple pie.”
My mom comes out of the front door and then lowers herself to the step beside me.
Without a word, I hand her the letter. She reads it silently, stopping halfway through to wipe away tears. She folds it carefully and hands it back.
“He was always a good man underneath. Troubled but a good man. I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about that.”
I turn to look at her. When I was too young to know better, I used to ask about my father all the time. But once I was old enough to understand I avoided any mention of him, wanting to spare her embarrassment or pain. But now with a little distance, I wonder if that was a mistake. Maybe I would have understood him better, and her better, too if I’d asked a few more questions. Or at least tried to understand what drew them together in the first place instead of just casting Max as a villain without a care.
“How did you do it, Mom? Over the years, you never made me feel like I was a burden even though I know it had to have been hard. I was a constant reminder of him.”
She puts her arm around my shoulders. “It was hard but it was never a burden. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re not a reminder of your father. You’re a gift.”
“I can only hope to be half the parent you were one day. But you set the bar awfully high.”
She smiles, delighted. “Oh sweetheart. I can’t wait for that day either. Speaking of babies …”
“Here we go.” I chuckle at my own stupidity for even giving her the opening. She’s been hinting rather heavily lately that I should make sure Seven knows how much I respect her and that I don’t just want to live in sin as she calls it. I didn’t want to tell her that Sev and I are both quite enjoying living in sin. And sinning as often as we can.
“That sweet girl is mighty worried about you. I am, too.”