One to Remember....

Rachel

2008

Imagine you are walking down a long hallway with doors on either side of you. None of them are locked, and if you so choose, you can walk right into any number of them. But something in your sub-concience pulls at you. What's so great about whatever lurks behind those doors anyways? The hallway is safe and comfortable. The hallway is predictable. Perhaps once in a while you place your hand on a doorknob to show yourself that you could enter the room if you really wanted to. If you're feeling particularly brave, you press your ear to the door to listen to the muffled sounds coming from the other side. Although you can't make out any of the conversation, the words, or rather the rhythm of the words, sound all too familiar. There is a sense that in some other world, or some other lifetime, all of the doors once stood wide open. That there was, at one tine, a unity between the hallway and whatever lived behind the doors. Sometimes you feel that you have no other choice but to venture into one of the rooms, but you resist, each time with a little more difficulty than the last. Sooner or later you know you will be unable to ignore the urge; that you will put an end to all of it once and for all. But what is it that makes you resist so hard? Is it the fear of the unknown? For no reason at all, you believe you are likely to find monsters inside each room. Monsters that have the ability to render you powerless. But is it really the monsters you fear? Perhaps it is the idea that you may become locked inside one of the rooms, unable to leave, just like you have become out here in this hallway. So with nothing else left to ponder, you walk up to one of the doors and place your hand on the doorknob; this time rotating your wrist. You pull the door open; resolved not to close your eyes no matter what you find. Immediately your fears are confirmed. The monsters have been waiting. You take a deep breath and step inside.

Much like the hallway, I had become trapped inside a small confined area of my mind. This area provided me with all of the safe and predictable memories. All of the others (the ones with monsters in them) had been placed into their own rooms, not locked away, but out of sight just the same. By doing so, complete chapters in my life had seemingly disappeared. I knew where to find them if I really wanted to. It would be as simple as walking into another room. But I knew that by doing so, I had to face down whatever lived behind each door. For months I lived with my hand on the doorknob. Frozen in place for fear of moving forward. Sometimes you need help turning that doorknob; and that's not a bad thing. It just means that someone cares enough about you to face the monsters together. In April, 2008, my sister, Jane, did just that. During a road trip from Atlanta to Tennessee, she and I discussed random things; a new song one of us had heard, which new movie we wanted to see, funny memories from our time spent in foster care (along with the many not so funny memories), but mostly we talked about family members and our opinions regarding their current circumstances. Sometimes we drove in complete silence, taking in the views of the mountain ranges as we neared the Tennessee line. It was during one of these silences that Jane, seemingly out of nowhere, asked me if I remembered anything our parents had done to Rachel. It was the first time any of us had ever spoken of it. With that one simple question, Jane had placed her hand over mine and turned the doorknob for me. Just like that, all of the things I was never allowed to acknowledge came flooding out of me. The violence, the lies, the coverups. Like a broken dam, I could no longer hold it all back. It was horrifying, it was painful, it was beautiful.

By the fall of 2008, I had been married to my wife, Renee, for four years. A young marriage is hardly equipped to bear the weight from a lifetime of lies and grief. It almost seems unfair to ask someone to partner you in such an endeavor. I'm not sure many are up for the task. I must say that I am a very lucky man to have found someone who knew when to hold me when I needed to cry, and kick me into shape when I needed to try harder. That's why I love her- she only puts up with my bullshit when it is legitimate. Over the summer, Renee encouraged me to see a therapist- we'll call her Dr. Goldberg. Unfortunately, I do not make a very good patient. I have spent the majority of my life convincing myself that I am okay, when I am not. Couple that with my ability to read people (which I think I do rather well) and you have a dangerous concoction. I am not a therapist, nor do I ever want to be. But I feel as if my sessions consisted more of me leading Dr. Goldberg to her "conclusions" rather than her realizing what my true issues were. I didn't do it on purpose. I wanted to get as much out of the therapy sessions as I could. Nevertheless, by the end of summer, Dr. Goldberg concluded that I was doing just fine, and that I did not need therapy after all. What I did get out of therapy was the idea that I could contact Rachel again. Of course the idea had been there all along, but in my mind I needed to work on myself for a while (perhaps years even) before I was ready to reunite. Dr. Goldberg saw it a different way. Her suggestion that my life didn't have to be perfect before moving on sat in my mind for a few months. I like to move slow and let things mellow; others call this procrastination. Little did I know, Renee, the one who always knows what I need before I do, was already searching for Rachel on the internet. That December, she found her.

Much like the time I stood before that door with my hand on the doorknob, I could have waited for ages to contact Rachel. But this time I was never alone to begin with. Renee was right by my side. She kept me grounded in reality, debunked all of my fears, and held my hand as I walked through the door. My initial contact with Rachel was via email. It was short and concise. I told her that I would like to speak to her and that if she didn't want to speak to me I would understand. It wasn't very long before I received a response. She was ecstatic to hear from me.

A couple of weeks later, right before Christmas, Renee and I drove to Tennessee. It was strange going back to my old hometown, back to where it all began. We were anxiously waiting in the overflow parking lot of some car dealership. It was after hours and we were the only vehicle on the lot that wasn't for sale. We examined each car that passed by on the busy street below. Even though Rachel had described what type of vehicle she drove, I couldn't help but to watch each one that passed by in anticipation. After what seemed like hours, a maroon SUV pulled onto the gravel lot and parked next to mine. Through the dark window tint I could faintly make out a silhouette in the driver's seat and one of a child, my niece, in the backseat.

"Are you ready for this?" Renee asked.

I just looked at her and shrugged. For years I had wondered if I would ever see Rachel again, always thinking that it was only a possibility in some alternate reality; that real life never reconciled itself in such ways. Now, after all of this time, here we were, just a few feet away from each other. Ready or not, the moment I had dreamed of was here; no turning back now. Standing outside of my car I felt as if I had been granted a second chance. My future no longer seemed burdened with my parent's expectations. No matter what happened from this point on I had been given something that I would keep forever; something that had been stolen from me a very long time ago- truth. However cliche it may be, there is profound meaning in the saying "the truth will set you free". The truth that my parents worked so hard to keep from me, the truth that I fought to hold onto. The truth was what drove me to this moment, standing in the empty parking lot, waiting to reunite with my oldest sister. As she climbed out and made her way around the back of her vehicle, I could feel the weight begin to melt off of my shoulders as the lies I had believed for so long began to fade away. I hadn't failed my parents, my parents had failed me. What happened to Rachel was not my fault. Nothing I did or could have ever done would have made the situation any different. My parents were paying the price for their actions, and Rachel had survived it all, despite their best efforts. After all of the pain and rejection, she held onto the truth. The truth that she was worth more than the lies they told us. That there was a world out there just waiting to be found; that life itself is a gift and it could be amazing. That through all of the pain and sadness there was still something worth living for. After so many years, there she was, my big sister. As if it had only been twelve minutes instead of twelve years. With arms open wide she approached me for an embrace. She was smiling.