The Light in the Wound (42 page)

“Oh, Alex,” I wept, “please forgive me. I’ll spend my whole life showing you how much I love and want only you. Take me, please. Fill me up. I’m so empty without you.”

He kissed me. He poured his heart into my mouth, and I willingly accepted whatever it was he so generously shared with me. He pulled the straps of my dress down to reveal my breasts. I didn’t care that we were outside. I held them out to him and urged him to take them in.

“My beautiful baby,” he groaned. “I love you so much.”

I pressed my weight against him and held him to me as he nipped and pulled and sucked. “Alex, I want you deep inside me,” I begged as I pulled my panties to one side, reached into his sweatpants, rubbed myself against him and sunk him into me. He used his hands to move me on top of him, up and down, side to side. I threw my head back and closed my eyes.

This.

A few seconds later, he gently lifted me up and laid me on the ground, then continued to drive himself in, harder, rougher, more forcefully. He placed his arms behind me to cushion me from the coarse brick surface.

“Open your eyes, Isa, look at me,” he gruffly commanded.

I opened them up to the most arresting blue I had ever seen.

“Who do you see?” He plunged into me.

“You,” I whimpered, never leaving his gaze. “I see you.”

He shoved himself into me again as he repeated those three words. I was in ecstasy, seconds away from coming undone. One word, one thrust.

“Who. Do. You. See?”

“Oh god, Alex. You! I see you! Only you!” I exclaimed.

He let out a guttural sound as we both shook uncontrollably and found our release simultaneously. “Take me baby,” he said, “take all I have, I’m yours!”

Two months after our wedding, we packed up and left against our parents’ wishes. Alex quit his lucrative job with his dad, despite his family’s protests. I think he knew that getting me out of there was the only way our marriage stood a fighting chance. Chalk it up to naivety, but somehow we thought we would have the same jobs we had after college and that settling in as a family was going to be a breeze. Well, it wasn’t. We found ourselves with many interviews for work that stretched into nothing but false prospects. I took a job as a copy girl at a large law firm and studied at night for the board exams. Alex stayed with Eddie most of the time and worked nights on the computer doing some medical billing for a doctor’s office down the street.

For the first time in our lives, money wasn’t a given, we had to work for it like everybody else. Gone were the days of designer outfits, fancy cars and a non-existent budget. But it made us stronger. We had each other, and we didn’t need anything else. Our one bedroom apartment, as sparsely decorated as it had been, was a home filled with much love and harmony.

I knew that I had to truly fall in love with Alex. For our sake and the sake of our baby. It has taken a while for me to see that amidst all of the love Alex has given me and our child all these years, I fell in love with him more and more every day. When I told him I was pregnant with our child, when he changed the first diaper, when he took Eddie fishing or sledding or when he watched him all day and night as I was studying to get my license. Our years together were filled with many trials, as newlywed couples must all experience. Moving to a foreign country made it ten times more difficult. Pretty soon, we were stuck in the conundrum of life consisting of a baby and daycare and work and overtime. With perseverance through the hard times, our careers began to flourish. We were able to buy our dream house and had the luxury of spending more time together. Evie thinks I am overly protective of Eddie, always making sure that he’s in a healthy and happy environment. I guess it’s part of who I’ve become and what I’ve resolved to do.

Alex and I visited my mother a few times before Eddie was born and we established a relaxed and easy relationship. By this time, she was with her sixth husband, a younger man whose intentions we couldn’t figure out. But she loved him. They danced together; they traveled together. She gave him everything he could ever want.

A few years after we were married, my grandfather passed away. With his passing came the most devastating tempest that ripped our family apart — the provisions of his will. My mother was part of the maelstrom that began when he purposely left half to her children, knowing that she wasn’t stable enough to pass it on to us. There were legal battles that convinced me to cut the ties with her completely. She was angry that my grandfather had decided to bypass her right as his child, and she took out all of her anger on me. There was lawsuit after lawsuit and legal demand letters to return what I had inherited were filling up my mailbox every single day. Someone told me that it wasn’t my mother that was orchestrating this fight. But once again, the familiar pain of her prioritizing the men in her life over her children was all too recognizable and debilitating to me. I felt like I died the very day I decided to stop all communication with her. As months passed, I missed her with such a deep longing — I could swear that the pain had translated way beyond emotional to something blatant and tangible. Her birthday, Mother’s Day, all the other holidays … for the first few years, I would find myself buying cards that sat on my desk for a few days and then eventually found themselves in the gift wrapping drawer. But as with everything else, things got easier with time. Soon enough, the constant thought and yearning for her faded away until it became nothing but a dull and permanent void. The sad thing is that I would’ve forgiven her in a heartbeat if only one of us had reached out to the other.

One night long ago, during my struggling period with Alex, I received a call I will never forget.

“Hello?” I answered, thinking it was my husband informing me of a late night at the office.

“Issy. I can’t do this. It’s still you. Do you think of me, Issy?” His words were slow and deliberate.

“Yes, I do.”

And just like that the phone went dead.

I honestly think that it was divine intervention that night that made Jesse hang up the phone. At my lowest point, I think I would have blindly run away with him if he had asked me to. I was misinterpreting my regret about our decision to move away as a reflection of my marriage. My marriage was as good as it could be. I had so much love with Alex. Jesse was the hot flame that torched my heart, while Alex is the ever-glowing coal that keeps the fire burning, steady and unwavering. I just had to get out of this rut and find myself. And that’s exactly what I did.

Ten long years and many promotions later, I finally made it. I had a career, I had friends, I had hobbies, and I had a life. Most importantly, the man who patiently waited while I pieced myself back together, finally and irrevocably owned every single part of my heart.

We found out that my mother was very ill about six months ago. She was diagnosed with Pulmonary Hypertension, a fatal disease caused by high blood pressure and an overworked heart. The doctors gave her a year to live after an assessment was made on the state of her arteries. They said that the drugs she had been taking all her life had simply tired it out. She was in and out of the hospital but would always end up at home after staying for a day or two. Alicia said she had an oxygen tank by her bed and could no longer exert much effort without getting out of breath. During this time, my mother’s siblings would visit her, have lunch with her, and stay for hours just talking and reminiscing about their childhood. My mother was making peace with herself and the people she loved. She knew she was running out of time.

We are coming home for the first time in ten years and I’m ready to embrace it. The memories, the pain and the much-needed closure. I want to feel the love I had for her all over again, I want to mourn her and remember her. I want her to know that everything I am is because of her. I want her to be proud of me just as I am proud of her. I’m satisfied that she tried her best to be a good mother. Sometimes in life you don’t even get that much. I’m lucky that I did.

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

—Khalil Gibran

We take the car to the memorial home, where the final service before internment concluded hours ago. It’s late at night and only my sisters are here. They’ve been sitting in silence, waiting for me. The memorial chapel is quiet; there are candles everywhere. In the middle of the room is a large crucifix, suspended so gracefully in the air. There are all kinds of flowers, all shapes and sizes. You can tell the ones from important people — the President of the country, some senators and government officials — white tulips and orchids with obnoxiously large sashes or bows. At the foot of the crucifix, is a square shaped urn. It is a beautiful pink marble urn resting on top of a gold stand and surrounded by pictures. Alex, Eddie and I walk in and my sisters turn around. They don’t rush to embrace me. They look at me with worried eyes. I know they think I’m going to break down, but I don’t.

I calmly take a seat on the couch right between Evie and Grace. Alicia is now somewhere in the kitchen instructing the servants to start putting away the food. We are holding hands and just sitting. Not a word has been exchanged since I arrived. Alex and Eddie take a seat in one of the pews in the back. They are kneeling down, praying in silence. My Alex always gives me the space I need.