“So if that’s love?” He laughs darkly again, “…then yeah, my first eight fucking years of my life, I was loved like you wouldn’t fucking believe.” He walks up to me, and even through the darkness I can feel the anger, the despair, the grief that’s running rampant through his body. He looks down for a beat, and I watch the tears falling from his face darken the white concrete below. He shakes his head once more, and when he looks up, the resignation in his eyes, the shame that edges it, devastates me. “So when I ask why I’m confused about how I can feel anything other than hatred to know she’s dead? That’s why, Rylee,” he says so quietly I strain to hear him.
I don’t know what to say. Don’t know what to do, because every single part of me has just shattered and crashed down around me. I’ve heard it all in my job, but to hear it from a grown man broken, lost, forlorn, burdened with the weight of shame over an entire lifetime, a man I would give my heart and soul to if I knew it would take away the pain and memories, leaves me at a complete loss.
And in the split second it takes me to think all of this, it hits Colton what he’s just said. The adrenaline from his confession abates. His shoulders begin to shake and his legs give out as he crumbles to the bench behind him. In the heartbeat of time it takes me to get to him, he is sobbing into his hands. Heart wrenching, soul cleansing sobs that rack through his entire body as, “Oh my God!” falls from his lips over and over again.
I wrap my arms around him feeling completely helpless but not wanting to let go, never wanting to let go. “It’s okay, Colton. It’s okay,” I repeat over and over in between his repeated words, my tears falling onto his shoulders as I hold tight letting him know that no matter how far he falls, I’ll catch him.
I’ll always catch him.
I try to hold back the sobs racking through my body but it’s no use. There’s nothing left for me to do but feel with him, grieve with him, mourn with him. And so we sit like this in the dark, me holding onto him, and him letting go in a place that’s always brought him peace.
I just pray that this time the peace will find some permanence in his scarred soul.
Our tears subside but he just keeps his head in his hands, eyes squeezed tight, and so many emotions stripping him straight to the core. I want him to take the lead here, need him to let me know how to help him so I just sit quietly.
“I’ve never … I’ve never said those words out loud before,” he says, voice hoarse from crying and eyes focused on his fidgeting fingers. “I’ve never told anyone,” he whispers. “I guess I thought that if I said it, then … I don’t know what I thought would happen.”
“Colton,” I say his name as I try to figure out what to say next. I need to see his eyes, need for him to see mine. “Colton, look at me please,” I say as gently as possible, and he just shakes his head back and forth like a little kid afraid of getting in trouble.
I allow him time, allow him to hide in the silence and darkness of the night, my thoughts consumed with pain for this man I love so very dearly. I close my eyes, trying to process it all, when I hear him whisper the one line I’d never expect in this moment.
“Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.”
And it hits me like a ton of bricks. What he’s trying to tell me with the simple, whispered statement. My heart falls and my head screams. “No, no, no, no!”
I drop to my knees in front of him, reaching out my hands to the side of his face and direct it up so that his eyes can meet mine. And I cringe when he flinches at my touch. He’s petrified to take this first step toward healing. Scared of what I think of him now that I know his secrets. Worried about what kind of man I perceive him to be, because in his eyes, he allowed this to happen to him. He’s ashamed I’ll judge him based on the scars that still rule his mind, body, and soul.
And he couldn’t be any further from the truth.
I sit and wait patiently, my fingers trembling on his cheeks for some time until green eyes flicker up and look at me with a pain I can’t imagine reflected in them.
“There are so many things I want and need to say to you right now … so many things,” I say, allowing my voice to tremble, my tears to fall, and goose bumps to blanket my entire body, “that I want to say to the little boy that you were and to the incredible man you are.” He forces a swallow as his muscle in his jaw tics, trying to rein back the tears pooling in his eyes. I see fear mixed with disbelief in them.
And I also see hope. It’s just beneath the surface waiting for the chance to feel safe, to feel protected, to feel loved for it to spring to life, but it’s there.
I am in awe of the vulnerability he is entrusting me with, because I can’t imagine how hard it is to open yourself up when all you’ve ever known is pain. I rub my thumb over his cheek and bottom lip as he stares at me, and I find the words I need to convey the truth he needs to hear.
“Colton Donavan, this is not your fault. If you hear one thing I tell you, please let it be this. You’ve carried this around with you for so long and I need you to hear me tell you that nothing you did as a child, or as a man, deserved what happened to you.” His eyes widen and he turns his body some, opens up his protective posture, and I’m hoping it’s a reflection of how he feels with me. That he’s listening, understanding, hearing. Because there are so many things I’ve wanted to say to him for so long about things I’d assumed, and now I know. Now I can express them.