Discovering Stella (42 page)

Hearing the sound of a piano key
twang,
I refocussed
my
attention back
on
Stella, who was beautifully illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight.
She
looked gorgeous, and
it
was safe to say she took
my
breath
away,
because I actually choked and coughed like a
tosser.

“You
all
right?” she called
out,
shading
her
eyes
as
she squinted in
my
direction.

“Yeah,
I’m
fine. Just swallowed
wrong.”
Just swallowed wrong?
What the fuck, Drake?

“Oh,
okay then.
You
do know that
you
learn
how
to swallow in the
womb,
right?” she stated with a cocky smile.

I shook
my
head,
not
that she could see it.
“Play,
Princess.”

Stella smiled then closed
her
eyes, appearing to compose
her
self
as
she sucked in a deep breath and then let
it
out
as
she simultaneously pressed the opening notes of the song.
She
was a truly talented musician.
Not
that I was a professional in the field
or
anything,
but
her
skills
on
the piano were faultless, and
her
voice,
well
...
her
voice
possessed a power to stop me in
my
tracks and focus solely
on
its existence, which is what I did when she sang the opening lyrics.

Instantly, she had transported herself
into
her
own musical
world,
which was such a delight to watch. The
emotion,
the presence
...
the way she
told
you
a story without
you
realising there was a story to be
told.
That was what Stella did when she performed.

Completely mesmerising me with
her
heartfelt message to
her
husband, she sang of his presence still lingering and that
it
wouldn’t
leave
her
alone, and I knew
how
true those lyrics really were. Until she was able to say goodbye, his presence would always linger and haunt
her
because of the pain she refused to let go.
She
sang about the pain being real, and
her
wounds
not
being able to heal, because what had happened was too great
for
time to just erase.

The truth in
her
message and the way she sang
it
with every
fibre
in
her
being hit me just
as
hard
as
the day I was informed that Mum was terminally ill.
All
the
emotion
and pain I’d experienced that day resurfaced and brought a tear to
my
eye. Shocked, I wiped
it
away
quickly, but
another soon replaced it.

Shit!

Silently fighting
my
battle with being a sooky la-la, I waved the white flag and surrendered to the tears.
Stella’s
sheer
will
and determination was just too much.
Her
face was poised,
but
damp with
her
own outpouring,
as
she continued singing about having no choice in being bound to the life that Tristan had left behind, at which
point
she finally lost
her
composure and
broke
down. I stood
up,
but
then paused when she persisted through the song, once
again
finding
her
self-control.
She
fucking
amazed
me. Outright fucking blew me
away.
And what else blew me away was
how,
with every
note
she played and every lyric she sang to the closing of the song, the sense of achievement she
must’ve
been feeling began radiating from
her
like a beacon.

Standing there frozen
as
she pressed the final
note
on
the piano, I wiped the
couple
of tears that had fallen
on my
cheeks.

Truth
be
told, my
vision was blurred, so I blinked through the few that still teetered
on
the edge
of
my
lids, which was when I truly discovered the woman before me. I discovered a woman who had been held captive in
her
own prison, a woman who had fought through the hell that was captive with
her,
and a woman who was the bravest person I had ever known.
As
I slowly made
my
way toward
her,
I discovered the
love
of
my
life.

I discovered Stella
.

Pain. Physical
or
psychological. Which of the two hurts the most? Is
it
possible
for one
to hurt
more
than
the
other,
or
are both just
as
debilitating? Physical pain is instant, brutal and uncamouflaged.
It’s
bold and undeniable, often leaving a visible scar, a reminder and
trophy
of
sorts of the damage caused. Psychological pain is
one
that festers within, bridled, yet just
as
potent.
It
is a wolf in
sheep’s
clothing, slowly chipping away at a
person’s
soul, without visibility. Both forms of pain have the capacity to bring a person to his
or
her
knees, destroy their faith and
render
them no
more. But
when the two collide, merge, unite in a common cause, the effects
can
be catastrophic.

My
body was currently experiencing both forms of pain
as
I took
slow,
tedious steps across the cemetery lawn in the direction of
my
late husband and
daughter’s
final resting place. I had been avoiding this
moment,
running from reality and pretending that
it
didn’t
exist.
Yet
deep down, I knew this time would come,
for
some
things
are just inevitable. I’d been
trying
to escape the inescapable by burying the horrific reality I was handed in
an
untouched grave — the
grave’s
location deep within
my
body.

But not
any
more. Not
today.

The wind lashed
my
skin with each step I took, leaving
an
icy sting. The leaves cried
out
when I pressed them
into
the
earth.
I
couldn’t
look
up.
I refused
to,
instead focussing
on
the black leather of
my
boots and the grass and the gravel that filled
my
vision.
My
nails dug
into
the palms of
my
hands
as
I clenched
my
fists, nerves and
apprehension
blanketing me. The pain of
my
biting fingernails was welcome, providing a microscopic distraction from what was to come in
mere
seconds.
But
it
was microscopic
...
the pounding of
my
heart overpowered
all
else and reminded me why I’d run, why I’d fled
my
previous life and why
it
was so difficult to return. Returning meant facing what had happened
...
what I’d suffered.

Returning
meant closure, which, up
until six
months
ago,
I’d
never
thought
possible.
Six
months
ago,
I’d escaped and
reinvented
myself.
I’d left
my
previous
life and started a new
one
—
one
that
unintentionally included
the man standing
beside me.
Lawson
Drake:
my
toad,
my
prince
...
my
knight in shining
armour.
With
out
him and his
sheer determination
to rescue me from
myself,
I
wouldn’t
be standing
where
I was,
looking
down
at
the
gravestones
of my husband
and
daughter
for
the very first
time.

Lowering to
my
knees, I reached forward and traced
my
fingers along the letters:
Q U I N
N
,
desperate to touch
her,
feel
her.
But
the marble beneath
my
fingertips was cold and had me jerking back
my
hand.

“I
can’t,”
I said, standing
up.

Lawson took
my
hand in his and
lowered
himself to the ground beside
Quinn’s
grave, directing me to
sit on
his lap.
He
then guided
my
hand back to
her
name and placed
it
over
the letters, placing his hand
on top
of mine.

I gasped, strangled
for
air at finally being close to
my
baby girl once again.
“Quinn,”
I sobbed, leaning in and pressing
my
cheek to
her
headstone.
“Mummy
loves you, and
I’m
sorry
for
being away
for
so
long. But
I’m
here
now.
I’m
here,
my
angel, and I promise I’ll never stay away
for long
ever again.”

Crying, I embraced
my
daughter in the only way I knew
how,
the only way life said I could. I conveyed everything in those
moments
that I would have conveyed
on
the day
of
her
funeral. I said I
loved
her,
missed
her,
was so
very,
very
proud
of
her
and treasured the time we’d
spent
together. I said I would always think about
her
and promised to never
again
bury
her
memory.
But
most of all, I said I was
sorry.
Sorry that she was taken so
soon,
that
her
time with me was so short, and that I never got to hear
her
say the
word
“Mum”.
And then I sang
her
a lullaby and
told
her
it
was time to
sleep.

Standing
up,
I reached
my
hands down to Lawson and pulled him to his feet beside me. “Thank you. I
can’t
tell
you
how
much
you
being in
my
life means to
me,”
I said, wrapping
my
arms around his chest.

“You
don’t
have
to,”
he replied, kissing the
top
of
my
head. “I’ll give
you
a few
moments
to say what
you
need to say to
Tristan.”
He
pulled
away, slowly.
“I’ll just be
over
there by that
tree.”

I nodded and watched him
walk
away before turning to read the inscription
on
Tristan’s
headstone:

Here
lies Tristan David Munroe

08/12/1985–13/09/2013

Loving father of Quinn Estelle Munroe

Devoted husband to Estelle Louisa Munroe

A moment in time can never be rewound.

A
man’s
love for his family will always stay bound.

“Damn you,
Tristan,”
I whispered, choking
on
a
sob.
“Damn
you
for
being so
stupid.”
Kneeling down, I touched the inscription that
told
of him being a devoted husband.
“You
were devoted in every way and
loved
me
as
much
as
one
possibly could. I
can’t
deny that,”
I admitted,
more
to myself
than
him.

Releasing a pained sigh, I continued.
“I
...
I miss you. I miss
you
and Quinn so much
it
hurts. I miss our mornings in bed with Quinn lying between us, and
how you’d
make
her
giggle when
you
played peekaboo. I miss watching
you
rock
her
to sleep in your arms, and hearing
you
through the baby
monitor
telling
her
that she and Mummy are your entire universe. Damn you,
Tristan,”
I cried, this time releasing
some
of the anger within.

Closing
my
eyes and regulating
my
breathing, I reminded myself that
all
my
emotions were allowed to escape, and that each of them played a part in dealing with
my
loss. “That fate
ful
day
can’t
be rewritten. I know that. I also know that if
it
could,
you
would do everything within your power to change what happened. So
I’m
sorry.
I’m
sorry that
you
can’t
do that.
I’m
sorry that
one
lapse in
judgment
resulted in
you
losing your life and
taking
our
daughter’s
along with you.
I’m
sorry,
Tristan.”
Reaching
into my
pocket, I pulled
out my
wedding and engagement rings and then dug two shallow holes,
one
above
Quinn’s
grave and another above
Tristan’s.
I dropped
my
engage
ment
ring
into
the
hole for
Quinn and covered
it
over.
“Here
you
go, baby girl. I always promised to give
you
this
one
day.”
I then dropped
my
wedding ring in the
hole for
Tristan and covered
it
up,
too.
“And
I want
you
to have this. Look after
it for
me, and look after our little
angel,”
I said, kissing
my
fingertips and placing kisses
on
both their headstones.
“I
love
you
both and I always will. See
you
next
time.”

Standing
up,
I turned around and found Lawson waiting patiently under the tree just
as
he’d said he would. Seeing him there made me smile.
It
also gave me a sense of gratitude and hope. Life was funny like that
...
there was a
lot
of give and take, a
lot
of up and down, of doors opening and closing, of loss and of things found. And
that’s
exactly what
my
life thus far had been. I had lost so
severely,
lost everything I’d held dear.
But
then, after much time had passed, I’d found a man who
not
only fixed
my
stupid
car, he fixed
my broken
and
tormented
heart.
He
discovered
my
almost extinguished light.

He
discovered Stella.