What Ifs

Unanswered questions are the worst questions, I feel it’s better to know than to wonder. Sometimes the truth hurts but in the end it’s better to know than to not. Things that hurt, often teach lessons, and every setback has a breakthrough. In my life, there have been many questions I’ve asked and thought to myself after, “Hmm, why did you even want to know Olivia?”, but in the end after time passes I’d realize that even the most pointless questions have some sort of benefit. Sometimes in life we need to hear things we don’t want to, sometimes the right answer is the wrong one.I had a pretty rough childhood, I’ve known from a young age I was going to move out early… but I never expected it to go down like it did. Long story short, my father and I got into an argument that resulted in a family argument, and me moving out. I was homeless for a while with no car wondering how I was supposed to get to work and school, wondering where I would be sleeping that night. It was hard but with the friends I had to help me support myself, I managed. I stayed with a couple friends for a while until my best friend moved back to Maine, she had told me I could move in with her. I stayed with them for about a month before she moved back, then I really moved out. 

When I went back to my house to pack all my things, it was one of the hardest things I had to do because when I first left I destroyed my room looking for the things I thought I would need. So when I came back to get the rest of my stuff, my room was destroyed. Walking back into my house knowing it wasn’t really mine anymore, walking up into my bedroom seeing the condition I left it in, everything strewn amongst the room made that last day at my house flash through my head. Everything about that day replayed, everywhere I looked, reminded me of something that had happened, I truly was heartbroken. Balling my eyes out, I packed all my things and loaded up the U-hall. I hadn’t talked to anyone that lived at my house since I had left, and no one was there when I got the rest of my stuff. A couple of days go by, I was all settled into my new house, my friend and I are talking about what had happened. That was the first time I actually went into detail about what had happened that day, so it was a pretty hard conversation for me, and I broke down telling her. Somehow by the end of our conversation though, she had convinced me to try and reach out to my family. 

I knew that I definitely did not want to reach out to my father, or mother as she had taken his side, and at the time me and my brother were not on good terms either, so I called my grandmother. She told me to come to the camp to talk about what had happened, and so my friend and I hopped in the car and drove to the camp. Well, when we got there whose car did I see sitting in the driveway? My car, which meant my father was there. I sat in the car for a while debating if I was really ready to see him or not, and after about 25 minutes I decided to go inside. I walked into that house and instantly felt a heavy weight hit my stomach, it was almost as if my heart dropped out of place. I couldn’t contain myself, and started hysterically crying. I spoke with my mother first, then my grandmother, then finally… my father. I was so nervous, the last time I had seen him we were screaming at each other, all in each other’s space. He asked if we could take a walk down to the lake to talk just me and him, and I was nervous at first, I didn’t trust him, but I went. There we sat, on the dock with our feet in the water just talking. Both of us crying. 

That was the first time I had heard my father admit he was wrong. I had never had sympathy for this man in my life, and somehow he had me crying, feeling sorry for him when I was the 16 year old with a broken family not living at home. I had so many things I wanted to ask him that day. Most importantly I wanted to know why, why me, why did I have to be dealt these cards, why would my own father be okay with me just leaving? I simply wanted to know why, but every time I would go to ask, I would get nervous and quickly change my question. Well fast forward 5 months, I’m living back at the house, but I never asked my questions. I still wonder sometimes why things played out like they did, why he decided to pick that fight, why hadn’t I asked him these questions that day we talked down by the lake?

It bothers me sometimes, not knowing the answers. But months have passed now, so it’s just history. Who knows, maybe I wouldn’t have liked what he had to say, maybe I’m not supposed to ever know the answers. All do know, is that I don’t like wondering, questions are supposed to have answers. 
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