Section 11: An explanation
Hailey's parents explain the big secret
This is section 11 of The Other Side of the Ocean. You can also start at section 1, go back to section 10 or continue to section 12.
We stay like that, just hugging, for what feels like both a long time while it’s happening, and too short a time when it ends. Dad pulls back and for the split second before I can see his face, I feel scared, even though the hug and the fact that he’s my DAD and loves me tells me I have nothing to worry about. Anxiety is a hard thing to shake, I realize.
I see the gentle look in Dad’s eyes, let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and it’s like Dad lets out a breath too, but instead of a breath, it’s all the words I imagine he found while upstairs.
“Hailey, I love you. I love you. I love you. You know that?”
I laugh, Dad’s grip on my arms stable and supportive. “Yes. Yes! I know.” I take another breath. “I never doubt that.”
Dad nods, but I can tell he’s still worried. “I’m sorry I left the room like that. I…got scared. I never imagined you’d…learn this without hearing it from us, and”—he looks over at Mom, who’s standing too, her arms wrapped around herself in a hug—“we never knew how to tell you, or whether it mattered or made sense to.”
I don’t feel like I even have the brainpower to imagine the logic they must have pulled at to try to get to those answers, so I nod.
Dad takes my hand and leads me a few paces down the hall to the family room, where the three of us lower onto the couches. The bright sunlight almost blinds me at this angle, but it feels warm and welcome.
Dad looks over my shoulder at Mom and then looks back at me, suddenly beaming. “The day your mom told me she was pregnant with you, I knew I loved you already.”
Wow.
Tears spring unexpectedly to my eyes. I know Dad loves me, but to think some part of him just knew he loved me when, seconds before, he had no idea I existed, and, months before, no idea Mom existed—I clutch the area over my heart.
Dad’s eyes are moist too, in a happy way that compliments the uncontrollable joy on his face as he remembers. “I knew I loved you already. I felt it somewhere inside and I never felt that feeling before. It’s like, something clicked for me—some part of me knew that you and your mom, that’s where I want to be.”
My heart glows.
“And then, when you were born”—Dad pauses, sweeping his beaming smile to include both me and Mom—“well, at first, I was speechless, feeling so deeply a love that is beyond words.” Dad squeezes my hand. “In some ways, that would have been a natural first opportunity to explain to you how I came to be your dad, but you wouldn’t have understood a thing.”
A chuckle escapes me, and Dad chuckles too. “And then, when you were old enough to talk and understand things, I no longer knew what the point was of telling you. I thought, how do I approach a conversation like that, and what are you supposed to do with that information, when my love for you is real?”
This time a sob comes out of me, unexpected and yet a complete fit when I let myself really think about and feel the depth emanating off every word. I feel Mom’s hand, gentle on my back, at the same time that Dad gives my hands a heartfelt squeeze.
“And, at the same time, I admit.” Dad looks down at his lap. “As you continued to grow and learn new things about yourself, and we continued to grow and get to know you better, I admit, I became…” He visibly cringes. “Afraid. I was afraid of how this might affect this.” He nods towards the space between me and him. “Our relationship.”
Our relationship. I look at Dad through my tears.
Dad squeezes my hands again, lifting them slightly over our laps. “Having said that, when I was upstairs thinking, and trying to find the right words, you were down here, thinking and feeling something, so I raced back. I realized I had something to lose, which is how you feel about me.”
Dad’s voice cracks on the last words, making me so uncomfortable that I rush to answer him. “You’re never going to lose that.”
Dad leans in, letting go of my hands and wrapping me in a big hug that makes me feel like I’m five years old again, safe and comforted like all those times he came to find me whenever I felt bad and he knew it.
When we sit back, I shift so that my back is to the couch and I can see both Dad and Mom at the same time.
“I also want to apologize.” Dad looks at me and nods at Mom. “When I was upstairs thinking, I realized that, from your perspective, Hailey, this could still feel like information to have. I’m sorry.”
Mom nods too. “I share the apology, Hailey. I’m sure we could have figured out how to tell you, but we couldn’t figure out when, and then…” She sighs, hugging herself again, looking deeply sorry and worried as she maintains eye contact with me. “Your dad is right. We got scared, and time passed.”
“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you,” Mom and Dad echo, both reaching out to hold one of my hands.
Part of me wants to laugh at the funny way we’re all sitting now—Mom leaning forward on the couch perpendicular to ours, Dad leaning across the couch next to me, both trying to keep a grip on my hands.
It’s a lot to process, and every word they’re saying, every feeling they’re emitting, goes straight to my heart. I squeeze their hands to show it’s okay, then let my hands drop back into my lap, giving everyone permission to sit back in a more comfortable way.
I realize that I know what I want to say—no need to trust my gut and hope it says the right words, as they’re coming to me so easily now. I sit up straighter, confident, comfortable. “I understand.” The colour finally returns to Dad’s face and Mom looks reassured, relieved. I realize that with my words, an 18-year weight has been lifted off both their shoulders. “I don’t feel like the information changes anything at all.”
Dad lets out a sound halfway between a sob and sheer joy, and Mom gives my arm a quick squeeze and looks at both of us, true happiness across her face.
“In fact,” I add, my heart glowing again with a new fire, “there’s something special thinking that both of you wanted me and love me so much that you went down this path.” I look at Mom. “Now that I know, I’m curious. How did…”
Mom chuckles, then her expression grows serious. She leans forward on her knees, her gaze landing on a spot a few feet ahead on the floor, before she pipes up, making eye contact directly with me. “I was in the third year of completing my Master’s when I accepted that I really, really wanted to have a baby.” She extends her arm towards me. “Please keep in mind that anything I’m about to say applies to my experience, and is not necessarily the right path or roadmap for you or anyone else, okay?”
I swallow. “Okay.”
Mom nods, satisfied. “Okay. I had this vision in my head that I’d meet my guy at university, and then we’d get married, and have kids, and then I’d become a teacher at my child’s school, and then we’d go on from there.”
As Mom speaks, I take everything she’s saying and line it up against the timeline I know we experienced together: Mom had me, and then she stayed home with me until I started school, and then she started working part-time at my school, and then she became a teacher at a school nearby.
“But, there I was, in my third year of my slightly delayed Master’s, comparing where I was at my age and where I thought I’d be, and I realized that that’s still where I wanted to be.” Mom takes a deep breath, folding her hands together as she keeps leaning her elbows on her knees. “So, I…had a difficult conversation with my parents, who, after a while, came around to supporting me, for the most part, and I went to see a few doctors, and I found someone I trusted, and I started IVF.” Mom looks at me, her voice growing emotional. “On the second round, I found out I was pregnant with you.”
I stare at Mom, my jaw dropped. “So, you, you knew, and…” I give up, releasing my attempt to find words and instead jumping across the gap between the couches and landing beside Mom in a tight hug, a big smile growing across my face.
Once again, I bask in the love that my parents felt for me before I was born, and ever since.
Mom’s gaze flicks to Dad and the brown of her eyes, if possible, takes on a particularly warm hue. “I felt something when I met your dad—I just knew, somehow, he was different, special, the one.” I peel back in time to see Mom and Dad share a smile. “About a month after I met him, I told him I was two months pregnant with you, and, well, you know the rest.”
Dad crosses the room to squeeze onto the couch beside us. “Before I came to Canada to get my English degree and launch a writing career, I travelled the world—I visited fourteen different countries before I came here.” Dad’s gaze drops to me. “I’ve seen so many sites, and part of me wonders if some part of me kept travelling because it knew I hadn’t met you two loves of my life yet. Tess”—Dad looks at Mom—“and you, my baby girl, are the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen.”
Mom and I lean forward simultaneously, initiating a group hug.
“Wow, Dad, you really are a writer,” I say, my voice muffled by his shirt, and I hear Mom burst out laughing overhead.
I start to realize something, and the weight of it has me yearning for that hug again. I stretch out my arms and the group hug continues, creating a dark, almost overheated cocoon around me as I let the thoughts flow in in full force.
Dad was afraid to tell me our story, and Mom respected that, and even felt afraid too. Dad probably felt afraid when he moved all by himself to Canada, without, I now know, his family’s support. And Mom probably felt afraid to pursue IVF, with her parents’ support coming in slowly. They both knew what they wanted, and took steps to get it.
It took faith for Dad to come here to Canada; he didn’t know, at the time, that he was going to meet his future wife and child. It took faith for Mom to decide to have a baby on her own; she didn’t know, at the time, that it would take only two rounds of IVF and that her future husband was going to join our family soon too.
It takes faith and, I realize, I have faith, too; I feel it building inside me, inspired by my parents and the faith it took for them to courageously pursue what they knew to be in their hearts. I have faith, too, to take the next step after high school—the postsecondary future I’ve been hiding from, the postsecondary future that gave me heart-racing episodes, the heart-racing episodes I’ve now learned to face and manage and even stop on my own, thanks to having the courage to talk to Ms. Fortier, to Almira, to the entire grade at school and, today, to my parents too.
Sweating, I slowly lean back and Mom and Dad loosen the hug. As much as I loved that hug, I find myself embracing the cool air that meets me as I stand up and turn to face them.
“You both chose a path that meant you had to be brave and trust your heart and follow your gut,” I start. “And, WOW, that led Dad to you, Mom, and to his writing career, and it led you, Mom, to me”—I’m positive my smile looks just like hers as she smiles at me right now—“and you, Dad, to me. I recently had the faith to make a decision as well.”
I take a deep breath and update Dad on how I chose to study psychology next year. I made this step on my own, and it took courage, but hearing that Mom and Dad faced and overcame their own challenges to pursue their dreams gives me hope that my path will lead somewhere as happy as theirs, too.
When Dad hears me say “psychology”, he looks absolutely shocked and thrilled at the same time. “Psychology! All our conversations about human behaviour—it’s perfect!” He jumps to his feet and swings me up around him as though I weigh a lot less than I actually do. Realizing this, he suddenly stops, hands dropping to his quads as he says, “Don’t worry about me. I’m just happy for you! If you’re happy?”
I laugh at the eager look on his face. “Yes, I’m happy! I mean.” My voice drops and, admittedly, a drop of fear creeps into my chest, in spite of all the confidence and hope I just gained today. “It’s different, and I don’t know what it’s going to be like at a new school, but not everything’s going to be different, so that helps.”
I grin.
Mom perks up, but her eyes are wide with worry. “Not everything…?”
I smile. “The university I chose has an amazing psychology program, so I love that about them, and I also can’t help but love that they’re just a bus and subway ride away, so, if it’s okay, I can stay h—”
Suddenly I’m flying, and this time it’s Mom who’s picked me up and is swinging me around, screaming and cheering like when she was the five year old.
Mom lets me down gently, assuming the same position as tired Dad, then waves her hand and starts to laugh. “Just kidding; I was copying you,” she says, giving Dad a nudge as he playfully nudges back.
I knew Mom was nervous about where I was going to go to school. And then, much like that cool air I enjoyed a few minutes ago, I feel refreshed realizing that I’m not the only one who was feeling anxious about next year. I’m not alone.
And—looking at Mom and Dad and the love on their faces in front of me—I don’t think I ever will be.
After adding, again, that she would support me wherever I choose to go, but is beyond happy that I’m still going to be home, Mom congratulates me again and Dad does too, adding a few questions that I answer with what is now a breathy, light EXCITEMENT to pursue the subject I love and, very hopefully, help other people who go through any anxiety or mental health struggle like I just went through.
Considering it has been one of the most stressful and most freeing, wonderful and fulfilling mornings of my life, I feel like I want to stay in this moment a while longer. I keep thinking of new things to share with Mom and Dad while we sit and talk about university, feeling even better when Dad renews the invitation to go out for lunch and Mom and I bound excitedly towards the stairs to get ready. I’m just about to follow Mom onto the upstairs landing when Dad calls.
“Hailey? It’s for you!”
Oh my gosh, dear reader, The Other Side of the Ocean has only one section left! I remember as clearly as yesterday sitting at my laptop to write section four, which is the first time we meet Hailey’s parents and she dreads the change that is coming with her hunt for information—and now look!
Thank you, thank you, thank you for joining us on this storytelling journey. I hope you’re enjoying supporting and cheering for Hailey and her loved ones as much as we do.
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