On a sunny Sunday afternoon, I was driving around the city aimlessly, when I found myself in front of a familiar two-storey blue house sitting lonely on a corner. Stopping the car, I climbed out, and allowed my nails to drag along the clapboard as I headed for the front door. I hesitated momentarily before rapping on the glass three times.
A fiftysomething man, short and round, quickly answered the door.
“Hi, I’m Grace,” I fumbled. “This is probably very strange and inappropriate, but I have to ask.”
The man watched me intently, his hand on the doorknob.
“I used to live here, years ago, with my ex. We lost our baby while we lived here, and I buried one of his toys in the backyard.”
His face softened.
“I was wondering if I could have a look. Feel free to say no. I just had to try.”
The stranger smiled, the apples of his cheeks plump. “Absolutely. You do what you have to do.”
“Thank you so much. You’re very kind.”
I walked around the outside of the house and into the open backyard. The grass was vividly green and freshly manicured. A barbecue was placed near a table, sheltered by an open violet umbrella and two chairs. The lilac tree was in full bloom, and it smelled heady and beautiful. I knew exactly where the bunny was; we had buried it beneath that very tree.
I knelt, and whispered to the earth.
Grabbing handfuls of grass, I ripped them clean from the ground one after another until I felt the moisture and coldness of dirt. I sank my fingers in and dug with my bare hands. Leaning closer, I dug faster, the dirt jammed under my fingernails as the soiled whiteness of the bunny became visible. Pulling him by the ear from his resting place, I cradled him, rocking him back and forth, loose soil falling into my lap.
Fat, hot tears streamed down my face while my body heaved with great, uneven breaths.
On my knees, I remembered the way I had kneeled on the cold floor with my elbows on my bed, reciting my prayers when I was a little girl. I remembered the way Jack had left me waiting for him, tied up on my knees in our bedroom. I remembered the way silent tears had fallen as I wished my teacher would stop, his hand on the back of my head.
Sobbing and clutching that rabbit, I allowed myself to feel the pain, all that I had repressed, and with it, I felt the possibility of forgiveness.