The following morning, I met James to discuss the company's next steps.
We reviewed several operational matters.
There were staffing questions.
There were budgets.
There were improvements to guest services that needed attention.
I listened carefully.
I had learned not to pretend I understood something when I did not.
James appreciated that.
He wanted me to continue developing my knowledge of the business.
I agreed.
There was still plenty to learn.
After our meeting, he asked me something unexpected.
He wanted to know what I planned to do with my life now that I had established myself in the company.
I looked at him.
For a moment, I did not know how to answer.
For years, my plans had revolved around David.
I had planned around his needs.
His education.
His expenses.
His future.
Even after he became an adult, I had continued making decisions with him in mind.
Now I had to think about myself.
That was harder than I expected.
I told James I wanted a comfortable place to live.
Somewhere I could unpack my belongings.
Somewhere I could put my photographs on a shelf.
He nodded.
I also told him I wanted to continue learning the business.
I wanted to become someone the employees could depend on.
James listened.
Then he asked whether there was anything else.
I thought for a moment.
"I want to feel peaceful when I wake up."
He smiled gently.
"That's a good place to start."
I returned to my office afterward.
I looked at the cardboard box of photographs.
I had carried it from David's house because I could not leave those memories behind.
But I was beginning to understand that memories did not have to decide where I lived.
I could keep them without allowing them to control me.
That afternoon, I reviewed several guest service reports.
The work was becoming more familiar.
I found myself making decisions more confidently.
The team was also becoming more comfortable with me.
I liked that.
I wanted to be known for the way I treated people.
Not for the story of how I had arrived.
Later, I walked through the harbor area.
The Sea Star was preparing for another voyage.
I watched the employees moving around the ship.
There was something reassuring about the routine.
People had responsibilities.
Things needed to be done.
And everyone had a part to play.
I thought about the diner.
I thought about all the years I had worked there.
For a long time, I had considered those years nothing more than a way to survive.
Now I understood they had taught me patience.
They had taught me how to listen.
They had taught me how to recognize when someone needed help.
Those skills had followed me into a completely different world.
I returned to my office.
I had another meeting scheduled.
And for the first time in years, I was looking forward to the next day because of something I was building for myself.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: I Finally Opened the Box of Photographs and Realized That Loving My Son Did Not Mean I Had to Return to His Life
The Fifty-Thousand-Dollar Question That Revealed What My Son and His Wife Really Thought I Owed Them
Part 14 of 20
