Love & Light Read Online Free

exactly right. It is a form of therapy. Maybe not the kind my dad got or stepmom does, but it works for me. Maybe it will work for Kori too. “Sure thing.” I pull off the boxing gloves and hand them to her. “Here you go. Let’s see what you got.” I step back away from the bag.
    “I’m still not sure about this,” she says as she tugs the gloves on. “I don’t have a tangible thing to be angry at and pretend I’m hitting.”
    “No, but you can still let some steam off,” I tell her. “Come on, give it a jab.”
    She does, but it’s a pretty weak one. I swallow the ‘hit like a girl’ remark and try to encourage her. “Try a little harder. I know you’re angry. Let’s see it. Take it out on the bag.”
    This time, Kori hits the bag harder and lets out an “Oomph.”
    “There you go. That’s more like it,” I say. “Now try a cross.”
    She does, then follows it up with a hook, another cross, and then an uppercut that has some power to it. “I like that one too,” Kori says with the hint of a smile before hitting the bag again.
    I watch her for a few minutes and try to encourage her. She might be a natural at this, and I hope it’s making her feel better. Then, suddenly, she starts to cry. Tears stream down her face, but she’s still hitting the bag, until she stops and wraps her arms around it.
    What the heck?
    My dad’s told me before that there are very few sights worse than a crying woman, and I think he’s right. I’m frozen for minute, unsure what to do, then I walk up behind Kori and put my arms around her. “It’s okay,” I say. “Let it out. Let it all out.”
    ~Kori~
    I admit I was skeptical about the whole boxing thing, but it’s not like anything else has worked. So what the heck, why not give it a try? My first punch is pretty weak, and I expect Landon to make some typical guy remark about me hitting like a girl.
    He doesn’t, though, just encourages me to hit a little harder, so I do, and then I start to get into it. Jabs here, crosses there, then an uppercut. Yeah, I can see why that one’s his favorite. Even if I don’t have a ‘face’ to be angry at and to pretend I’m hitting, this still feels good. Like I have a little power over something for a change.
    That’s the hardest part about being mired in depression—the feeling of being powerless. It’s been like that for too long. Powerless to help my mom, to make her feel better, to do anything to keep her around. And now that she’s gone, I’m just stuck. Unable to let go, unable to move forward.
    Why her, anyway? Why such a good, beautiful person? Why was she taken from us so soon?
    She hung on just long enough to see me graduate from high school. I know that now. At the time, I told myself she was getting better. She seemed stronger, at least in those last few weeks before graduation. The doctors said she didn’t have much time left, but they were wrong. They had to be wrong, because she was stronger. She even left the wheelchair at home and walked into the auditorium herself, with only a cane and my father to help her.
    She was getting better. She could beat the odds. She would beat them.
    Three days later, she was gone, and I knew the truth.
    My mother willed herself to stay alive long enough to see that special moment and then she let go. She was at peace then, she was ready. That’s what people tell me. But what about me? I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t at peace.
    I don’t even realize I’m crying until the tears blur my vision, and then suddenly I can’t take it anymore. My arms are heavy, and I don’t have the energy to hit that bag anymore, so I stop and just wrap my arms around it.
    The next thing I know, Landon’s arms are around me and he tells me to let it out. So I do.
    “I hate it,” I say. “I hate that she’s gone and I’m still here.” I turn around so I’m facing him, but his arms are still around me. “Did you ever feel that way?”
    “Sometimes, yeah,” he says softly.