bonne nuit

You were exactly what I needed then, in my absolute darkest hour. I was crawled up in my bed 24/7, waking only for short periods of time weeping silent tears or eating ice cream with a fork straight out of the container waiting to fall back asleep.

My partner left to pick you up out in nowhere land from the animal protection centre, meanwhile I was still curled up in my sheets trying to breathe. Then the bell rang and for no particular reason I decided to open the door. There you were, in a crate held by a stranger telling me he was tasked to deliver you here. He opened the crate and let you out into our apartment. I didn’t feel anything at all, as I hadn’t for a while. I paid him the due fee, and closed the door behind him, trotting back into bed. I knew cats usually needed to get familiar with everything, so I said: “You just check things out, and I’ll be here, okay?” and crept back underneath my duvet. My back had only just hit the mattress when I felt your tiny paws against my tummy, and you curled up on top of me into a tiny ball and closed your eyes, vibrating quietly. Some emotion stirred deep inside me, and I felt less alone suddenly. We fell asleep together.

That was 16 years ago. And since then, you’ve been with me almost every day, you’ve moved with me to two different countries and back home, you’ve comforted me when I fell apart and you have annoyed me like none other. You’ve raised me to be neat and never leave anything on the floor, under the threat of peeing on it. You’ve never shown me anything but unconditional love. I’ve had long 4 a.m. conversations with you about everything that has happened in my life. You’ve tolerated my desperate chain smoking and sleepless nights, and you’ve curled up in my arms through all of them.

Today, you took your very last breath because of me. And I’m so sorry that you had to leave. I hope that wherever you are, you are safe and happy and healthy, and you have all the love you deserve. And I love you so very much, my beautiful Nuit. Good night.

blood sisters

“Don’t be so mean!” she exclaimed suddenly, as if I’d just done something incredibly offensive. I laughed at her, confused. What was she saying, was I mean right now? My mind flashed back to that time I punched my brother in the face in a drunken daze on the roof of our van, and I didn’t realise that I had. He made me take a picture of his swollen lip and as I went through my photos the next morning I said “Wait, what happened to you?” when I discovered the picture of his bleeding lip on my camera. He laughed at me then, as I laughed at her now. “You did.” he said. I stopped drinking rum after that.

“She’s not being mean.” Caroline’s bubbly laughter pulled me out of my mind and back to our dusty, crummy couch. I stared mindlessly as they started arguing over whether or not I had been, Lily’s voice growing angry with frustration. “Wait wait wait,” I said, “what if tomorrow I get high and you don’t, and then if I’m mean, you’re right?”

It took her a while to process my proposition, but she agreed after a few minutes of consideration. This finally settled our dispute, and we went back to incoherent ramblings again.

A few weeks later, Lily suddenly remembered our deal. “Remember how you’re always really mean when you get high?” she started. I laughed again. I couldn’t reconcile how I felt with what she described, try as I might. I felt filled with love. I imagined her accusations stemmed from her belief that I would lie to her whenever she got paranoid about peeing her pants when she got high. She would always silently gesture to her crotch in panic, and I would know what she was asking. I’d shake my head and smile. Five minutes later, she’d point again, convinced I was trying to embarrass her. I’d laugh. She would sulk.

“Listen, let’s do the thing.” I said. Kings of Convenience filled the air of our tiny apartment, as did fluffy clouds of smoke as I tried blowing rings with my mouth. I never did learn how to do that. I was getting silly, giggling at everything Lily told me about her day. She examined my face and my words carefully, but an hour into our experiment she cracked into a smile. “You’re not mean at all, you’re like a kitten with a ball of yarn!” she laughed. I laughed too, although I didn’t quite get it. “Let me have some.” Lily grabbed the lighter and finally we were on the same level. The music filled the room like magic as we leaned back into the soft cushions.

The weight of my words
You can't feel it anymore...

”Let’s be blood sisters!” Lily exclaimed happily. I thought it was the best idea I had ever heard in my life, because that’s what I was like when I was high. I still have that scar across the palm of my hand, and I trust it to remind me of what it’s like to trust someone.

2020 is like falling down a flight of stairs

In case you want to know what it feels like falling down a flight of stairs while holding your son, or maybe just how 2020 feels like; here it is.

I woke up late this morning. My son woke me up around 6am and I walked into his bedroom and lay down on the sofa bed because there’s just no way we’re getting up at that hour. We both luckily fell asleep, but I forgot to set my alarm, so when I woke up at 8am, him stirring slightly in his bed, I was quite stressed at the notion of getting him to kindergarten by 8:30. We got up, and he walked over to his indoor swing to play. I said I was going downstairs, and he said he wanted to play.
Fine then. I picked up his water bottle, my water glass and my phone as I do every morning and walked down the stairs locking the baby gate first, telling him to come down when he’s ready.

Obviously he never said he was ready, so I walked back upstairs and he ran to the gate. “Open the gate!” he said. Quickly evaluating the situation, I knew he would take about 4 minutes walking down the stairs on his own due to his creative mind. So I decided that it would save us some time if I just carried him instead. Knowing I’d have to pretend this would be fun in order for him to comply, I said: “No, you should jump into my arms! Jump!” He did jump, and I caught him in my arms and lifted him over the gate smiling. Then I turned around and apparently this is when it all went downstairs.

Our stairs are very steep. As I turned, my foot must have slipped. It’s absolutely amazing how many thoughts can travel through your mind in baffling speed. So I found myself quite literally on my ass, sliding down the staircase. I looked down at my son, my face probably struck by panic and his face mimicking this as a mirror. He had flipped upside down, and I had my arm tucked underneath his body as we slid swiftly down the stairs. My elbow hitting every step on the way down, I was luckily holding his head up with my hand and half his body was resting on my arm. My only focus was to try to lift him up, but this proved to be an impossible task. We were closing the turn, and I was wondering whether or not it would be possible to stop our descent there, but we were going too fast.

As my body turned into the curve of the stairs, I looked at the bowls of cat food and the bowl of water sitting at the bottom of the stairs and I remember belting out a panicked “Nooooo” in a voice I couldn’t recognise because I realised I couldn’t stop this from happening. My foot crashed into the water bowl after miraculously skipping the kibbles, and I felt the splashes of water all over us before my toes stubbed into the wall at the bottom. All I could think of was to check if my son was hurt, and as I tried to lift him into my lap I realised my arm wouldn’t move. His little face was bewildered for a second before crying fiercly. My first instinct was to try to not show him that I was really scared and hurting, so I just looked at him, trying to see if he was hurt. My girlfriend came running from the downstairs bedroom (thank goodness) while screaming, and yanked our son from my arms.

I tried to sit up, but I suddenly noticed that everything hurt and I was blacking out. I put my hand to my forehead and leaned against the railing, feeling the cold sweat on my skin. Her voice felt far away as she called out asking if I was okay. I wanted to say yes, but I was not, so I had to say no. I asked if he was okay. She said she thought he was. I heard him calling out for his favourite blankie, so I got up and stumbled to his bag to get the extra one from kindergarten. She said to go lie down on the bed, and I was like “Pfff I’m fine, it’s okay.” She said “You’re green”. I said “Does my voice sound funny?” She said “No.”
I felt like I was drunk, and I had to sit down.

My rear seems to have taken the whole entirety of the fall, as it is now 50 shades of black. My son escaped with a couple of scratches and bruises on the side I wasn’t able to hold up during our joyride. I am so grateful that things didn’t end up worse.

I think this is a good analogy of how 2020 is going so far. We’ll be okay, guys. Even if it hurts like heck and we’re terrified. It’ll get better.

human

I walked slowly up the driveway, taking in the mild summer breeze. The sky was light blue with veils of grey clouds scattered across it, even though it was way past midnight. I had this eerie feeling in my bones, like something strange was about to happen so I hesitated slightly before I opened the back door by our terrace. The lights were still on in the living room, and I could see my mother’s silhouette under a blanket on the couch as I walked in.

She seemed to be sleeping, and I gently tiptoed across the living room toward the hallway when I heard a soft sniffle. I froze and felt my body tense up. I considered for a moment if I could continue unnoticed, I knew I didn’t want to deal with whatever was going on. But after a brief pause, I heard my own voice break the silence. “Is everything okay?” She didn’t say anything. I waited, turned slightly. She made me feel so small, like I was five years old again and didn’t know anything about anything. Least of all how to help her.

I noticed the blanket was shaking in a steady rhythm, and suddenly she broke the silence again, sobbing loudly. “Oh…” I said as I walked over to her, sitting down on the edge of the couch. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she grabbed it and squeezed way too hard. “Don’t cry…” I tried squeezing back, but she was holding tightly and I don’t think she could even feel it. She kept sobbing uncontrollably, trying to say something, gasping for air as if she was choking. I didn’t know what to do.

“What’s wrong?” I finally asked. She sat up half way and I moved down beside her to let her head rest in my lap. “I don’t know. Everything. I’m sorry…” she cried, still shaking in my arms. She looked up at me and had this look of utter despair, as if nothing would ever be good again. Maybe that was true for her. The contrast of the lightness of my evening made me feel uneasy, as if I had no right to be happy when she wasn’t. But I had never known her happy, and I didn’t know how to fix her. I had tried to find out how for such a long time. Maybe if I was better, nicer, spent more time at home. Maybe if I paid some bills. Maybe if we went on trips together or maybe just talked for a while. Maybe if I asked her difficult questions. But I knew that the answers would only reflect the truth she wanted to live in.

“I’m sorry.” she said again. I told her it was okay, I told her not to cry and patted her back helplessly because I didn’t know of any other ways to comfort someone. It made me uncomfortable that I wasn’t one of those people, the ones that can make you feel better just by being there. The ones who are warm and loving, and can find the right words and hold you tightly until your whole body feels warm with their positive energy. I was cold, and frozen in place while my mother was falling apart. She sat back up again, and covered her face with her hands as tears kept falling down her cheeks. I’d never seen her cry like this. I don’t think I’d seen her cry much at all, except out of anger. She seemed so vulnerable and as if she needed me, and I didn’t know how to be there for her. But still, here I was.

“I know I haven’t always done everything right.” she started, and I wanted to leave. I wasn’t ready for this, and I suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired. She told me she regretted many things, and she wanted me to know she was sorry. It was a strange feeling, because I’d always wanted her to say that but now that she was, I didn’t want to listen. The words coming out of my mouth felt flat and insincere, just things you learn to say from seeing similar things on TV or through conversations with your friends as they cry over a broken heart. I knew this was more serious than that. I felt like she was pulling rocks from her heart and placing them on my shoulders, trying to release some of the pain she kept from us throughout her life. But this was a part of her heritage that wasn’t mine to keep, and her secrecy had ensured that I couldn’t understand it. She kept speaking, making more or less sense.

When I ran out of words, I embraced her and held her tightly, every fiber of my being in protest. We never hugged each other. Even when I was little, there were no hugs goodnight or goodbye. I remember feeling so jealous at sleepovers, parents would come tuck us in, hugging their children goodnight. I wanted to ask for one too, only I didn’t want them to love me. Or pity me. “I love you” she said quietly. I felt like she had just punched me in the gut, and I knew that was the wrong feeling. Would I ever be able to love? How would I know?

“I know.” I said, lying. “I love you too.” I said to make her feel better. But I did love her. I just didn’t want to tell her that. Maybe I didn’t want her to know, so she could use it against me. But I knew she knew. I was her daughter, and she was my mother. I got up, and went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. When I returned, she was already sleeping. I hadn’t noticed the empty bottle of wine on the table until now.

She used to be a super hero. But I think that it’s a good thing when we learn that our parents are only human too. It makes it easier to forgive their shortcomings.