Changes
Dawn is breaking through the blinds in my room. I can smell coffee brewing downstairs, hear the creak of floorboards and the whispers of those already awake. There's a stillness and calmness like the stage just before the play begins. I am nine, seventeen, twenty five and whatever current age all at the same time. It's the only thread of consistency this life has given me. No matter how old, no matter how changed I am outside these walls, here I am ageless. Here I am still the same girl unbound by rules and expectations.
I am not wife or daughter, I am not friend or foe. For the first few minutes as I blink my eyes open, I am just me. This is the cabin, this is the power it's had since I was a single cell inside my mother inside her mother's womb. I am timeless here, and time does not run the same way here. Since I was a child I believed this was heaven. That in the cold winter months it's home to my ancestors. That this is what my afterlife will really look like. It is the only thing this world has allowed me to have, to keep, to let me bask in without threatening to take it away. The cabin cannot leave me, it cannot wake up one day and no longer love me, it will not willfully lock it's doors when I come back late.
I feel connected to my family here. Joyful memories surround me, and I can picture the generations before in their leisure. I can pick out pieces of them in me. Sweeping the docks (grandmum), making coffee first thing (mum), listening to music on low (grandad), standing and sipping coffee while gazing at the lake in calm contentment (poppa). They're all here, even after they pass. They live on here as bright and alive as if they just stepped out of the room for a moment.
I had hoped to pass this down to my own children, and perhaps in some way I will. My grand niece is reaching an age where she can begin to truly appreciate the space for what it is and while the cabin doesn't pass through her bloodline, she's close enough. As long as Jen or I live, she's able to go. Perhaps she will become the family heir. For now that is on Jen and I until one of us has a child or someone to pass it on to. How sad to think it may end with us.
But that doesn't touch me in those first moments. I am beyond those thoughts and those pains. I am beyond everything but my body and I get to feel and experience this blissful quiet mind. It's not until I reach over and recall that I am alone that the gears turn. Whatever bliss in being myself for a moment is counter-balanced now by wishing to share it. And then I am wife and daughter, girlfriend and friend and enemy. I am complicated and aged. There's still a good deal of happiness, nothing will ever compare to the way it feels to blink my eyes open and see those rafters, but there will always be a longing beside it.
***
Transitions have always been difficult for me, even for happy things. Once I get moving it's easier, but until that time, it feels like a daunting task. It's been a full year since I've seen Jen. Since I've seen my mother...
I'm in the parking lot of my niece's apartment complex. My parents have driven us down so I can catch my flight tomorrow morning from the airport almost across the street. I'm standing on the sidewalk watching them slowly drive away and I can't help the way my throat is thick and tears spill down my face without a sound. Without a word, Jean comes behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, the third time in our lives she's initiated touch and emotion on a deep level. We're sisters but fate didn't bring us together until tragedy.
Later my mum says she couldn't breathe as they drove away, watching me grow smaller in the mirror. I didn't need to be told, I could feel it in my own heart.
And now it's been a full year and she calls me daily. All she can think of is seeing me, of hugging me and having her babies close again. It's the only thought that's gotten her through cold winter nights. God help me, the guilt for leaving her will crush me to nothing, mixed with knowing she's proud of me for flying so far, so high..
***
It's the middle of the night. Change is coming, switching from one mindset to another, traveling roads I'm unfamiliar with, taking the focus off of my daily life here and placing it on the people I miss so much. And like a looming spectre, it haunts me, even though it will bring me joy.
In my sleep I rolled to my back and in the dark I saw them. They stood by the bed, all black and menacing. They lunged to grab my legs and arms and in the sudden movement I jerked fully awake and sat up. An empty bedside and Matt breathing heavily in sleep. My heart is pounding so hard that it's easy to imagine I'm dying. I know that no one is here, but that's not enough.
I slide from my bed and in the dark I check that all the windows and doors are locked, and then when that's not enough to soothe me, I sit on the couch with my knees tucked against my chest, hugging them and stare out the living room windows into the night.
I will be there soon. I will be laying on the beach and longing for home. I'll be thinking of being curled up with Matt and the kitties. I will be thinking of being stretched out on a couch with Vigo keeping watch. I will always miss someone, some place, some thing. Longing has become a permanent resident in my chest.
I have got to find a better way to transition.
I am not wife or daughter, I am not friend or foe. For the first few minutes as I blink my eyes open, I am just me. This is the cabin, this is the power it's had since I was a single cell inside my mother inside her mother's womb. I am timeless here, and time does not run the same way here. Since I was a child I believed this was heaven. That in the cold winter months it's home to my ancestors. That this is what my afterlife will really look like. It is the only thing this world has allowed me to have, to keep, to let me bask in without threatening to take it away. The cabin cannot leave me, it cannot wake up one day and no longer love me, it will not willfully lock it's doors when I come back late.
I feel connected to my family here. Joyful memories surround me, and I can picture the generations before in their leisure. I can pick out pieces of them in me. Sweeping the docks (grandmum), making coffee first thing (mum), listening to music on low (grandad), standing and sipping coffee while gazing at the lake in calm contentment (poppa). They're all here, even after they pass. They live on here as bright and alive as if they just stepped out of the room for a moment.
I had hoped to pass this down to my own children, and perhaps in some way I will. My grand niece is reaching an age where she can begin to truly appreciate the space for what it is and while the cabin doesn't pass through her bloodline, she's close enough. As long as Jen or I live, she's able to go. Perhaps she will become the family heir. For now that is on Jen and I until one of us has a child or someone to pass it on to. How sad to think it may end with us.
But that doesn't touch me in those first moments. I am beyond those thoughts and those pains. I am beyond everything but my body and I get to feel and experience this blissful quiet mind. It's not until I reach over and recall that I am alone that the gears turn. Whatever bliss in being myself for a moment is counter-balanced now by wishing to share it. And then I am wife and daughter, girlfriend and friend and enemy. I am complicated and aged. There's still a good deal of happiness, nothing will ever compare to the way it feels to blink my eyes open and see those rafters, but there will always be a longing beside it.
***
Transitions have always been difficult for me, even for happy things. Once I get moving it's easier, but until that time, it feels like a daunting task. It's been a full year since I've seen Jen. Since I've seen my mother...
I'm in the parking lot of my niece's apartment complex. My parents have driven us down so I can catch my flight tomorrow morning from the airport almost across the street. I'm standing on the sidewalk watching them slowly drive away and I can't help the way my throat is thick and tears spill down my face without a sound. Without a word, Jean comes behind me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, the third time in our lives she's initiated touch and emotion on a deep level. We're sisters but fate didn't bring us together until tragedy.
Later my mum says she couldn't breathe as they drove away, watching me grow smaller in the mirror. I didn't need to be told, I could feel it in my own heart.
And now it's been a full year and she calls me daily. All she can think of is seeing me, of hugging me and having her babies close again. It's the only thought that's gotten her through cold winter nights. God help me, the guilt for leaving her will crush me to nothing, mixed with knowing she's proud of me for flying so far, so high..
***
It's the middle of the night. Change is coming, switching from one mindset to another, traveling roads I'm unfamiliar with, taking the focus off of my daily life here and placing it on the people I miss so much. And like a looming spectre, it haunts me, even though it will bring me joy.
In my sleep I rolled to my back and in the dark I saw them. They stood by the bed, all black and menacing. They lunged to grab my legs and arms and in the sudden movement I jerked fully awake and sat up. An empty bedside and Matt breathing heavily in sleep. My heart is pounding so hard that it's easy to imagine I'm dying. I know that no one is here, but that's not enough.
I slide from my bed and in the dark I check that all the windows and doors are locked, and then when that's not enough to soothe me, I sit on the couch with my knees tucked against my chest, hugging them and stare out the living room windows into the night.
I will be there soon. I will be laying on the beach and longing for home. I'll be thinking of being curled up with Matt and the kitties. I will be thinking of being stretched out on a couch with Vigo keeping watch. I will always miss someone, some place, some thing. Longing has become a permanent resident in my chest.
I have got to find a better way to transition.
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