Painted in an unfair light.

Part 5482372, Ben versus the world. Give him a break already.

One of the hardest parts about being the close friend of an alcoholic is that the mistakes they make, or the slights of their past tend to overshadow their good deeds, their efforts to change and gain trust and be better forever. As in infinitely, neverendingly.

Relentlessly.

Looking at what I have written about Ben I can see where he is made out to be the bad guy, mostly through poor self-control and impulsive and sometimes retaliatory actions. Why not? He's the yang to my yin. He and I never grew up, we never made it past the childish outbursts and petulant rock-kicking that can be at once endearing and incredibly fucking annoying.

Put us together and we take it out on each other. People have asked us why we're still friends and I could only say that sometimes there are moments of incredible clarity and gentleness between us that make it worthwhile. We are sometimes the male and female equivalent of your stereotypical asshole person. We have deep personality flaws and wild streaks and that's why we get along so well and so badly all at the same time.

I am less perfect than he is, but you knew that already.

He did come back last night, poured out all of the alcohol, made me eat dinner and sit up until I was sober and then he handed me the key from my front porch and also told me to lock the door at the end of the hall which secures the main part of the house from the den and guest room and he stayed in the guest room last night. Close enough but with enough safeguards in place to help rebuild the trust we've eroded together in the past two years.

I poured him a cup of coffee early this morning and took it to him, unlocking the hallway door and then knocking gently on the door of the room he slept in and invited him to breakfast when he opened the door and took the cup.

He asked me how I felt and I said better and then he asked if we wanted to go play in the snow today, that he would stick around if I wanted him to and hang out with the kids.

It's quarter to four and he's still here. He's piled up the snow in the backyard and is snowboarding out there on the mother of all bunny hills.

He asked me if we, if I wanted to go away for Christmas with him.

I said yes.

His family has a house in Canmore, and we're going to stay there and snowboard and celebrate Christmas quietly with the four of us and without the ghosts of Christmas past breathing down our necks. We're going to enroll the kids in snowboarding classes and we're going to teetotal our way through the holidays together as friends and not fight or be awful or be miserable like we sometimes are here.

He's going to prove that he is trustworthy and I'm going to prove that I'm still alive.

No strings, no expectations (so quash your harsh judgment) and no regrets, because I'm already looking forward to a brief change of scenery.

Liquid princess.

I'm not having more. It's 8:45 pm and I've had two bourbons and I think I'm done. Ben and I had a shouting match out the back door at 8 and once he was gone it was safe to have a drink. Chris called and I lied and said Ben was still here because it was easier than dealing with the disappointment. Who do I care if I disappoint anymore?

No one.

I don't have to answer to anyone. I'm not beholden to anyone. I'm not worried about anyone.

No, Ruth and Henry. I answer to them and everyone else can kiss my ass.

Ben said something about a holiday from the holidays and I waffled and he told me I wasn't interested in living.

Ow.

Boom. Knock the princess over with a feather.

He said he hated the princess nickname, always has. I told him it was sour grapes and besides, he doesn't get an opinion on my life and he proclaimed to be my friend.

I said, oh really?

Friends don't have hidden agendas.

He acted hurt and I told him to go to a bar and find a Bridget-look-alike and fuck off and leave me alone. He laughed and dragged his palms down his face in incredulity. I don't even care.

I don't care.

Okay I care.

I hope I can get smashed tonight and sleep and sleep and not dream and not hurt and not ache and not die a little more. I don't know how far to go with all these pills. Tomorrow Sam will call and tell me to come to church and he's no better than my mother.

Die a little more.

Ben just called and said he's coming back with food. And that he's sorry and I told him not to be, and not to come. That I was drinking and I don't want him to be exposed to it. He used to have a major drinking problem, one time during which he snuck into my bedroom and tried to touch me and frankly I don't want him to ever be like that again but I trust him when he's sober.

I don't trust me when I'm sober but drunk I think I'll be okay.

He's coming anyway. He said he wasn't going to drink and neither was I anymore.

The Leafs won against Pittsburg, 3-1. The kids have colds again, the snow never stops falling and I really can't wait to see what life throws at me next.

At night the furnace comes on every 23 minutes. I count things.

It's warmer out today, it's damp and wonderful, just like the coldest days of my former Nova Scotia winters, the kind that howl right through your bones and out the other side, as if you aren't even present.

It's a day for warm cinnamon buns and thick scarves and sitting in a chair that makes me miserable while I watch Ruth and Henry draw pictures for their counselor while we talk gently about how we feel.

I'd like to scream.

But I don't.

We stopped on the way home and got a Gingerbread house kit to make. That will be fun, I think.

Thursday was bad, yesterday was interesting and today is sort of a mix of good and difficult. Each day gets a number and today is day 37 and at this point I don't want to hear that it will get easier with time, I'd like to know how to make it easier now.

(That's 37 days since he left, not since he died.)

No.

Bad day. No post. No smiles either.

It got a smile anyway. That's something.

Everything this boy says is either stirringly profound, or impossible to read a motive into. I've given up and have taken to waiting a beat for him to explain whatever he says in detail, after it's out there. Otherwise he'd be on the receiving end of a lot more slammed doors.

Tread lightly, or you may cause the princess to cry tears of glass and then you'd be forced to walk across it to reach her, and we can't have that now, can we?

Here, an email from Ben, who gets bored being a cubicle drone downtown and likes to compose long chatty letters to us all. I'm not special.

Or am I?

Dear Baby Bee,

I remember quite a few years back where we said if for some reason we both found ourselves single we would marry each other for company and proceed to see who could annoy each other more. You said you'd leave crumbs in the butter and I said I would publically scratch my ass. You said something about curlers in bed and I spit out my coffee picturing a whole Briar Cup team in there with us. The offer stands, bee. If you want it I'm totally bored with the sluts down at the club and would love to make an honest woman of you yet. I'd also like to see if I could outlive the curse you carry. I know I could kick it's ass.

I know you'll kill me for writing this. You'll probably show it to Paddy and probably Dr. Perfect too and everyone will decide I have no class but I do not care! I only care about you being happy right now. I'll do whatever I can to see that you are and that you stay that way. I promised your big dumb husband I would never fuck up again when it came to you.

So if you won't be the Liz to my Richard let me propose this instead. Plan B (get it? Huh?). A surprise for you. Next month, over Christmas. Make no plans for the holidays, I think you might like this instead, based on the anti-holiday discussion we had the other day. I'll keep the details to myself until I see you.

Now I have to go submit a whole bunch of fucking crap invoices so I can get my monkey pat. Tomorrow-sleep in and I will make coffee and get the kids to school and then we'll get some Thai. Because if at first you don't succeed, Thai, Thai again.

See you tomorrow morning. Tell Dr. Perfect he's an asshole for me, but in the nicest possible way, k? ;)

Ben.

PS. If you want to do Thai tonight I can bring. Is it a black Thai event? Sorry, my hands are Thai'd, I have to wear jeans and wool-no tux. It's fucking cold out there, Bridge!

I would love to know what he's up to.

Morning glories.

When the sun came up this morning I opened all the drapes in every room to find a beautiful pattern etched heavily on the window panes, a testament to the warmth inside being no match for the frigid weather outside.

Ruthie said the pattern looked like feathers and I realized that she was right. They were feathers, the feathers that make up Jacob's wings, and he has wrapped his wings around this house to let us know that he is still here with us.

Spooky.

Skateboard Jesus is back. I don't know where he went for most of autumn but this afternoon he was there and that freaks me out thinking about it. It seems to be a day for history-reliving.

I gave him a fifty dollar bill. I haven't had blue keys in my bag for months. There was no one to give them to for so long. He didn't even see the bill. He closed his dirty hand around it and stared at Joel, driving the rover and then his eyes travelled back to rest on mine, so red and tired now and he nodded and said,

God Bless you, you need it, child.

He knows. I'm telling you, he knows.

Thoughts.

Jon Foreman's voice is my comfort music today and pretty much anytime I want something uplifting or just plain beautiful to hear. I'm rather picky with what I put into my damaged ears and he has never let me down. I doubt he ever will.

I wonder if he reads my journal? That would be neat-o (most of the time, anyway).

Enjoy.

PS: I'm going to try to find some silver in the lining of my shroud here. Some ups for the downs, some hope. Something good

Butters.

I spend a lot of time talking to the dog lately.

It's twosday, kids.

I have a whole town at my disposal, I think. I had eight offers just today of help in the form of picking the kids up at school and feeding them lunch, afterschool playdates and anything else I might need for them. While it makes my skin crawl to see the pity on people's faces it warms me that so many people have put themselves out to help.

Really, I think the kids are doing the best of any of us. I have mostly turned down offers to take them, partially because I was advised not to restrict their access to me, not to shunt them away from me when I am what is left but also because I'm selfish. They are all I have and I need to keep them close. I need to watch them and make sure they keep doing well. I need to keep them safe from a life that has so far seen a little too much sadness. I don't want them to ever pay for my choices ever again.

They are doing amazing in spite of me. They're not harbouring any false pretenses with regards to death. They know Jacob isn't coming back, no one is in denial. They aren't afraid that I will die next. They're okay to cry when they feel like it or talk about Jacob often. Okay, twenty-four hours a day which kills me but I do it too. We do it at home and we do it in counseling. Nothing is off limits.

They had perfect report cards this quarter. They haven't acted out or up. There's no sleepless nights now, no residual behavior that's out of character. They've been talking on the phone to all of their grandparents and enjoying the guys being around a lot. They are good, good kids and I am blessed. Like I said, if it wasn't for them I wouldn't get up in the mornings, I would just let myself drown.

The routine is key. Nothing changes. They went back to school the Monday after, while I went away to the hospital and PJ ran the show and did an awesome job. The guys have drawn up a schedule so that they don't step on each other's toes, and so that someone is always here with us for meals and just because. The kids are enjoying having them here, they are like second, better ears they can talk off.

The kids come first. Bridget is simply watched closely. In case you weren't aware, that's how life has always gone here.

If you have more questions or feel the need to berate my parenting skills right now, right at this time, please feel free to email me directly and not talk about me behind my back. I don't like rumors and assumptions are worse, as are judgements culled from being half-informed. I would much prefer you just put it out there and if I think it's off limits I'll tell you so.

On the subject of email condolences, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'm not responding to anything yet and I don't know when I will but I did open a few and was so moved by you. So, so moved.