Promise me you'll always remember you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.~Christopher Robin to Pooh
Saturday, 24 October 2009
Friday, 23 October 2009
Benposta and the curse of touching Cole's girl.
Tomorrow.
(Ohnoyetpleaseinsuchagoodmood)
Hit like a ton of goddamn bricks because I have things to do. Five loads of laundry. The house is a mess. The children are battered, fried and done and Ben is back on track after yet another magnificent stab at falling apart and failing. Because that's what he does when things go wrong and Bridget was doing terrific, all things considered and then some fucking idiot asked me what the date was and I looked at my blackberry and the world stripped away, the sky peeling back from it's neat edges, trees sucking back into the ground, a layer of dust settling over what remained, with black crowding in where the blue once was.
October 24th is tomorrow.
And I've already got a run-date and a lunch-date and a gallery-date and a movie-date. And that's just tomorrow! The week has been filled up, appointments and plans made and cross-checked and coordinated because last year we cleared the week and I didn't manage so well, but that was the first one. This is the second and so that makes me a veteran of enduring the Hard Days of anniversaries where bad things happen out of the blue. Like Jacob leaving, the week before he jumped from a high building because he was a magnificent fucking hypocrite and a coward.
Nothing brought more clarity to me than going into that house and seeing the shrine of a bedroom and sitting down to hot soup for lunch and knowing that I was still here, living, breathing, laughing, crying and where is Jacob? Locked in a concrete room in my insane little head because I don't know what to do with him and whatever is left of his ashes in the box which didn't wind up in the ductwork of my house isn't him so that doesn't even count and there's a marker by the ocean at the house but that doesn't count either so he's just trapped where I can hold his memories and none of them will leak out and they are safe but dammit, I'm the one enjoying his mother's soup and homemade bread and asking her about her garden and taking her to have a girlie day with Ruth at the hairdresser.
He shouldn't have left but he did and I can't help that. I can only help the big firecracking idiot Benjamin who threatened to take a drink every second we were there until Jacob's father got a hold of him. I don't know what was said but Ben came out of that day white as a sheet and on his best, and he renewed his position with a fortification that he must have checked out of the library because you certainly can't buy the sudden resolve that he was drenched in any more than Lochlan thinks he can charm the universe into presuming that he is the one running this circus.
You aren't paying attention. I run it. It's my show and I finance it with money from my brother in law that I get in exchange for things you don't want to know about. I know no one is thrilled I'm going back to work for someone I repeatedly have to unleash my lawyers on, but that's all part of the game and the game is maybe something I play because self-preservation is all or nothing, same as it is for Benny. There are no more secrets. There is nothing left to do with my love except to swing it around overhand and see who I can clock with it. I knocked Ben right out, apparently and he's been seeing stars ever since. But he hung on, down to the minute-by-minute and managed to white-knuckle Lochlan's bullshit and Caleb's smug ruggedness and he came home straight and narrow and incredibly upright, where he sagged into Nolan's arms at the airport and then I found out how afraid Ben is that every time the circus passes a Hard Day mark he waits for me to upend the tent and run off with some other clown. Because I've done it. Because I've ruined everything before. His solution is to make everyone hate him while he dies of fear.
As you can imagine, it's not very productive and almost assuredly counterproductive but Ben is Ben and he is slow to change.
JUST like BRIDGET.
There never seems to be anything BUT change anymore and we're attempting to force routine and permanence and we get burned repeatedly. Ever seen a circus tent go up in flames? I have. It goes up fast and it burns so hot. Permanence has come whether we rushed it or not. Routine will follow. Ben is planning to get a vacation loan to hang on to this library-borrowed strength until he can find some more ways to keep it going and me, well, I'm back in town so the circus is once again on.
All day, every day, half-price on weekends.
(Ohnoyetpleaseinsuchagoodmood)
Hit like a ton of goddamn bricks because I have things to do. Five loads of laundry. The house is a mess. The children are battered, fried and done and Ben is back on track after yet another magnificent stab at falling apart and failing. Because that's what he does when things go wrong and Bridget was doing terrific, all things considered and then some fucking idiot asked me what the date was and I looked at my blackberry and the world stripped away, the sky peeling back from it's neat edges, trees sucking back into the ground, a layer of dust settling over what remained, with black crowding in where the blue once was.
October 24th is tomorrow.
And I've already got a run-date and a lunch-date and a gallery-date and a movie-date. And that's just tomorrow! The week has been filled up, appointments and plans made and cross-checked and coordinated because last year we cleared the week and I didn't manage so well, but that was the first one. This is the second and so that makes me a veteran of enduring the Hard Days of anniversaries where bad things happen out of the blue. Like Jacob leaving, the week before he jumped from a high building because he was a magnificent fucking hypocrite and a coward.
Nothing brought more clarity to me than going into that house and seeing the shrine of a bedroom and sitting down to hot soup for lunch and knowing that I was still here, living, breathing, laughing, crying and where is Jacob? Locked in a concrete room in my insane little head because I don't know what to do with him and whatever is left of his ashes in the box which didn't wind up in the ductwork of my house isn't him so that doesn't even count and there's a marker by the ocean at the house but that doesn't count either so he's just trapped where I can hold his memories and none of them will leak out and they are safe but dammit, I'm the one enjoying his mother's soup and homemade bread and asking her about her garden and taking her to have a girlie day with Ruth at the hairdresser.
He shouldn't have left but he did and I can't help that. I can only help the big firecracking idiot Benjamin who threatened to take a drink every second we were there until Jacob's father got a hold of him. I don't know what was said but Ben came out of that day white as a sheet and on his best, and he renewed his position with a fortification that he must have checked out of the library because you certainly can't buy the sudden resolve that he was drenched in any more than Lochlan thinks he can charm the universe into presuming that he is the one running this circus.
You aren't paying attention. I run it. It's my show and I finance it with money from my brother in law that I get in exchange for things you don't want to know about. I know no one is thrilled I'm going back to work for someone I repeatedly have to unleash my lawyers on, but that's all part of the game and the game is maybe something I play because self-preservation is all or nothing, same as it is for Benny. There are no more secrets. There is nothing left to do with my love except to swing it around overhand and see who I can clock with it. I knocked Ben right out, apparently and he's been seeing stars ever since. But he hung on, down to the minute-by-minute and managed to white-knuckle Lochlan's bullshit and Caleb's smug ruggedness and he came home straight and narrow and incredibly upright, where he sagged into Nolan's arms at the airport and then I found out how afraid Ben is that every time the circus passes a Hard Day mark he waits for me to upend the tent and run off with some other clown. Because I've done it. Because I've ruined everything before. His solution is to make everyone hate him while he dies of fear.
As you can imagine, it's not very productive and almost assuredly counterproductive but Ben is Ben and he is slow to change.
JUST like BRIDGET.
There never seems to be anything BUT change anymore and we're attempting to force routine and permanence and we get burned repeatedly. Ever seen a circus tent go up in flames? I have. It goes up fast and it burns so hot. Permanence has come whether we rushed it or not. Routine will follow. Ben is planning to get a vacation loan to hang on to this library-borrowed strength until he can find some more ways to keep it going and me, well, I'm back in town so the circus is once again on.
All day, every day, half-price on weekends.
Thursday, 22 October 2009
We're heading home. I'm going to see if I can find a thicker skin to wear, Ben is going to get better and we're going to find some kind of routine. The rules are changing slightly, in that I will only be going to the loft two days a week, the other two I will work from home, with Fridays off as always.
Should be okay.
I have other things on my mind today.
See you tomorrow.
Should be okay.
I have other things on my mind today.
See you tomorrow.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Poetry by the Sea (chills courtesy of Lord Byron).
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
Quiet observations, but only the very good ones.
Good coffee.
Honey on the table.
Clean green paint on my chair.
Twelve pairs of gloves and three pairs of mittens by the door.
Fish are not pets, says Grampa, and he laughs again, pointing to the boats in the harbour.
Boys are speaking to one another.
Children seem to be over their colds.
We will conquer sleeping on feathers, just as we leave.
Movie and dinner plans for tonight, both acquired, for there is nothing here to go to.
The phone charger has come back to life, Dalton.
729 text messages and fifteen calls in three days.
All is well at home.
The sun is shining. It's not cold, and twenty-five years later I can still quote Highlander from beginning to end.
Ben is still sober.
God lives here.
And Jacob does not.
Honey on the table.
Clean green paint on my chair.
Twelve pairs of gloves and three pairs of mittens by the door.
Fish are not pets, says Grampa, and he laughs again, pointing to the boats in the harbour.
Boys are speaking to one another.
Children seem to be over their colds.
We will conquer sleeping on feathers, just as we leave.
Movie and dinner plans for tonight, both acquired, for there is nothing here to go to.
The phone charger has come back to life, Dalton.
729 text messages and fifteen calls in three days.
All is well at home.
The sun is shining. It's not cold, and twenty-five years later I can still quote Highlander from beginning to end.
Ben is still sober.
God lives here.
And Jacob does not.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Theatre of idiots.
Jacob's dad walks into the kitchen early this morning.
Doing a little writing, Bridget?
No, just checking the news.
I don't know why I lie about the writing. They know I write (hello), they know I write daily if not hourly and that I chronicled every single day that I spent with Jacob. In some ways my writing is far too personal to even acknowledge which is ironic, knowing the mediums I use. I guess it's the journal that was/is private, began in secret. Cole was so surprised to learn of it, I've never been the one to bring it up since.
Jacob's parents are incredibly glad to see all of us, most especially the children. They are almost thrilled that nothing ever changes and the first order of business today will be to replace the window in the garage and take Lochlan in town to the dentist, since Ben and Lochlan already managed to conduct a fist fight in the side yard, complete with broken glass and teeth. God Bless Lochlan but he really needs to think before he opens his mouth because he is the smaller of the two and it's always his teeth in the grass. Ben couldn't quash an impulse under threat of death and frankly I think the whole throw down in Bridget's honor is not nearly as honorable as it once was, you know, back when we were in high school. Nevermind the fact that I didn't go to high school with Ben.
No worries, they made up five seconds later, and Ben gets to be the one to take Lochlan in town and then Lochlan gets to be the one to explain to the children why it's wrong to punch people.
Jacob's father laughed, while his mother ran to get ice in a towel, marveling exactly how little has truly changed in all these years.
I could say the same.
Jacob's parents are love. They both look well and as good as they ever will be, missing Jacob so dearly. Life remains black and white for them, and their daily routine changes little. It's nice to poke around a little and make the calls that will bring someone to fix the things that they put up with and chip away at making their lives as easy as we can. They are so proud, it isn't an easy job.
I have not gone into Jacob's room yet. The door is open, I got halfway down the hall. The kids went in and I had to send August in after them because I was afraid they might disturb things. They didn't, and Ruth and Henry were more touched then I expected them to be, to be here again. They have been back with Caleb so their last visit was without me here and maybe everyone is just backing off a little and seeing how I am doing and not pushing and it's all very gentle and quiet but the wind still blows. The relentless wind.
I'm trying not to be difficult, trying to find the good in all the little things and I've been eating the feelings as they come up, dry-swallowing the hard parts before my eyes get too stingy and my hands start to flutter. But no one is dumb. The only thing is I probably would have cracked but the fact that the boys followed me here to continue to be my knights means I now have an obligation to pull the fuck together and make it a successful visit that doesn't end with those grim looks over my head as they wonder exactly how long the road back will be this time.
I would say I'm faring a lot better than Ben and Lochlan, who will be heading up the immature end of thing this time but that's only because I waffled yesterday and basically hammered Ben into the ground and I'll atone for that when he atones for the equally unfair things he does.
Trust me when I say we are even, and forgive me when I fail to tell you why.
Sometimes I hold all the power which makes life difficult when one would prefer to fall apart. I've done that so much it hardly seems worth the fallout anymore, especially this far from home.
And so instead I sit in this kitchen which boasts so many coats of paint over the years it has lost its corners and is growing smaller, and look out over the ocean that still makes me cry and try to understand how I would have ever been enough to make Jacob change his plans of coming back home after graduate school to live in the town he grew up in and instead come chasing after me.
Bridget versus the ocean? It seems like such an easy choice.
At least to me.
I'm sure there's going to be many emotional rollercoasters to ride before we leave here on Thursday. I'm thinking that for some of them I may just wait at the bottom this time.
And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go walk on the beach before lunch. Out here, that's where he is.
Doing a little writing, Bridget?
No, just checking the news.
I don't know why I lie about the writing. They know I write (hello), they know I write daily if not hourly and that I chronicled every single day that I spent with Jacob. In some ways my writing is far too personal to even acknowledge which is ironic, knowing the mediums I use. I guess it's the journal that was/is private, began in secret. Cole was so surprised to learn of it, I've never been the one to bring it up since.
Jacob's parents are incredibly glad to see all of us, most especially the children. They are almost thrilled that nothing ever changes and the first order of business today will be to replace the window in the garage and take Lochlan in town to the dentist, since Ben and Lochlan already managed to conduct a fist fight in the side yard, complete with broken glass and teeth. God Bless Lochlan but he really needs to think before he opens his mouth because he is the smaller of the two and it's always his teeth in the grass. Ben couldn't quash an impulse under threat of death and frankly I think the whole throw down in Bridget's honor is not nearly as honorable as it once was, you know, back when we were in high school. Nevermind the fact that I didn't go to high school with Ben.
No worries, they made up five seconds later, and Ben gets to be the one to take Lochlan in town and then Lochlan gets to be the one to explain to the children why it's wrong to punch people.
Jacob's father laughed, while his mother ran to get ice in a towel, marveling exactly how little has truly changed in all these years.
I could say the same.
Jacob's parents are love. They both look well and as good as they ever will be, missing Jacob so dearly. Life remains black and white for them, and their daily routine changes little. It's nice to poke around a little and make the calls that will bring someone to fix the things that they put up with and chip away at making their lives as easy as we can. They are so proud, it isn't an easy job.
I have not gone into Jacob's room yet. The door is open, I got halfway down the hall. The kids went in and I had to send August in after them because I was afraid they might disturb things. They didn't, and Ruth and Henry were more touched then I expected them to be, to be here again. They have been back with Caleb so their last visit was without me here and maybe everyone is just backing off a little and seeing how I am doing and not pushing and it's all very gentle and quiet but the wind still blows. The relentless wind.
I'm trying not to be difficult, trying to find the good in all the little things and I've been eating the feelings as they come up, dry-swallowing the hard parts before my eyes get too stingy and my hands start to flutter. But no one is dumb. The only thing is I probably would have cracked but the fact that the boys followed me here to continue to be my knights means I now have an obligation to pull the fuck together and make it a successful visit that doesn't end with those grim looks over my head as they wonder exactly how long the road back will be this time.
I would say I'm faring a lot better than Ben and Lochlan, who will be heading up the immature end of thing this time but that's only because I waffled yesterday and basically hammered Ben into the ground and I'll atone for that when he atones for the equally unfair things he does.
Trust me when I say we are even, and forgive me when I fail to tell you why.
Sometimes I hold all the power which makes life difficult when one would prefer to fall apart. I've done that so much it hardly seems worth the fallout anymore, especially this far from home.
And so instead I sit in this kitchen which boasts so many coats of paint over the years it has lost its corners and is growing smaller, and look out over the ocean that still makes me cry and try to understand how I would have ever been enough to make Jacob change his plans of coming back home after graduate school to live in the town he grew up in and instead come chasing after me.
Bridget versus the ocean? It seems like such an easy choice.
At least to me.
I'm sure there's going to be many emotional rollercoasters to ride before we leave here on Thursday. I'm thinking that for some of them I may just wait at the bottom this time.
And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go walk on the beach before lunch. Out here, that's where he is.
Monday, 19 October 2009
Good morning, Jacob.
I am still in Montreal. We crashed Sophie's party last evening and she seemed touched that we are continuing on to Newfoundland this morning. She looked well and whatever jealousy issues I have with her didn't seem to come up even once. She wrote a hasty note to bring along. I sealed it in a hotel envelope because I didn't want curiosity to get the better of me and it would have. Her relationship with your folks is far different than mine. I don't know which of us got the best of you. I am always hoping it was me.
I'm leaving soon to fly out. We've had a few delays and I'm reduced to emptying out my head because I've done everything else. They are off looking at the plane. The kids have fallen asleep here beside me as I sit in this stupid molded chair. I have all our coats bundled around them to make it comfortable. It isn't.
Once I get where I'm going you will be different. Fondly remembered, anguish in the time that has elapsed since your death. Everything you ever did, said or thought was good to them and I won't have it any other way. The flight was a desperate action. Uncharacteristic but understood because they have no choice. Horrible feelings to have to have but overall they are so proud of you. You are still Jacob with your beautiful white-blue eyes and white-blonde hair and your size fourteen feet. Oversized in every way.
In my concrete room, you are twelve feet tall. I walk in and look up and up until it hurts. I could hide in your wings if I could bear to touch you.
I don't actually know why I'm here.
I guess I do, in a way. Ben is trying to tick off whatever list I can come up with of things I need to get done before the week that I would like to take back. If only I could do anything in this entire lifetime of mine it would be to take that week back. October 24 right through November 7, 2007 because right up until that moment I thought I had my forever.
I fought too much, Jacob.
I fought to make you everything and it wasn't fair.
Bear with me, I've got to get this out now, because I'm really sure that I'm going to step out of the truck and step into Jacob's father's arms and he'll smell like Jacob and talk like Jacob and I'll waver ever so slightly like the old Bridget and the world is going to end. I wager I have about five hours left to my life if that's the case and why anyone would want to allow my children to witness that I will never know.
I'm sorry.
He was everything and now he's missing and I filled the space in with Ben because Ben seems to be able to take a lot and keep on going and he's not smart enough to understand that he made a big mistake with me and maybe that's okay because better me than some vacuous tramp who wants to ride his coattails. I'm not good for him, Jacob. But I know why you did this and I know you're there standing in the middle of the room right smackdab between us when we argue. I know you watch when he touches me just as much as he ever did and I know that unlike everyone else Ben isn't going to just get up and walk away from me and never come back.
Sad that the flightiest, flakiest, most immature one of the lot is the one who turns out to be the pillar of strength, isn't it?
I'm talking about Bridget.
I don't think I should go anymore. I know I'll disappoint them. I don't think anyone has a sweet clue how hard this is going to be on me and how much it will serve to reverse time and take me back to when things were different. I've been numb for so long. The dead lurches in my chest from when Ben says or does something so unlike him serve as my emotions now.
You have all ruined me, but you, Jacob, most of all. I am not your game. I was not some prize to be passed around and you guys all seem to think that my feelings aren't as important as your egos and your places among the others in this twisted brotherhood. I am tired of being the target.
I can see Ben from here now. He is walking toward me from the other end of the concourse. He's got a blind focus that means we're leaving now. Caleb is walking beside him. Sorry, gliding on hellfire that he carries around with him as a party trick. I'm supposed to keep my shit together and start working for him next Monday, a week from today. Right now I think I'd rather impale myself on one of the barbed wire fence-posts that barely keeps people from venturing over the edge of the cliff where the pretty white house sits where you grew up. These two dark overlords are running this show and I'm not all that sure that it's right.
I have made so many mistakes and I have let myself be taken in by charming words and smothering attention and Ben's peculiar, incredible generosity and loyalty and a private history with Caleb that has now driven Lochlan away. I'm not sure I've done the right thing, truth be told. I'm confused. They're exploiting that.
And now I have to figure out how to put it all together while everyone who matters watches from the sidelines. It's far too late for changes.
You could have prevented all of it and you didn't. And for that, I won't forgive you, even though I will love you to the end of my days.
Yours forever,
b
I am still in Montreal. We crashed Sophie's party last evening and she seemed touched that we are continuing on to Newfoundland this morning. She looked well and whatever jealousy issues I have with her didn't seem to come up even once. She wrote a hasty note to bring along. I sealed it in a hotel envelope because I didn't want curiosity to get the better of me and it would have. Her relationship with your folks is far different than mine. I don't know which of us got the best of you. I am always hoping it was me.
I'm leaving soon to fly out. We've had a few delays and I'm reduced to emptying out my head because I've done everything else. They are off looking at the plane. The kids have fallen asleep here beside me as I sit in this stupid molded chair. I have all our coats bundled around them to make it comfortable. It isn't.
Once I get where I'm going you will be different. Fondly remembered, anguish in the time that has elapsed since your death. Everything you ever did, said or thought was good to them and I won't have it any other way. The flight was a desperate action. Uncharacteristic but understood because they have no choice. Horrible feelings to have to have but overall they are so proud of you. You are still Jacob with your beautiful white-blue eyes and white-blonde hair and your size fourteen feet. Oversized in every way.
In my concrete room, you are twelve feet tall. I walk in and look up and up until it hurts. I could hide in your wings if I could bear to touch you.
I don't actually know why I'm here.
I guess I do, in a way. Ben is trying to tick off whatever list I can come up with of things I need to get done before the week that I would like to take back. If only I could do anything in this entire lifetime of mine it would be to take that week back. October 24 right through November 7, 2007 because right up until that moment I thought I had my forever.
I fought too much, Jacob.
I fought to make you everything and it wasn't fair.
Bear with me, I've got to get this out now, because I'm really sure that I'm going to step out of the truck and step into Jacob's father's arms and he'll smell like Jacob and talk like Jacob and I'll waver ever so slightly like the old Bridget and the world is going to end. I wager I have about five hours left to my life if that's the case and why anyone would want to allow my children to witness that I will never know.
I'm sorry.
He was everything and now he's missing and I filled the space in with Ben because Ben seems to be able to take a lot and keep on going and he's not smart enough to understand that he made a big mistake with me and maybe that's okay because better me than some vacuous tramp who wants to ride his coattails. I'm not good for him, Jacob. But I know why you did this and I know you're there standing in the middle of the room right smackdab between us when we argue. I know you watch when he touches me just as much as he ever did and I know that unlike everyone else Ben isn't going to just get up and walk away from me and never come back.
Sad that the flightiest, flakiest, most immature one of the lot is the one who turns out to be the pillar of strength, isn't it?
I'm talking about Bridget.
I don't think I should go anymore. I know I'll disappoint them. I don't think anyone has a sweet clue how hard this is going to be on me and how much it will serve to reverse time and take me back to when things were different. I've been numb for so long. The dead lurches in my chest from when Ben says or does something so unlike him serve as my emotions now.
You have all ruined me, but you, Jacob, most of all. I am not your game. I was not some prize to be passed around and you guys all seem to think that my feelings aren't as important as your egos and your places among the others in this twisted brotherhood. I am tired of being the target.
I can see Ben from here now. He is walking toward me from the other end of the concourse. He's got a blind focus that means we're leaving now. Caleb is walking beside him. Sorry, gliding on hellfire that he carries around with him as a party trick. I'm supposed to keep my shit together and start working for him next Monday, a week from today. Right now I think I'd rather impale myself on one of the barbed wire fence-posts that barely keeps people from venturing over the edge of the cliff where the pretty white house sits where you grew up. These two dark overlords are running this show and I'm not all that sure that it's right.
I have made so many mistakes and I have let myself be taken in by charming words and smothering attention and Ben's peculiar, incredible generosity and loyalty and a private history with Caleb that has now driven Lochlan away. I'm not sure I've done the right thing, truth be told. I'm confused. They're exploiting that.
And now I have to figure out how to put it all together while everyone who matters watches from the sidelines. It's far too late for changes.
You could have prevented all of it and you didn't. And for that, I won't forgive you, even though I will love you to the end of my days.
Yours forever,
b
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