Same difference.

 Oh my gosh. What was a trickle at the end of last week has grown to a waterfall overnight seemingly. Seven deliveries this morning alone and it's nine-fifteen. Four were huge bouquets of flowers, the kind of bouquets you don't have space for but we're doing our best. Three were care packages of chocolate and fruit and candy as Ben's sweet tooth is as legendary as mine and one of the reasons we get along so well. 

Once he sees them I will take them apart and find space for everything (because the candy basket in the butler's pantry is not nearly big enough suddenly even though it's technically a basket designed to hold ten pounds of potatoes but for now I'm just trying not to fangirl over the names on the cards. Pretty sure the local delivery shops were like yeah, right, but also maybe not, once they got to the front gates and had to be buzzed in after a little scrutiny. 

John has fetched each and every one and I am mentally choosing the next places for flowers if more come and can spill over to next door if necessary. Ben can see them all when he is ready, as this morning he and Lochlan took their coffees and their ipads and stretched out in the library in the big chairs to read quietly for a bit, with the doors closed against the noise of the morning, a habit they like to indulge in a few times a week, a rare couple of hours to be left alone.

(More likely a respite from my boundless nervous energy and fretting which I would also like a respite from but as Ben told me earlier it's a far sight better than the despair I usually exude but by saying that he was also admitting that my suspicions are correct.)

That's why when we walk on the beach I like to be alone. They can be at the other end. I just sometimes need space. Doesn't everyone? This is not a bad thing, it's necessary. 

Do I sound defensive? 

Huh. 

I'm having a really hard time not monopolizing Ben since he's been home. Apparently that's normal. Maybe it's even good as we have to watch him still for any backsliding or new issues that come up but I also want to protect him. Lochlan told me I can't watch him twenty-four hours a day or who would look after me? 

You, I blurted out, as if there's any question. 

He smiled sweetly. God, he's sick of my shit too I bet.

***

I have something that might work for you, Duncan says later (WAGON WHAT WAGON I think in alarm as I watch the wheel squelch him facefirst into the mud.)

Schuyler said I'm not allowed to day drink anymore, I point it out properly and completely ignore the Best Mom Ever coffee mug sitting at my right hand. It's full of champagne and a splash of orange juice (for colour). I haven't touched it yet. I'm oddly jittery and even though Sam says it's normal and I know all this it's also incredible to me how quickly the fluttering fingers and crushing panic returns and how it feels completely standard now, as if it's my default and everything else is fake.

Geez, Bridge. It's not booze.

I can't smoke, Duncan. It's a reminder. Instant headaches. Also just gross. 

It's not smokeable. It's a capsule. 

Filled with what?

Less panic? He laughs. Look. It's here if you want it. Might take the edge off. 

I don't think it's for me, whatever it is, but thank you. 

Here's the label. Look it up. I'm not trying to fuck you up. I mean...I could if you...want? But this is like microdosing just to control the worst of the moment. 

Like when they give me the needles and I sleep for a day?

No, not like that at all, Bridget. Holy fuck. 

***

Caleb keeps trying and I won't let him. He tries to corner me. Tries to call me. Tries to 'surprise' find me wherever I end up but by my request no one's giving him an inch and I've got privacy but I'm not alone for him to approach and he absolutely will not entertain an audience. 

Well, that's the difference between me and you, I guess. Having an audience is in my blood. I see John's eyebrows go up and he is a master at looking amused without changing his expression one iota. Maybe he can teach me how to do that. 

Can I request a nightcap tonight? 

Sorry, I think I'm doing drugs with Duncan tonight. 

What the fuck, Neamhchiontach. 

It's a joke..I think! 

He looks so hurt. Good.

We're in the burning building now.

Ben still has not ventured into his studio downstairs, a place he rarely left before the accident (life is now before and after again but newer tragedies require newer delineations). He is mildly fearful and visibly hesitant sometimes, especially near the end of the day. In the mornings he wakes up almost-Ben. He has near-constant headaches, cannot walk at his usual pace for unsteadiness and dizziness, and he is easily overwhelmed. 

He is slow to answer a direct question, needing more time to process. He briefly forgot my name the first day he spent fully awake but not who I was to him. He stumbled over trying to call me Beatrice, eventually when he was looking for the word Bumblebee, then he snapped when corrected to remind him my name is Bridget. 

I know that, I was looking for what I call you.

He couldn't remember stupid shit like skiing in the rockies or dancing on tables but he knew how much was in his chequing account and when the kids' birthdays are. It's coming back in pieces, by degree. He can't parse the steps necessary to make his famous ice cream and can no longer swim (doesn't want to, I mean, and doesn't like the pool suddenly anyways. Which sucks because he's going to be doing some of his physical rehab in it.)

 He can brush his teeth, type out emails (albeit slower than before) and make love (very much slower than before and not looking forward to that changing back if it does. HA). He knows what clothes are in his closet and what he wants to wear and it's appropriate for the forecast but he needs a little help with buttons. He is not going to be driving anytime soon. He can't write down a dictated phone number because it's too fast, say it again and he still gets sidetracked and frustrated so quickly. 

He shakes when he's tired, which is virtually all of the time. He is getting up at ten or eleven and going to bed at seven. 

 Days are long but short but long. 

It's going to take a long time. Most of his days are spent resting and the rest will just take time. We are learning how to help him with his physical rehabilitation and with his emotional fallouts where he is angry far too fast and inappropriately or when he is despondent and feels dark and hopeless. We're working with him on managing pain medication in order to wean him off it without seeing him suffer. He doesn't want to take it. His headaches remind him he has to. 

So yes, we were lucky. He is lucky. He got hurt in just the right way that he isn't permanently destroyed but it will be weeks or months or maybe never that he is Ben 1.0 again. Ben 2.0 is a little more of a handful but like I said they let us bring him home because we have the resources and the manpower to care for Ben more impressively (around the clock) even than the wonderful staff at the hospital who put up with all of our shit for weeks and never once acted surprised at any of it. 

We are caring for him every moment of every day and night. He cares for us right back. I wanted to be back in his arms and I am and there isn't any other favour I will ever ask for again from God. I got a very big one granted and I wouldn't dare try my luck again. I daresay neither will anyone else.

Mars.

 Today's much better, or at least this morning certainly is. Got fucked. Twice. Okay three times if you count that Ben came back for more because he gets super hot watching me and Lochlan and then can't help himself ever and I should know better than to indulge him a second time. So, moving slowly now. 

Caleb handed me a breakfast mimosa because he a) didn't know how much fun we were having sleeping in so doesn't hate me yet and 2) despises stale champagne so this was the end of the party champagne from Saturday night and now I'm half-drunk and reading Interview magazine out on the patio in the sun. It's still summer by a technicality but not by tradition and so we balance here on the cusp of Autumn and by four this afternoon every last one of us will be melting by the pool. I managed to get a tan in spite of myself this year and am loathe to even think about my corduroy overalls and oversized sweaters when it's still thirty-five in the shade every day. Ice cream for dinner? Okay, whatever. 

I read about Lana Del Rey first and now I've moved on to Jamie Dornan. Interview has dredged up a thirst trap (they admit it) photoshoot of Dornan from six years ago when Fifty Shades came out and wrote a few lines that I snorted painfully quick about how summer 2020 doesn't exist and didn't happen for any of us but hey, look at these pretty pictures and feel better, huh? 

They aren't wrong. That's how everyone lives now. Gloss along on something beautiful and find a few ways to dull the pain here and there and what more can you ask for? This summer saw me make some decorating changes in the house, I learned to navigate the feelings of someone getting badly hurt but coming home again in their own body instead of a box, I kayaked, I drank too much, I fought with virtually everyone and I went to the first half of summer camp but it wasn't great and now we have yet another freshly minted start on our threshold and I don't know if I should let it in now or wait for it to become frustrated and impatient in tinges of orange and gold. 

I don't know. I don't know. Jamie would know. Or maybe Caleb. He looks good in a bathtub in his underwear. I've seen that picture before. I don't care today though. I've got Ben's fingerprints embedded in my heart and Lochlan's arms wrapped around my soul, holding it tight so the devil can swoop in with his cold breezes and hot sins and he can drag my defenses down from the top of my head right off the ends of my toes and he still can't break today. Because it's new, it's strong and it's mine to make good. He can't have it. Well, okay if the mimosas keep coming to me seventy-thirty then he'll probably get it but that remains to be seen.

They don't know my heart

FUCK. Having a stressful day and can't get a hold of it and it's only ten in the morning. Wish me luck.

Lazy Sunday.

 No church today as Ben still tires easily and we won't leave him alone. We're shift-napping, shower-sharing and eating when he is hungry and it's honestly been the nicest schedule as I even slept until eight-thirty this morning, his arms tight around me, one hand holding Lochlan's head because Lochlan's arms were also around me but he had a hand tucked in Ben's elbow. Thank heavens it's not twenty-five degrees overnight anymore. On the contrary, actually and it's wonderful and cozy and I feel safe again, at last.

This morning Sam blessed us all on the way out the door. I am in respectable pajamas, enjoying a coffee mug full of ice and grapefruit juice, mildly hungover but also worn and tired today. I popped a multivitamin, lit an Indian temple incense stick and brought Midnight Sun (it's that good) outside to read on the patio under the pergola. It's vaguely overcast and scheduled to be very windy tomorrow and then really hot for the rest of the week so I have an eye towards chores and what will really need to be done this week versus what can wait one more. We're trying to wring the last of summer out here, trying to keep ahead of the headaches and ennui, trying to indulge in group self care and comfort, trying to just feel better about everything and heal up from the stress of August (the month, not the person).

We'll get there. Always do. Finding the little rituals, the tried and trues, the poetry of being flawed humans. The endless second chances, always called second because we can't keep track. 

Ben is working his way through emails. A line or two saying he's home recovering from a brain injury after a fall and if there's anything pressing between now and December to reach out and otherwise he'll reconnect after Christmas. None of it was due before that that hasn't already been finished and he is content again, closing his laptop lid, putting his head back to catch the sun, eyes closed. 

Schuyler's taking over as point sponsor from Ben too, though people still confide in Ben in a way they don't with even Schuy. We're good. So good. Still just happy he's here.

Fifty-five.

It's a pirate ship ride. A trip through the fog, gold pouring out of our pockets as we get pelted by saltwater rain. It's a darkened journey through a moonless sky, an endless black ribbon like a highway that slips through my fingers and twists away on the wind. It's a siren's song from the deep and I implore them to go faster, lest she catch me, drowning me in her mirror image, taking me to the end. 

Did I win? I wake up with a start, thick sleep muffling my words, spoken into the side of Lochlan's head. 

What were you fighting for? 

Life. 

He nods sagely. Then you won. 

I grab his hand as another wave washes over us. There's no rest for the wicked here on the high seas, no respite from the danger, and he straightens my hat on my head before resuming his perpetual lookout. Lochlan is a professional pirate, and I am his parrot. Always at his side, echoing his every word. Lifelong companions here on the Salish sea.

Happy birthday, I whisper over the roar of the waves. 

Indeed it is! He agrees. Best birthday ever. An annual proclamation, no matter what adventure we end up on.

I trace his Jolly Roger flag tattoo. It's one of my favorites. He kisses the top of my head and for good measure leans forward, kissing Ben's cheek on the other side of me. 

Me hearties, he says and he falls back asleep. Huh. Guess we're not getting up just yet.

Icing, lies and unbroken yolks.

So I finished Heidi and I'm telling you, calling it my most beloved book of my entire childhood now means my childhood was basically a lie, covered in goat cheese. 

The ending was a nice comfy discourse between not-disabled-child anymore Clara and miracle holy child Heidi, who has fixed everyone's miserable lives and then points out you don't have to wish for specific shit from God, he will simply gaze down upon you and figure out how to give you exactly what you need! 

And they lived happily ever-

WTF. *throws book at wall* *Lochlan comes bounding up the steps a moment later*

You oka...ah. I see you finished the book. 

Boy, DID I! 

He laughs and heads back downstairs. 

When I next saw the book it was neatly on the shelf again. Sure, I'll keep it for the cheese-toast and milk breakfast descriptions but otherwise fuck that. Worst book ever. Can't believe I didn't remember anything else. Maybe I blocked it out to self-preserve.

Next up is Midnight Sun. I'm the biggest secret Twilight franchise fan that ever was. Looking forward to this. Wish I had bought it a few weeks ago so I could have remained in the dark forever about Heidi's true purpose as the Son of God disguised as an unwanted orphan girl clinging to a steep Swiss mountainside. 

Vampires are always better.

***

Tomorrow is Lochlan's birthday, yesterday was Ruth's. It's a whole week of celebrating here and I am enjoying it. Even the work part of throwing big special dinners and baking multiple cakes is fun. No pressure these days. I'm in awe of how beautifully both my kids have grown up and as always like to remain fairly private about them because this blog isn't about parenting or a peek inside my life, it's simply a place for my brain to throw words at a blank page and see what sticks. 

 But you know this. So stop asking for more about them.

***

Caleb landed a gentle kiss on my cheek as I made eggs for breakfast this morning and asked if there was enough for him, or could I leave the pan on the range and he could make some as well. 

There's tons. Grab your plate, I assure him that I'm not giving him the silent treatment or anything, I'm  just waiting to take my cues from Ben, who is hungry and all he wants to do is eat and sleep and sleep some more. Collective politics can wait. 

We extended that courtesy to Caleb the last time he had to have a hospital visit, you'd think he would return the favour.

Instead I get a text later. Nightcap?

Maybe, I write back if for no other reason than to make him hope. Maybe God will just see what he needs and drop me down the mountain. Surprise, Diabhal! 

Fuck my life.

(I know I can do it, but that doesn't make it any less frightening.)

I mistakenly called it clairbuoyant when I was little and he never said it the correct way again.

***

Everyone keeps asking me (no I haven't finished Heidi yet. Working on it, rage-reading) how I'm doing and I just widen my eyes slightly and point. Guess they have the wrong person. Guess everything I've been though is but a drop in the proverbial bucket in comparison to Ben, and Daniel, who have seen more hardship in their lives than I, but also Ben took a double-blast as he tried to shield Daniel from the worst of it, charring his skin to a thick shell, keeping it turned toward the rest of the world thereafter. 

Ben has dealt with some terrible things, and he ended up in recovery finally (AA not the room outside surgery) only to have Caleb come for him and fuck him up just enough that the hospital pumped him full of drugs (!) (!!) (!!!) to make him comfortable for the fight to go home. 

And here he is. 

He's been through his shit, and you've been through yours. August is holding a glass of ice water against his t-shirt and it's soaking through. But he is intent and focused on my face, waiting for the tell-tale expression that will give my hiding place away. 

My shit is not relevant this week. 

It is. Too you and the people who care about you and you don't need to backburner your own struggles to achieve martyrdom for looking after Ben. 

Was I? Can you cite any concrete examples?

You've been a machine this week?

I try and change the subject. How is virtual burning man? (It's trash. Don't look) I smirk for good measure. August is not an internet boy. He gets the news when someone tells him. He phones the bank to do transfers. He is practically Amish and I love him for it though he also sends me naked, headless selfies so the potential is there and it's not even...untapped. 

(Snort.) 

Burning building, Augie. I told you it was important to save Ben first. Now it's really important. It's like I knew already and have just been doing drills.

Maybe you foretold the future-

My eyes grow wide again and I turn and hurry back to the house, back to Ben, back to the safety of the coloured lights illuminating the late summer birthday sky, away from what was supposed to be a guess, that got it right so readily I knew then for sure that I really was dealing with the Devil himself.

Still can't get him to go into his studio. Didn't expect that but he says he just wants to be close. :)

 Birthday cake baking is well underway. I keep giving Ben tiny chores like fetching the flour or washing the measuring cups and turning on the oven light and after looking at him sideways one too many times thinking he would revolt he finally asked if I was okay. 

Yes. Are you?

I'm fine. Bee, I'm just happy to be standing here right now. You know how long it's been since I could properly hold you?

(By properly he means nakedly, of course.)

I nod. Not going to cry. Dammit. No no no no no don't. Daniel needed-

Daniel has Schuy. You needed the reassurance. I would have kicked him out but he was asleep too fast. 

He's your brother. 

You're both my family-

Blood is thicker-

Thicker than us, Bridge? No, it's the same. We're family, same as Dan and I are brothers, you and I are forever together.

I wish this hadn't happened to you, Benny. 

Sometimes bad things are just a reset button for a new direction.

What direction are we going in now? 

Forward. We've been sideways for too long. He grins his big goofy nerd grin at me and I burst into tears.

Make us who we are.

I had a moment of panic yesterday late afternoon when I suddenly wondered if we were capable of bringing Ben home after all, even though I wanted to so badly. If we could manage. What would happen if something went wrong, as we're close to an hour from the nearest hospital. 

(It's just like that feeling when they let you leave the hospital after giving birth and you just take your baby with you and you're thinking, what? You're just going to let me leave with this fragile human? I don't even know how to take care of them. Are you sure? Do I have to sign something? Do I need to pay for them? Aren't you coming with me? Is there an instruction manual? Oh my God, they're crying again, maybe we should stay a little longer?)

Ben just wanted his own bed, though when he went to have a shower Daniel came up with him and sat on the bench outside the bathroom with the door cracked open just a little in case Ben got dizzy or anything went wrong because I could happily watch him shower but if he slips or keels over I can't physically catch him. Too small. 

Lochlan could do it but not full weight without any warning. That's a lot to ask.

But nothing bad happened and now Ben smells like our soap instead of institution and Daniel has finally exhaled as it is the two of them in this world and goddammit they've been through enough. Once he was judged to be fine Ben said he was going to go to bed early and Daniel went and curled up beside him. I cried because Daniel was so afraid during this but he was so brave and this seems right. He needs this, needs his big brother and as much as I wanted it I can wait another day.

Even in sleep Benjamin still looks like a raging maniac. He'll have permanent scarring underneath his hair (when it grows back in). He has headaches and moments of vertigo and confusion if people talk too fast all at once (God help us in this house) and he reaches for the handrail and considers stairs and inclines for a beat, leaving me profoundly grateful for Emmett's railings. He loses focus easily and gets angry easily. He's afraid to go into his studio but we're going to tackle that this morning maybe, if he wants. He's tired. So tired. But he's intact and his brain is working and they say everything will either come back in time, or not and just to wait and see.

Thank you for your prayers that I stole a couple of weeks ago. They worked and I will repay you when the time comes that you need them returned, though I hope that doesn't happen.