Not even if you were staying here

The smoke billowing out of his mouth obstructed the view of his face. It hung there in the frigid air. He waved his hand and shattered the cloud. As it dissipated, Amie studied him. He was looking at her timidly, as if he was afraid of what she was about to do.

"You know what I'm going to say," she prompted him.

His gaze shifted to the ground. He started to shrug his shoulders but it turned into an exaggerated shiver. Amie waited for him to speak.

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to be like that. I mean, we can talk on the phone after work and it should only take a few months to save up for me to visit."

Amie dropped her head into her gloved hands and sighed frustratedly. Lifting her head, she turned to look around her as if searching for something to help her explain. She let out a groan.

“Jeremy, I just can’t wait around like that. I don’t want to wait around like that.”

Jeremy stared into her eyes, his expression wilting as she continued to speak. She met his gaze confidently.

“Jesus, we haven’t even been together that long. We don’t talk that much as it is. What would we even talk about after work? All you do is watch movies and Netflix. I hate movies! I just don’t think… no, I know don’t want to keep dating you. Not even if you were staying here.” She looked away from him, realizing how sharp the words sounded.

Jeremy’s stare broke and blinking, he flicked his cigarette butt into the snow pile at the edge of the sidewalk. He took three backward steps, slowly moving toward the driver side door of the U-Haul parked in Amie’s driveway.

“I am sorry you’re upset,” she said quietly to him.

“I’m not upset, Amie,” he replied quickly. We haven’t even been together that long, right? It’s only been what, four weeks since Becky’s accident? Maybe five? My internship was only 6 weeks, so yeah. Probably five weeks.” He yanked open the truck door.

“It’s fine!” he said loudly. “I mean, whatever,” he said more evenly. “I’ll have fun in Columbus. If you’re ever in the main office, look me up I guess? Or don’t? ‘Bye, Amie.”

He climbed in the orange truck and slammed the door shut.

Amie turned around and stiffly walked back into her house. She didn’t wait to shut and lock the door, but she lingered silently in the entryway, listening to Jeremy back the truck out of her driveway and take off down the street. She gasped, realizing she had been holding her breath.

Library

Shh.

Quiet.

Creeping down the rows.

The heaviness of the books help me study -

I can feel their massive knowledge pressing in close.

Breath through my nose, smell the musty dusty scent.

Sinking into history; down and down it goes.

The library is losing fame.

Quietly it slows.

Shh.

Stairwell

"... and next time you need to try harder, Amie, because we can't get stuck in a situation like this again. I've told you before that we need to have the clients on board before we move forward!"

Becky had her face scrunched and turned back toward me as she slowly shuffled through the door of the conference room out into the hallway.

"I'm going to make sure this comes up with Donald, too. I don't know what you were thinking!"

She turned around to face forward, slouching along the corridor, still muttering and shaking her head slightly. Becky's cute cross-body bag bounced along behind her.

My face felt hot and sweaty, but cold at the same time. I couldn't believe she was saying these things to me! Me, Amie, the analyst-of-the-month Amie. The life-of-the-company-holiday-party Amie.

As we neared the end of the hall, Becky slowed and as she reached the stairwell door stopped completely. She turned around to face me and said with a scathing voice and flashing eyes, "I'll be surprised if you last another week here, Amie. You're going to have to get your shit together." After one last scowl, she turned around to push the door open and walk into the stairwell.

I briefly considered turning around and walking back down the hallway toward the room we'd just emptied. But in a defeated way, my shoulders slumped and I resigned to follow her down the stairs. This stairwell was closest to my car and I needed to get out of the building as soon as possible.

I followed Becky into the stairwell, eyes on her feet ahead of me as she neared the top stair and reached out to grab the hand rail on her right side. Simultaneously, she stretched out her left foot to begin descending the stairs.

--

I was shocked into consciousness by the sound of shrieking. It was my voice screaming the words.

"Becky! Becky!"

I was looking down the stairs at Becky sprawled haphazardly, unnaturally at the bottom. She let out a loud moan and used one arm to try lifting her torso from the ground. Slowly, watching my own footsteps carefully, I descended the stairs and said again, "Becky!"

After making it half way down the flight, the door at the bottom of the stairs burst open and Jeremy the intern's wide eyes fell on Becky's limbs strewn about and her bag tossed into the corner of the landing. She moaned again.

Jeremy glanced up at me and uttered "Oh my god!" before turning around and screaming to the hallway behind him "Someone call an ambulance! Call 9-1-1! Becky fell down the stairs! Becky?"

He bent down and gently touched her back. She was clearly hurt. Her left leg was curled under her body in an odd way and her left arm was stuck out at an angle suggesting that it might be broken. She tried again, feebly this time, to use her right arm to lift her torso. She moaned again, but this time more quietly than the others.

People from the offices on the lower floor began sticking their heads into the stairwell. The commotion was increasing steadily. People were crouched on the stairwell landing next to Becky, speaking to her as well as to each other

"Did someone call an ambulance?"
"Is she going to be okay?"
"Becky, someone is on the way."
"Does anyone know her husband's name?"
"So she fell down the stairs?"
"Who is calling 9-1-1?"

"Amie, are you okay?" Jeremy had noticed that I had slowly taken a seat on the stairs about half way up. I was breathing heavily and felt light-headed.

"Did you see what happened?" Jeremy asked me. Being athletic, he sort of jumped the railing to the side of Becky's body and slowly crawled up the stairs to sit beside me.

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't know what happened.

I told him, "I remember watching Becky's feet at the top of the stairs. I saw her reach out for the railing and then..." I went quiet.

Jeremy patiently waited.

"And then I remember shouting 'Becky'. And then you came through the door."

Jeremy didn't say anything.

We sat there together on the stairs, watching people patting Becky's back and stroking her hair. She flinched or moaned every few minutes. Finally an EMT entered through the stairwell door and took charge of the situation. We continued to sit there and watched the crew extract Becky from the stairwell on a stretcher.

Jeremy gently placed his arm around my shoulders. As he gave a slight squeeze, my mind burst with images, seemingly new, playing like a movie in my head of the minutes before that I'd somehow forgotten.

--

I followed Becky into the stairwell, eyes on her feet ahead of me as she neared the top stair and reached out to grab the hand rail on her right side. Simultaneously, she stretched out her left foot to begin descending the stairs.

Carefully watching her right foot, I reached my left shoe out and quickly hooked it around her right ankle. She propelled her weight forward onto her left foot, heading down the stairs but my shoe kept her right foot from moving forward to catch her momentum. As if in slow motion, I saw myself pick my foot up further and further as she tried to free her right foot to catch herself.

Becky's hand missed the rail and she fell freely down the stairs, landing partially on her left arm with a nasty crack and then flipping forward in a summersault motion to land with her left leg twisted underneath her, face down.

I spoke softly then to Becky, laying at the bottom of the stairs. "Get your shit together, Becky."

And then blinking, realizing what I'd done, I began screeching Becky's name.

Bedtime

Familiar sting of tiredness in my eyes
Against my chest, small breaths and sighs
Sleepy in the nightlight.

She's growing in my arms,
She's so little now.
Where does the time go, where? And how?

There it goes:
Rock after rock
Tick after tock.

Bedtime is fleeting
And when she's sleeping
The stinging turns to tears of exhaustion and joy.

So happy, so sad
To see the time slipping away.
Rock after rock
Tick after tock.

Recharge

Zap.

Boom.

This is how I wish I could recharge. But I don't know of anything that actually recharges like that. Instantly, boldly, without hesitation, boom. No longer tired, no longer weary, no longer void of energy, zapped to life.

Life: zest, passion, focus, laughter, purpose.

The sour truth is that I don't know how to recharge. My batteries are burnt. My soul is worn out like an old sock with a gaping hole in the heel. I cannot continue on.

Now begins my quest to discover: how do I recharge?

Am I A Bad Mom?

I'm not a bad mom ...right?

Today I am home with both of my kids. My oldest daughter is going to turn 4 this weekend and my youngest is 9 weeks old. The little one doesn't do a whole lot yet and the older one, while needing fairly constant supervision, can entertain herself for small periods of time.

This afternoon, my husband came back from the doctor at around 3:30 pm. I'd expected him home earlier and was patiently waiting for him so that I could go take a shower to get some "me" time away from the girls. He's on call this week which means that he works from 5:00pm until 8:00am. Last night he was busy the entire time; he didn't eat supper with us, he didn't help with bath time, he didn't get to say goodnight to the girls, and he didn't even get to sleep. That's just how it is sometimes when he's on call.

I finally made it into the shower and just felt so sad. How pathetic that a much needed, haven't-had-one-in-three-days shower was what I considered "me" time. And how pathetic was I for feeling guilty for even taking a shower. I thought about all the things I'd rather be doing than staying home with my kids. I thought about how worried I was about being able to get by when I have to go back to work in 2 and a half weeks. How will I manage then? Then I thought: I'm a bad mom. What kind of mother dreams about days away from her kids?

And of course then I cried. Nay, I sobbed.

Am I a bad mom?

I love my kids SO MUCH. I do. But then how do I justify my sobbing in the shower about being their mother?

I confided in my husband that I am worried that I'm a bad mom. I told him that I don't want to be a mom today, and that sometimes I just hate it. All of it. My husband, being the best human I know, made me feel better and told me all the things I needed to hear even though I already knew them. We'll get through this time in our lives. It will get easier. And for heaven's sake - I'm not a bad mom. I'm now enjoying a treat of hiding out in our bedroom while he babysits until his shift starts at 5:00pm. I've got 21 minutes left!

I don't have any words of wisdom for you moms reading this. There really isn't even a conclusion. This is merely a window into what life is like for me sometimes. If you're feeling the way I am, I'm really sorry. But let's remember: we'll get through this, it will get easier and we aren't bad moms.

Cheers,
Erin