castles made of sand

Being here has the effect of cramming all the rest—wife, mother, medusa—into a jar and twisting the lid tight, sliding it onto the shelf with a clatter. Then another jar is retrieved, a very small one almost never opened. A once-sticky label wraps around the glass crooked and says GIRL.

The city twists off this lid and out she floats, just herself, the rest not demoted but merely on pause or hiatus or cryogenically frozen.

I walk these streets with a shit-eating grin. Vancouver’s clouds of pot, unabashed opulence, marginally insane people arguing with inanimate objects. I adore everything about you. I walk these streets with nowhere to be, breathing deep.

They say do you feel weird, without the boys? and the girl exhumed from the bottle smiles serenely and winks. Here I am simply myself, up to my nose in memories more potent, more intoxicating than woodsmoke. Today I bought perfume. Perfume called ‘Stiletto Musk’ that smells much less slutty than it sounds. Today I have blood-red toenails that look much more slutty than they sound.

Today I have blood-red toenails but no blood. I am a caricature with a limited shelf-life, but one who knows well enough to let it run off-leash until POUF.

+++++

What I’d forgotten is that there are people who haven’t seen me since Liam died. They are still processing, replaying. They have things they need to say and ask.

I scorn those who are too chickenshit to risk anything but silence, and yet this week, I’d rather not be reminded of my snakes.

They ask because they care, and because they need to acknowledge him, as I expect them to. When I tell them not to feel bad for asking, I mean it. It makes me love them more. But then I come back to this hotel room and tantrum because the exhumed Girl had been in such wandery, autonomous, feminine bliss.

I don’t want to be extraordinary.

I came back here tonight and felt alone, fucking special. I hate being special. I just want to say HEY check out these SLUTTY TOES and think they’ll play Der Kommissar on Thursday night?

I love Liam, but I wish I didn’t have to own the gore of his absence.

+++++

Walking the bricks of Yaletown the phone rang.

Mommy, I am going to bed. It is time for you to come home Evan ordered sternly. Justin’s voice and warmth, the knowing of the room in which they stood, the jammies, the routine to follow. My stomach churned, yanked umbilically.

Castles made of sand fall in the sea, eventually.

Comments

[Vicki]

It can be hard to find escape even in the darkest places. I wish his absence wasn't gore. I wish it was a wistful place most times...

[Tash]

Came across from Kristin's and have been losing myself in your archives. I wish I could find the words to describe all the emotions I've felt in the past half hour - you are an incredible writer. Glad you had that moment, though it seemed too brief, of bliss.

Will be back for sure.

[janet]

I always find it ever so difficult to separate the Girl from the rest. The reality of my familiar everyday sits on my shoulder like a stern older sister, clucking her tongue and asking, passive-aggressively, if I really think red is my colour.

I'm glad you were able to escape the jar, if only for awhile.

[thordora]

I never miss my kids when gone, ever. It's my time, and I guard it fiercely.

It's ok to be lost in yourself for awhile. Slutty toenails and all. The waves will bring you home when it's time.

[crazymumma]

I always loved how Jimmy said it. Imagine him here now, what he would wring out of our souls with his words and music.

[c.]

"I love Liam, but I wish I didn’t have to own the gore of his absence."

I love this line. I wish I didn't have to understand it.

[sweetsalty kate]

vicki - Liam *is* wistful, almost all the time. But it's recounting the details of what happened to him - which has to be done. I don't resent the people who ask - I just resent the fact that the nightmare is mine to tell. It's still a shocking thing to remember their birth (or the void of their birth) and their time in the NICU. All this time later I still can't believe it all happened to us, and it has a way of zapping me out of the illusion of cheerfulness or normalcy.

And thanks Tash... hello! Kristin said she'd have a play-by-play of tonight and now I'm all nervous. GAH. :)

[Kristin]

First: you captured free-spirtitedness and the Vancouver spirit equally perfectly in this entry.

Second: a recap, not a play by play, I promise, and I'll only say what we want to put out there. I promise I'm awkward and bumbly and not nerve-worthy at all.

[Jason Dufair]

Oh nice. Deliciously written. The jars, the tension of mommy vs. slut. And, of course, the ever-present joy/burden of Liam (all of love is a joy and a burden, isn't it?). I love how much you comes through in your writing, Kate.

Hope you and your toenails enjoy the rest of your trip.

[sweetsalty kate]

Kristin, we'll have an Awkwardness and Bumbliness contest, and it may be a verrrry close call....

I can't wait to meet you. Although... isn't there some kind of "what happens in Vancouver..." card I can pull here? :) kidding. kinda.

[wish]

a tide of emotions went through my heart after reading you......

It is your choice and you have the ability and power to decide-

"Do you want to live with and celebrate the beautiful, warm life of your son and the few weeks you had with him or do you want to celebrate that one dark moment when he was taken away............."

I sure hope that you are content with what you choose to live with.....

I am glad to have found you.....

wish

[shalet]

You are a spectacular writer. Enjoy your time - you deserve it!

[Kerri Anne]

You just catapulted me back to one of my all-time favorite cities on this earth. Beautiful entry.

[Jo]

Boy is this paradox, this dochotomy of Self so potent. I know your words stingingly. I rode the train to Chicago in April, dressed like I hadn't in years and free-wheeling in spirit. And when I saw the Sears tower in the horizon and I felt the city again, for the first time in years, I cried silently in my pock-holed seat on the AMTrak. It was like going home, it fit so, so well. But things had to be let go for me to experience it. We had the best weekend ever, and we're planning on doing it again in November. Those times are necessary on every level, but it's crazy, for those who feel the pull and tug, how you can unravel your real-time life with your past one and fall into a sort of limbo. XO I.love.red.toes. :)

[bon]

ah the strange collision of pasts, the ellipses of different lives intersecting. it's exhilarating and hard.

there's a little Greek restaurant that i think is still on Davie street...called Stepho's. lines up the street most nights, at least fourteen years ago. if you see a shadow of a girl walking down the sidewalk around there who looks like me but younger and more confused, with shorter hair and a cigarette, for god's sake say hi, will ya?

enjoy your castle. travel safe home, friend.

[Major Bedhead]

Your writing just blows me away. I don't know if I've ever commented here before, but I've been reading for a while and every time I read a post of yours, I'm left sort of stunned and breathless and with this little tangled knot of hope and hurt in my heart.

[mamie]

pretty new to the mama thing, and this past month brought my first time away from them for an over night with some ladies of mine. it was surprisingly easy to leave the house, thought i was doing great until i heard myself talking about them at great length. i asked if i should shut up about them and talk about politics instead...but the ladies were awesome and let me go about my babbling.

maybe next time a little more girl will emerge.

[nancy]

Another thoughtful post from the road, thank you.

On a different note, great self portrait... love the post-processing!

[liz]

real seriousness and raw sadness aside, it has to be said:

you are my hero. and you look fucking hot in that self portrait. you do Girl very well.

[kristin]

the pull of a city, a mistress, a bit more shinier you (or me) or mommas. i know this pull. your words are so true. your self portrait above is stunning. much love

[mo-wo]

We have a few nice days ahead. Hope the behindness of the ahead is, in the moment, what you need before you leave this place behind again.

Enjoy your head as always.
you go girl.

oooooo preeettie.

[bridge]

your beautiful in this pic, be well, may you figure it all out

[LaskiGal]

When my grief laid claim to my days and nights, it bound me, my words, my emotions, my desire to reach out . . . So much knotted pain that went unspoken as I tried to unravel it . . . knot by knot . . . often to no avail.

They don't know . . . I don't tell. Here. This place (the virtual space) is where I can let it go. Even for a moment . . . when I can be all pink and full of *smiles*.

Until sleep beckons, it calls often, but it never really comes.

Grief and loss and pain are so different for everyone. I could never say I understand. But I do sit with you, attempting to untie the knots.

[erin]

"My stomach churned, yanked umbilically."

love that.

enjoy your time, so it's even better being back and you have no regrets.

[maggie]

another realization, another wave. beautiful writing.

[Jenn]

Kate, I feel every word you write. I think you are an amazing writer, and understand everything so much of what you write about, especially the toe-nail polish ;)
I agree with you though. I appreciate the people that ask, or say SOMETHING about Jessica, rather then keeping the silence because they think it is easier.
You look amazing in your picture.

[camerashymomma]

all these thoughts... you express them so clearly. "My stomach churned, yanked umbilically." wow. and that photo? awesome.

[KYouell]

My own Girl has been trying to come out lately, but with no get-away planned she is stifled. I guess the family trip back home made her sit up and look around. She's filling my head with dreams every night so I'm hoping she'll stay until I can have a Girls' Night Out.

[Michelle s]

Wow. Your writing....Your post and your photo are gorgeous.

I enjoyed the photos of Little Nest, via Shutter Sisters and Flickr, too.