It’s a good thing I was at the bottom of my fourth rum drink when we saw them wake up. Bats don’t eat pickles.

“What the…”

“DUCK!”

“Holy shit. HOLY shit. HOLY SHIT!”

Roaring fire. Plaid. Moose antlers. Giant rock fireplace. Rum. The friendly, whooshing hiss of a coleman stove. The best frigging supper ever eaten in all of frigging christendom (papardalle, asiago, garlic, garlic, garlic, butter, asparagus, and scallops, which, handily, have no faces). More rum. Bigger fire. Drunken interpretive dance. More rum. Cozy slippers. A clock that strikes midnight. A COVEN OF RABIED BATS HUNGRY FOR BLOOD.

ONE! One wide-awake bat! A-ha-ha! TWO! Two black bats! A-ha-ha! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! Seven wide-awake black furry swooping bats! A-ha-ha-haaa!

My instincts? Sharp as a tack. 1) Pull sweater up over gaping mouth; 2) Say ‘holy shit!’ fourteen times in quick succession; 3) Lay immobile thinking if I don’t move they’ll think I'm sofa if I don’t move they’ll think I'm sofa if I don’t move they’ll think I'm sofa.

Meanwhile Justin stood frozen solid as three of them circled his head almost too fast to track and said this:

“In french they’re called chauve-souris. You know, there aren’t many things that really give me the queebs. Mice are one of them. (FLAP! FLAP! FLAP!) Mice with wings are another. I think… (SHRIEK! SHRIEK! SHRIEK!) …yes. I think I’m about to lose my shit.”

Ten seconds later we were in the car headed home, these particular bats having been bred in Sauron’s evil lair to be unafraid of light. Thankfully, Justin had only sipped at a lone beer so as to enjoy the drunken interpretive dance unimpaired, and was able to drive home at mach ten screeching like a little girl until we made the shore.

(confession: that last bit may have been me.)

+++++

We returned the next morning to paddle to Liam’s eddy and I felt strangely blank.

Here is a mother whose baby died, and here she is paddling a canoe, and there she is standing under the tree where the beavers have been busy, and it’s all different now, everything shifted, and look, she’s hungry, and it’s time for rice crackers.

+++++

As we tied the canoe to the roof for the second drive home this trip, a large butterfly coaxed to me

Look! Look! Come and see!

And so I followed, lying on my side on the beach, admiring as it preened and sunbathed on the sand.

I am all joy! My wings, they are mine! They catch wind and eyes! I am beautiful.

We sat together for a while, me and the butterfly, and I cooed to him how lovely he was, how proud he must be of his wonderful yellow. He agreed and then went on to find adventure, and I wondered if in some deep recess he might harbour a speck of my baby and I thought to myself onward, onward, brave son!

+++++

Two hours later we pulled into the driveway. As soon as I opened the door I saw another on the grass, a different butterfly but identical to my preening friend, this one injured and fluttering pitifully. Half a wing missing from some misfortune, he told me

I was all joy, but now I am done

and I picked him up in my hand and cooed to him how lovely he was, how proud he must be of his wonderful yellow. He agreed, and I found a soft, broad hosta leaf in the shade where he went still and I thought to myself onward, onward, brave son!

LALALALALALAAA CAN’T HEAR YOU my brain singsongs, its fingers stuck in its ears as the throbbing, whimpering thing in my chest emotes and aches.

LALALALALAAAA let’s think about HAIR MOUSSE! and MEN! and VODKA COCKTAILS! and A NEW SUMMER SKIRT! and MOUNTAINS! and BUSINESS TRIPS! and THAT WAD OF PRIMAL GOO THAT’S BLOCKING THE BATHTUB DRAIN!

My brain has given itself Chiclet veneers to cover the rot underneath.

I fell apart a few weeks before their birthday. Then that day came and went and in the past six weeks I’ve lamented everything except Liam. What to do with this life. What to do with an unwanted minivan. How to ease off on paying work in the interest of making time for possibly dream-fulfilling work. How to possibly ease off on paying work after losing ten thousand dollars on a minivan that is apparently unwanted by everyone else, too. How to get my mojo back. How to shake this angry pallor.

<BZZZT>

Scratch that last one.

I’ve got grief exhaustion. I haven’t got any more profound left in me.

I’m tired of being honourable. Not as-in ‘sick of it’ but just plain tired. Tapped. There’s the first day he died, then the second day he died, then the six weeks in between: the day of his heart surgery, through his steroid-fuelled bloom, the day his brain began to flood. And one year ago today: the day they tried to fix it and he said that’s it, world. I think I’ve had enough.

Likewise.

++++++

This weekend we go to be with him, just the two of us, to see if we can spot his urn in the creekbed again. We’ll take our red canoe, paddle through the everglades that lead to the gnarly, twin-trunked maple that canopies over his gurgling eddy.

I’m bringing rum.

And after that I’m going to try and honour him by allowing myself to be human, not just some shadow of a human.

His soft, floppy body lies pressed to your skin and no matter your own heat, you can't keep him warm. From the inside-out, he is the still coolness of the end of life. Then his spirit is lifted into mystery, and it is done. And forever after that you take your own breaths under pressure: pressure to be in a state of constant spiritual vigilance, of love, of gratitude.

It’s impossible. I can only be so serene. It’s just not in my nature, except in fleeting moments. So I hope for one, just one, sometime tomorrow night.

The minivan is no more. Finally we decided to eat the loss (thousands) and trade it in, crippled by gas prices and emotional trauma and vanity. We bought the thing—the pentecostal retiree convention motorcoach, the Ferris-Beuller-endcredits schoolbus, the circa 1850s battleship—just over a year ago because we were going to have three children, and three children pushed us hopelessly into peoplemover territory.

We are once again Volkswagen people, our fifth. It’s sturdy-sexy and it smells right. It’s a standard. It is us. And we no longer require those guys in jumpsuits with the orange glowsticks to help us navigate underground parking garages.

As we drove away from the dealership Justin ya-hooed I’m not even looking back! as I turned in my seat to stare at its bulk, a brick shithouse in a lot full of German minxes, my eyes suddenly glassy. Thinking as I do with every step that leaves him further behind us goodbye my Liam, we wanted you.

++++++

The grasses are knee-high now around his blackened ruin, lupins and bramble spreading where there was once hissing smoke.

Now to be a wife again, a friend, a woman. To laugh and mean it.

++++++

FB | Message : night out

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Today at 8:23pm

So girls: I've been thinking lately how great it would be to get out. Not 'out' as in a barf-encrusted sweater and a trip for groceries, but 'out' as in a yummy dinner downtown and drinks, plentiful drinks, and TAXICABS (!!!) and maybe even a few bars—just a chance for a bunch of us to get polished up and whatever else may follow.

I'm wondering just how late I can stay out. I'm hoping I'd be able to make it past 10:30. That would be EPIC!!

so... care to join me? I figured you might be tempted....?
xo Kate

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Reply at 8:30pm

OH I AM VERY TEMPTED!!!!
I may have to make it a full night and crash at K’s—she's away for the weekend, but I am sure she'll be up for it!

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Today at 8:36pm

Oh goodie! ...I guess I'd need to crash somewhere too. I plan on being incapable of much else other than giggling and eating, so let’s make a night of it. yay!

K's going to get back from her weekend to find the two of us have invited ourselves for a sleepover. Where do city people go these days to drink and dance on the speakers? Where does it, you know, rain men?

Kidding.

Kind of.

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Reply at 8:45pm

HAHAHAHA....no kidding, we'll find that place!!
I am sure she won't care if we crash there!! Plus then when we get up in the morning and enjoy R's fresh muffins and coffee... he set the standard last time I was there!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Today at 8:51pm

YES. This is so great. I'm going to have to find my way to Winners first though, see if they sell all-over body girdles. I'm determined to *not* look like a lesbian farmer as per usual.

although... if I try to not look like a lesbian farmer then I really will look like a cougar. must find happy middle ground.. must find happy middle ground...

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Reply at 8:53pm

you are too much!! ;o)
Yes I may have to pull out the spanx!!!! they do the trick!

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Today at 9:02pm

Okay, that's what I need... I've seen them at Winners before but never the right size.

Christ. We’re totally cougars. Before we’ve even figured out where to go and when, we’ve already discussed the required maximum-support undergarments.

Evan:  Mommy, where is the other baby, the baby like Ben?

Kate:  That was Liam, sweets.

Evan:  Is he in the hospital? Can I see him?

Kate:  He’s your spirit-brother and he lives with the stars, and in your heart.

Evan:  I don’t have a heart. I’m a big boy.

Kate:  You do, goose. You are a big, beautiful boy with a big, beautiful heart. Liam watches you all the time and when he does, he’s with you right there in your heart.

Evan:  But I don’t see him. Why can’t I see him?

Kate:  Because he was a sick little baby, and he couldn’t stay with us, so he went up to the stars where they made him all better.

Evan:  Mommy, sometimes I can’t remember Liam.

Kate:  Oh sweetie, that’s okay. Daddy and me will help you remember him.

Evan:  I miss Liam mommy.

Kate:  I know love, we all miss him.

Evan:  What is daddy going to dream about tonight?

Kate:  Mountains. Big mountains with snowy peaks and scraggly trees and black bears all dripping with blueberry juice.

Evan:  What are you going to dream about tonight?

Kate:  Fishotopia, the place where the fish walk around on the land and the people walk around underneath the water and they come out in boats to try and catch us but we’re all too quick.

Evan:  What is Evan going to dream about tonight?

Kate:  Monkeys on ferris wheels.

Evan:  What is Ben going to dream about tonight?

Kate:  Ummm… let me see. How about… friendly tugboats?

Evan:  No mommy. Ben is going to dream about dumpsters and excavators.

Kate:  Oh. Okay.

Evan:  What is Liam going to dream about tonight?

Kate:  You, sweets. Liam dreams about you.

+++++

Justin (whispers to me):  the hook was stuck and then he got hold of it and it was too much time and so we didn't throw it back but I don’t think he knows about l-i-v-e and d-e-a-d and he keeps asking when it’s going to start jumping again and I think he wants to take it into the bath tonight.

Justin (turns to fisherson):  Are you ready to go and get some ice cream?

Evan:  YES.

Justin:  But you have to leave the fish here.

Evan:  NO.

Justin:  But he belongs in the fridge.

Evan:  NO HE DOESN’T. HE WANTS ICE CREAM.

Justin:  But you can’t just walk around everywhere with a fish.

Evan:  OH YES I CAN.