Fight Night(14)

Why is Mom so weird? I asked Grandma. She had fallen asleep. Weird? she said, after a minute. She put on her glasses. Well, let’s see. Is it because of Gord? I asked her. No, no, said Grandma. Well, maybe. Her hormones might be out of whack but that’s not really why she’s weird, as you say. Gord makes her happy! Really? I said. Very happy, said Grandma. As do you. Grandma moved her hand over my hair. It got caught in a massive tangle and she laughed. She called the tangle an elflock. Your mom is fighting on every front, said Grandma. Internally, externally. Eternally, I said. Yes, it would seem so, said Grandma. With your dad being gone and—

But where is he? I asked her. The truth is we don’t know, said Grandma. Is he dead? I said. Unlikely, said Grandma. I don’t think he is. And your mom is worried about losing her mind, said Grandma. Well, everybody worries about that, especially as one ages, but your Mom is terrified of losing her mind because of what she has inherited. Mom is a fighter on every front, said Grandma. She has to be. And a lover, too! Because of Gord? I asked. Because of everything, said Grandma. She screws around, I said. Perhaaaaaaps, said Grandma, but we can express that in so many different ways. And what difference does it make. Women are punished forever for everything! And her biggest fear is of losing you and Gord. I won’t be around forever to take care of you and your dad is MIA for the time being.

I take care of you! I said. Ha! said Grandma. That’s true, you do. But if your mom gets sick she worries about who will take care of you and Gord. I will! I said. Like the Boxcar Children. You could do it, said Grandma. You definitely have what it takes. But it might not be ideal. Yeah, I said. I’d rather raise Gord on a boat than a boxcar without wheels so we could actually get to places and ideally travel the world. Mom is afraid of losing her mind and killing herself but Grandma says she’s nowhere near losing her mind and killing herself. There’s stress, said Grandma. And fear and anxiety and rage. These are normal things. Normal, normal, normal. And then there’s mental illness. That’s a whole other kettle of fish. Whoa. Grandpa and Auntie Momo killed themselves, and your dad is somewhere else, those things are true, said Grandma. But we’re here! We are all here now. Then Grandma recited a poem or something. “In the long shadows of their misdeeds we are here fighting for the light of the world.” But in fact, she said, their suicides weren’t misdeeds. She talked about that. While she talked she tried to untangle the knot in my hair gently. She picked up one of the books on her bed. It was a thin book so she hadn’t needed to saw it into pieces. Let’s see, let’s see, let’s see, she said. Where is that? Then she found it and read: “He reached out a hand. Was it really raining still? No, it wasn’t. The sky spread itself unevenly and thinly as if it could open whenever the time came. Sparrows appeared on the wires, sat shaking the rain off. Yes, the world was … however it wanted to be. One way or the other, it wasn’t to be counted upon. It pleased itself. Not much point in having special wishes, as far as the world went, that was clear. So long as one could be alive, take part in it. And that’s what he was doing.”

Grandma closed the book and put it next to her on the immovable pile on her bed. Isn’t that wonderful? she said. I nodded. We didn’t talk. I didn’t know if it was wonderful. I lay next to Grandma with my head half on her arm and half on her chest. She smelled like a coconut. I thought about what Grandma had told me. What she has inherited. We watched three episodes of Call the Midwife and Grandma fell asleep during the second one. Her snoring was louder than the screaming mother and screaming baby combined.

Mom came home late from rehearsal and she and Grandma whispered together in Grandma’s room.





5.

Today when I woke up, Mom was already gone, but she’d left me a note saying she was sorry for being such a shitty mother, that she loved me so much and that things would get better. But what things? She wrote words in quotation marks that said, “It is important to fail at mothering or else your child will not pass from illusion to reality: the mother teaches the child to handle frustration by being one.” Then she drew a smiley face and a heart and the words Ha! Ha! And she added a P.S. that said, That’s D.W. Winnicott’s concept of the “good enough mother.” She wrote, Love, Mom.

I ran downstairs to show the letter to Grandma. She’s gonna kill herself! I said. Grandma said honey, honey, she’s not going to kill herself. She’s telling you she’s sorry for being weird, as you say, and that she loves you so much. In fact she’ll be home very soon. She’s just gone out to get coffee filters.

Yesterday Mom brought home Raptors jerseys for me and Grandma. We tried them on and played catch for ten minutes with Grandma’s exercise ball. Grandma said hoooooo, I’m Larry Bird, who are you? I’m worried she’s starting to get demented and Mom is gonna kill herself. Grandma’s leg really hurts right below the knee and she doesn’t know why, it’s a new thing. She checked to make sure she had enough bullets in her purse so she can go out to play cards all day today with her friends. When she swallows her pills she pretends they’re tiny soldiers sent off to fight the pain and sometimes she holds them up and says to them, thank you for your service, lest we forget, and then she swallows them and says play ball ! There’s a bathroom right next to where she and her friends play games all day, she said. So that’s good. She said she’s always had a good bladder, not like her sister-in-law Henrietta with her dodgy waterworks who always had to know where the washrooms were in Panama City because there were very, very few public washrooms there. Grandma could go all day without having to use the washroom. You were the winner! I said. Grandma said there are no winners or losers when it comes to bladder control.