Maame(94)

“Hold on, Dad,” I shout above the storm. “I’m coming! I’ll save you!”

Lightning cracks across the sky, but still I dig and dig until my hands bleed and the rain streams down my face; I’m wet through, my clothes cling to me, the cold burying itself into my lungs. My arms shake with exhaustion, but I can’t stop.

He needs me; my dad needs me. He must be terrified and all alone. I can’t leave him, not again.

I drag at the dirt until suddenly two people grab either of my arms.

“Miss, you’re not supposed to be here; it’s midnight.”

I fight against them. “No, you don’t understand. My dad is down there. I have to save him! Please, let go of me!”

I wake up and my back is wet, my throat is dry, and my arms are sore from reaching out for something in the night. I look at my phone and it’s 2:07 A.M. I settle back into bed, wipe my eyes dry, and fall back to sleep.



* * *



Nia

I know I already called but just wanted to check up on you.

How’d you sleep last night? X



Maddie

Like a baby. You don’t need to worry about me x



Google: Stages of grief

Shock—denial—anger—bargaining—depression—acceptance Maddie’s stages of grief

Shock—denial—depression—shock again—anger—did I skip bargaining and is it too late to start?—depression—acceptance—depression





Chapter Thirty-eight


Twenty minutes in, Angelina says, “I’d like to refer back to our previous session and discuss two things in particular. Your need to end conversations with ‘I love you’ and the name Maame. Which would you like to discuss first?”

I pick the first option, though I’m uncertain what more there is to say.

“We agreed,” Angelina begins, “that a part of navigating life has to do with navigating people and their isms. We didn’t dig very deep, but we briefly discussed your parents and how you were sure they loved you even though they failed to verbally express it.”

“Yes.”

“So, Maddie, would you say you’re well-loved?”

“That’s an odd way to phrase it.”

“But you understand what I mean?” she says. “One of my first observations was your obvious need to be loved. Your craving of it is reflected in your tendency to people-please, even at the cost of your mental health. Would you agree?”

“It’s difficult not to.”

“Even contributing to your depression?”

Although there’s still so much left for me to unpack regarding my relationship with depression, I nod.

“Good. I ask if you think you’re well-loved because it’s easy to conflate being well-liked with being well-loved. There’s often a misconception that to be well-loved, the love has to come from multiple sources, when truthfully, one or two people can love you with the strength of ten. Do you have people in your life who love you with the strength of many?”

I immediately think of Nia and Shu. I think of how Nia has never directed one inch of resentment toward me for not being the kind of friend she’s been to me when her dad died. How she can move to America and return as if she’s been gone only for days instead of a year. How at the beginning she said she’d do anything for me and has wordlessly proved she meant it.

I think of Shu coming over with shit for my sadness in the middle of a weekday. She rarely takes time off work. She could have waited for the evening or the weekend but instead came as soon as she heard. Did she walk straight out of work? I remember how she came over with Nia when I found out about Ben and Sophie. What had she been doing before I called her? What had they each dropped last minute for me? Shu didn’t have to talk to me in that lecture hall all those years ago just because she saw me on my own. And the time she answered her phone when I called to ask why she was a lesbian, even though I know she never touches her phone during office hours. Yet I subconsciously knew she would see my name flash on her screen and pick up.

“Yes,” I answer quietly. “Yes, I’m very well-loved.”

“Good. It will serve you well to remember this, especially at times when certain sources of love fail to deliver.” Then Angelina says, “Maddie, at the beginning of this session we spoke about your father’s funeral, your feelings during and after; we spoke about your family, immediate and extended. You said you’d never felt closer to your culture and who you are—and more importantly, who you want to be going forward. How do you feel about the name Maame now?”

I’m about to say nothing has changed, but that would be a lie. “It’s complicated.”

“Try your best to make it simple. Say your thoughts aloud if that helps you.”

I take a breath. “Before, I said I hated it, but I don’t think I do. I like the name. It can feel heavy and it won’t be what I call my children if I choose to have any, but it’s really a term of endearment. Well, it’s meant to be, so maybe what I didn’t like was how my family turned it into an excuse. The name Maame put a lot of pressure on me, but it also made my dad feel safe when he must have felt trapped and uncertain. It made my mum’s life a little easier and, ultimately, it taught my brother a lesson. It made me someone I needed to be so I could find out who I want to be.” I smile at Angelina. “I suppose I owe Maame a great deal.”