Dianne, my mother, has Kennedy for the summer. That has turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Since you died things haven't been the best at home. I'm sleeping more than I'm doing anything else, including spending time with my daughter. I know that she's hurting, but I don't know if I can help her. I can't even get out of the bed most days, so how can I help her cope? If I'm barely managing to go through the motions, how am I supposed to raise her to be the best she can be. I can't. My mother knows this. I can't do this by myself. You're supposed to be here. I shouldn't have to do this by myself Josh.
I remember when I was a child, she would brag on me and tell people how proud she was. I wouldn't be surprised if she hasn't mentioned me in a while. I feel like a failure. Sometimes, I think she feels like I am a failure. She provided a wonderful example of motherly love, and what raising a child looks like, but I can't find it in myself to even give my daughter a bath.
She talked to me and said that she felt like I am under a lot of stress and I needed a break. She said that this would be good for Kennedy. You know my mother, she will do anything for anyone. She's always taken people into her heart and home. Everything that woman touches is gold, I swear. So, that's the best place for her. Mom has her call me every night and we talk for about 10 minutes. Most of our conversations are about the things she's been learning. You know everything is a life lesson with my mother. Our conversations end with "I love you KayDee", and she says, "I love you Mommy".
Her voice is so light and sweet. Joshua, she is such a big girl now. I wish you could see it. I wish she was here for me to see it. Mom taught her how to pray, and she does it on her own now. Is it bad that I wonder what she talks to God about? I wonder what she prays on, and what is weighing on her heart. Things like that make me think about what Jesus said about the kingdom. He said that you must be childlike to enter. I don't pray, and that's probably what I should spend more time doing. Maybe, things would be better.
I just can't hold off the depression anymore. I used to be able to distract myself, but what used to come in waves, now floods everything turning it a disgusting grey. I have days where I just cry. I can't get out of the bed. I haven't done your laundry, I haven't changed the sheets. I'm running out of t-shirts to sleep with. Often days, it feels like I'm running out of air. So, he upped my dosage of Bupropion and referred me to a therapist.
I've been in your blue hoodie with the hole in the armpit for three days. I don't remember the last time I showered honestly. Joshua I'm scared that if I get in the tub I won't get out. I'm tired of moving. Everything hurts all the time. I need you here.
I walk to the kitchen and make some coffee. Days like today are rare. I feel numb. I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I just am. I rarely catch myself just existing. I take my medicine, and wash it down with some coffee. I can think clearly now. For once, in a long time, I feel like a person. I don't feel like a bad mother, or a widow. I don't feel broken. I feel like Shannon, but a different Shannon.
The Shannon I was before all this is a stranger. I don't have what it takes to be "Happy Shannon" anymore. I can't be happy in the same way that "Joshua's Shannon" was. That smile is broken, but I know that there is still a piece of her hanging around...somewhere. Maybe that Shannon is twisted into Kennedy's hair, or in the gap between her teeth, or in her eyes, or walking on the bridge of her little nose...with Joshua.
When I look at Kennedy I see him. There are so many pieces of him in her. When she smiles, the left side of her lips curve a little higher than the right side, just like his. When she laughs the deep brown in her eyes sparkle, like the sun hit them. Her skin is smooth, and dark like chocolate, and if you look close there are undertones of red that radiate from her skin. She is her father.
The doorbell rings and it's my younger sister Meredith, hailing all the way from Charleston for God knows what. Knowing her, she has probably made a mess and expects me to clean it up. I invite her in and I notice that she has a suitcase trailing behind her. Her curls have been braided into two long cornrows that reach her waist. While I take in the wind storm that is my sister and offer her something to eat, I put on another pot of coffee. I am going to need it.
Meredith is super talkative and hyper, by the time she gets done talking you would need a nap. This time though, my quirky, super-hyper sister isn't herself. She looks like life has drug her through the mud. The Meredith I saw get married a year ago is not the same happy girl that is sitting in my living room. She looks like she hasn't slept in ages, her eyes are so tired. She is even speaking slower. Normally, I have to tell her to slow down, but now I have to beg her to tell me how the ride down here was.
We sit in the living room for about an hour sipping coffee and making small talk. She tells me about her new job. She is a Psychiatrist at Holly Grove, a mental institution about a half hour from Charleston. I don't know how she got into that honestly. She doesn't seem like someone who would take on something like that. The Meredith I have known all my life is the one the kids run to in the park. She is calm and nurturing, while managing to be outgoing and spontaneous. You would think I was talking about a different girl, if you were looking into the empty eyes of the lady sitting before me. Her arms are covered in bruises that look like sloppy patchwork. Mere is not herself as it is, so I will hold my questions for now. I am just content to be with her.
