In the Interlude

Chapter 8 - Before and After

Aïcha stood watching her daughter from behind the glass walls of the dance studio.

The teacher shouted her instructions. "Et un, et deux et trois. Et on pousse avec le bras droit, attention à la demi pointe: il faut l'aplatir en même temps! Allez les filles, on reprend depuis le début!"

She had missed Mia so much. Every time she travelled, she felt as if she left a piece of her heart behind and it wouldn't be whole until she was reunited with her daughter.

Aïcha and Mia had always had a special bond. They were close, affectionate towards each other and often understood one another without even saying the words. But Mia had also been close to her dad and his absence had nearly destroyed them both. 

She still remembered that day from three years ago as if it was only yesterday. 

She remembered the pain that had crushed her, feeling as if the weight of the world rested on her body and soul. It was forever tattooed in her heart.

* * * * *

"I'm afraid we have some bad news. Although we managed to remove the tumour, we couldn't stop the brain from swelling and had to induce a coma." The words kept resonating in Aïcha's head for days after Idriss's surgery. He was still in an induced coma and his vital signs were not showing significant progress. Aïcha was there every day, waiting for the swelling in Idriss's brain to stop. She would only leave for a quick shower at her house before immediately coming back.

His parents and sister had a very hard time. His father, in particular, didn't speak a word for days. But it was the hardest on the barely ten-year old Mia. She was completely and utterly shattered.

Idriss was his daughter's hero. They loved each other so much. He would read stories to her, take her to the swimming pool every Sunday, play Legos with her, listen to her making up stories with her imagination running wild. Whenever he had to travel, he would take Mia's favourite book of the moment with him and read her a bedtime story over the phone every day until his return.

A week after the surgery, Aïcha's mother-in-law accompanied her to meet the surgeon. He informed them Idriss won't be sedated any longer. They hoped he'd eventually wake up at his own pace. The swelling had decreased a little, but her husband wasn't yet out of the woods.

Idriss's mother was a graceful slender French woman in her mid-sixties, who brought calm and serenity wherever she went. A nurse back in the day, she had witnessed difficult cases but also miraculous ones. She tried to keep the faith, to remain brave for her husband and grand-daughter and shared those miraculous stories with Aïcha, hoping to give her, and herself, a glimmer of hope.

The following days, Idriss would sometimes open his eyes, yawn, move his lips or fingers but he didn't appear to be aware of anything. His movements seemed more involuntary than meaningful. That period was one of the hardest ones on anyone. Not knowing if the person you loved the most in the world would ever wake up, and if he did, in what condition. Would he be able to talk? To walk? Would he remember his daughter, his wife, his parents, his life?

Aïcha found it more and more difficult to wake up every day.

She hated everything.

She hated the hospital, the smell, the food, the white walls.

She hated sitting there, watching her husband motionless, unable to speak or move.

She hated answering the phone, telling anyone who was asking that no, Idriss hadn't woke up yet, and yes, they were all hoping for the best.

She hated looking Mia in the eye, silently saying no, nothing new today.

She hated seeing her daughter unable to cry, as she had no tears left in her eyes.

She hated seeing her father-in-law, daily visiting his son, not uttering a single word.

But above all, she hated herself.

She hated herself for feeling paralyzingly numb, not willing to think of what the future was holding for them, for her.

Aïcha didn't have her umbrella when she left the hospital on a wet October afternoon. Mia and her grandmother stayed with Idriss. Her sister-in-law had to go back to Bordeaux a couple of days ago. She had her own family to take care of.

It was lightly raining but Aïcha didn't mind getting wet. She loved autumn, it was such a beautiful season. The transition from hot summer days to colder and shorter ones, the change in the colours of the sky, the trees, the fallen leaves carpeting the roads, the rain that would disappear as quickly as it came.

When she was little, Mia loved to jump in the mud puddles, something that would drive Aïcha crazy: she wouldn't have a change of clothes with her for Mia, the car seat would get dirty, she would need another bath... But Idriss was always there to keep her grounded: "Look at her Aïcha! Look at her joy, she is having the time of her life! Just let her be."

How she missed him.

She missed his calmness, his kindness, his ability to see the glass half full, no matter how empty it was. She missed talking to him, listening to him, seeing him laugh at the silliest thing, watching him being a husband, a friend and a dad.

Aïcha arrived home, quickly showered and was out of there in no time. She stood at the doorway of her building for a moment, her arms around herself in the best hug she could give herself. She had forgotten the umbrella, yet again. The splashes pounded the ground in no particular order, already forming puddles on the concrete sidewalk, and she could swear the temperatures had dropped a degree or two. Something about this weather made her uneasy. 

She was now in a hurry to see Idriss. 

Aïcha, half drown from the rain, walked up the stairs into the hospital and down the long hallway. She froze in shock as nurses run to her husband's room. She could hear her daughter wail, a heart-wrenching wail. An awful sound, like a wounded animal in its death throes. One she would never forget.

By the time she arrived in the room, they were taking her husband away.

"Aïcha, Idriss was having seizures, they are taking him to the ICU," moaned her mother-in-law, her words mingled with her sobs. She was holding Mia. Her daughter's screams and wails echoed around the now empty room. 

Aïcha sunk to her knees, her legs unable to keep her standing. Tears were streaming down her face and she kept looking around trying to grasp what was happening to her, to them all.

Minutes or hours afterwards, Aïcha couldn't really tell, a doctor and a nurse came to their room.

She understood right away, even before they gave them the news they didn't want.

She understood that the moment she saw Idriss wheeled out of the room on a stretcher, was the last time she ever saw him alive.

And in this fog of heartbreaking sadness, fear and anger that was starting to engulf her, reality hit her hard: life as she knew it was over.

There was going to be a before and there was going to be an after. And all she could think of was, how Mia was ever going to be okay.