Memoir continued

Instead of waking up on my own, Jay woke me up today. We got our medications and vitamins in, gathered around the fireplace and played backgammon. I’m new at the game.

Then I journaled and he went back to sleep while I practiced some yoga. My mind wasn’t on my writing so I went sneakily into the room, took a breath of the lipstick red roses and fuchsia lilies proclaiming how lucky I am and what a beautiful day it is going to be. Laid in front of him, silently saying I love you I love you and; out loud, “I love you.” Until he stirred a little. I kissed his elbow and went back to my writing.

I sat on the couch,

fingers typing slowly

when suddenly-

a quiet pressure on the left side of my thigh. A small arrival.

Lil Bit had come in

without announcement

and settled beside me

like a warm punctuation mark in the middle of a sentence.

I looked down at her, she looked up at me

through sleepy, light green eyes

giving encouragement to me.

She curled on the couch, paws and tail tucked beneath her sweet face and drifted into sleep.

The grey cumulous clouds

overlapping the sun

crept in on me--

slow and heavy,

like a calligraphy pen

with too much ink.

Blots spreading across the page

of a pad I jot it down on in my mind.

My thoughts soaked it in,

absorbing the grey matter

like soil swallowing rain,

like lightning striking--

those neurons firing,

addiction pathways

lighting up like highways at night.

Triggers

Relapse symptoms.

Self-doubt pacing the room

And suddenly the voices pull up chairs between my ears

One says, You’re safe here.

Another laughs

But what if he’s lying?

I argue back-

I know him.

I know the weight of his voice-

how he says my name.

The steadiness

in the way he stays.

Paranoia is a clever lawyer,

cross-examining every memory.

Where was he yesterday?

Why did he pause before anwering?

Why does my heart skip-

like a scratched record?

Somewhere beneath the noise

petals push from their sepals,

opening under the light

like quiet confessions of faith,

The bloom turns upward

and tells the soil:

You’re suffocating me.

Why do we have to stay awake in the dark?

I’m not daydreaming anymore!

The sepals open under the light,

the tight places loosening,

oxygen rushing into spaces

that used to hold my fear.

But the creepy crawling-thoughts circle,

patient as doubt,

lurking at the roots.

Still- this small stubborn bulb

has kept me stronger

and more faithful

through these years of recovery

than I ever was before.

Growing up—we had Mom and Dad, but if I needed a friend to play pretend for hours, I knew, Shelby, that we would always have each other. Little sister, I will never wish for another. I have you.

Sometimes I’d get annoyed when you interrupted, but if you left me alone for too long, I’d get suspicious. Silence never felt right without you somewhere nearby.

My more adult younger sister—more recently I realized again that she’s the best one to call for backup. It’s not just the big picture; she helped carve me into who I am.

It’s not always the little things, even when you simplify your life down. It’s the people you’d least expect who give you all of their respect, a second chance, and teach you in return how valuable and precious life is—how much better it can be, even when you’ve put yourself down in the rocks through addiction and mental health casualties.

She’s someone I could never give up. I hope I die first. I hope we can rebuild this relationship, and that you’ll know, as time goes on—and as we stand together taking care of Dad and Mom—that you are worth more than anything to me.

And the way you make me feel about what’s still possible is like the first light after a long night—quiet, steady, and certain that morning will come.