I know this is what he’s wanted from me since our first meeting and even though I swore I’d never discuss my mother with him, today I want to. “I started remembering last week.”

“Good.”

“But I’m starting to remember bad things, too.”

“Good.”

Confused, I squint. “Good?”

“You need to remember the good and bad.”

“I still can’t figure out why she killed … herself.”

I choke back a lump in my throat.

“You probably never will. That’s the sad part. Most survivors don’t ever know why. But you can learn something from what your mother did.”

I take a big breath. “What?”

Ed gets up and moves to the chair directly across from me. “That no matter how bad life gets, no matter how sad, there is always another way. There are people to help. We live on a tiny island in a big ocean. When we’re depressed, it’s sometimes easy to forget how big the ocean is, how big life is.” He pauses, leaning forward. “Maybe your mother forgot how big the ocean was. Someone could have helped if she would have let them.”

I think about what Ed told me as we leave his office and head to Frank’s room on the other wing. My mind is dizzy with thoughts of Frank and his scars, Olivia’s nightmares, Auntie’s guilt, and Tata’s loneliness. I think about the space my mother left that I must now fill. My mother’s death hurt so many people. Didn’t she think about us before she died? I feel so angry that I want to scream. If a pool was in front of me, I’d dive right in. But I would come back up for air.

Growing

Growing

Frank is in the TV room, watching Batman reruns with some of the other patients. “Hey,” he says when he sees me. “Let’s go to my room.”

I follow him as he shuffles down the hall, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and slippers. He seems taller, lankier, older. When did that happen? Inside his room, I try to steal a glimpse at the scars on his arm, but he catches me.

“Knock, knock,” he says.

The words startle me, but I say, “Who’s there?”

“Hat.”

“Hat who?”

He holds out his arm for me to see, pointing to the words. “See, Isabel, I h-a-t. I hat.” Then he points to me and says, “You shoe.”

It’s not even funny, but I want it to be. I really want it to be.

Matthew Kolby Johnson

Matthew Kolby Johnson

Auntie and I visit Mary Kelly’s baby brother at their house. I forgot to buy a gift, but Auntie Bernadette gives him a photo album that she says is from both of us.

“You’ll have to come to my baby fiesta,” Auntie says. “It’s in a couple of weeks.”