“I WILL NEVER HAVE A GOOD DAY AGAIN

BECAUSE OF YOU

AND HOW YOU TRIED TO LEAVE DAD AND ME

FOREVER!”

No More Barricade

Now she’s holding me,

and my father is holding both of us.

I’m sobbing.

She’s sobbing.

This time

my father is the only one

who isn’t crying.

“I’m sorry,

I’m sorry,

I’m sorry,

I’m sorry,”

she sobs.

“Betsy,

my baby,

I’m sorry,

I’m sorry,

I’m sorry.”

We Talk, and Talk, and Talk

We talk for hours, the three of us.

We almost forget to eat

the beef bourguignon,

until my father remembers it,

and then we eat it while sitting

in my parents’ big bed upstairs

while we talk, and talk, and talk.

My mother didn’t try to do this thing

because of not getting the grant,

or because of the thing that went wrong with her computer,

or even because of how she yelled at Lizard.

Though how she yelled at Lizard was a part of it.

Maybe everything was a part of it.

“I thought someone who could make

a child cry like that,

because she cared more about the importance

of her work than about a child’s feelings

didn’t deserve to live.

And—oh, honey—I was just so tired.

Tired of the bullies at the department meetings.

Tired of fighting nonstop with the people

I work with every day.

And your father was gone on that trip—

and I wanted him to go—it was his turn to go—

but it was just so hard having him gone,

and I hated myself for how I couldn’t hold

it together without him for two measly weeks.

It was everything, honey, all of it,

the stress of everything put together.

I was just—so—tired.”

My Voice Comes Out Very Small When I Ask This

“Were you tired—

of me—

too?”

“No!”

She’s not crying now.

I’m not crying, either.

We used up all the tears inside of us,

even the ocean of extra-salty tears

that was building up inside of her

for years and years.

“I could never be tired of you!

But I was tired

of being so tired

of everything else

that I couldn’t be the mother

I wanted to be.

I could never be tired of you

or of your father!

But when a person is

stressed

and depressed

and anxious

and tired,

deep in her bones,

in every fiber of her being,

it’s hard to find

the energy

to be the person

she wants to be.

And I couldn’t face

being

the person

I was.”

There Is Something Else I Need to Know

“How are you going to stop being tired?”

I ask her.

“There are medications that help control

depression and anxiety.

I’m starting on one of them now,

but it can take a few weeks

before it starts to take effect.