Sunday, December 11, 2016

Winter and Water


The night seemed heavy as it closed about the house. I could hear ice tapping against the windows; frozen rain beneath dark clouds outside the window frame, a virgin winter's storm. The day had been full of uncounted trips up and down the steps, silent lugging of laundry and Christmas décor and a somewhat heavy heart. My elder sister is in California, her mother (she is my half sister) battles after cancer related surgery...a friend of mine is struggling to tread water with her son, and another contemplates life-altering changes to his horizon. The holidays seem to amplify life - in all of its loveliness as well as its agony. 

Two weeks ago I was taken to court as my ex-husband petitioned to quit paying child support. In his words, "the eldest child is quickly approaching emancipation" (Sawyer's 18th birthday is in June) and he no longer wanted to provide for Sawyer or his 15 yr-old brother (who happens to be 6' 8" tall and wears a size 15 shoe, just imagine the grocery bill alone). The story is tangled and long and personal, but when the line of questioning from the Judge went a particular direction pertaining to his ethics in business - he angrily withdrew his petition. I left relieved, strained, exhausted...and when I discovered he'd retaliated by leaving an anonymous scathing review of my book on Amazon two days ago...angry. 

The spray from the shower head is heavy rain at the end of a drought. My dry shoulders hunch against the torrent, the tight muscles slowly relaxing as heat penetrates through sinew and bone. I watch the water swirl about my feet and bend to push the plug into the drain. I hear voices in my heart. Beyond the closed bathroom door I listen to one of the boys on the stairs...I slowly kneel in the tub. This claw foot monstrosity was one of the reasons we bought the house off Craig's list seven years ago, and I fervently promised it was going to be worth it despite the living room ceiling falling in four years later when there was a leak from the plumbing.

Tonight the tears stream down my face, mingling with the water that now rises against my waist. I turn, slowly sinking back, letting the steaming warmth envelope me. I take a breath, and pull my head beneath the hot, wet silence.  

The hush. That moment when your heartbeat is louder than your thoughts.

Several weeks ago I found myself in a conversation about our virtual selves vs our concrete. Our ideals vs our handshake. Please don't tell me you're for $15 minimum wage if you don't tip your waitress well or that we need more kindness if you cut off people in traffic on a regular basis. I took the boys Christmas shopping yesterday and thus commenced a lesson in rude behavior, dangerous driving, and terrible manners. Who are we? In real life - not online where we debate policy and morals and supposed integrity; where we can attack without consequence. Who are we...who are you? What kind of neighbor are you? Employee? Parent? Spouse? Friend? In real life where the scent of you is as palpable as your words...

My lungs burn as I clamp the muscles in my throat and keep my head beneath the water, my heartbeat furious thunder against the rage within my flesh. Gasping, I surface...my quiet house seems so loud. My soul shouting.



6 comments:

Robbie Grey said...

I truly despise this time of year because of tests and tragedies it seems to foster. Two weeks back, I contemplated putting my father in the ground, but, like Monty Python, he's gotten better. Shortly after New Years begins year seven without a mother.

This ain't about me, though...

Your words were beautiful, as always. These things, exes being difficult, and sicknesses, and life-changes are all obstacles to overcome. Hindsight dictates the triviality or profundity. Remember, fire and chaos are the very womb of creation, for the universe was borne of an explosion the likes of which have not been seen since.

Chantel said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Chantel said...

Thanks Robbie, I'm sorry/glad to hear about your father. (the Python comment made me laugh) I was blessed to have my husband and the boys with me in court...but I'm still somehow shocked by the behavior of my ex - I know I shouldn't be. And you're right, I have a gallery show booked for the spring, perhaps I need to channel these feelings into painting...

Mary Degli Esposti said...

Who am I? There are many answers to that question. Some I have contemplated into almost oblivion, & others I push down or rise above(more the former). I devolve & evolve almost constantly at certain periods, & then come to times of paralyzation(sp. teacher). I don't always want to be a good person. There.

You clearly come in touch with your core more courageously.
I am glad you had the support, but I also so wish your children did not have to hear their father rationalize away his desire to provide for them.

You know how the ex is capable of behaving but it continues to shock because of the lasting goodness in you.

Chantel said...

My dear Mary...

Yet, despite who you might be in any one particular moment, you strike me as more than anything else - authentic. I suppose, at 43, this is my ultimate standard. For without authenticity, seriously, is there anything of value? The ex pretends to be a "teacher" in his review while he's really unemployed and his wife is working two jobs. *sigh*

Thankfully, while knowing what was going on, the boys were in the hall outside the courtroom. Somehow my heart breaks for the decades of relationship he threw away with some very fine young men. So stupid...what an ass.

I hope my goodness lasts longer than I anticipate....is there some meter or predictor for this?

xo

Nancy/BLissed-Out Grandma said...

Chantel, I'm sorry your family has had to go through such a painful experience, which I'm sure has extended far beyond the courtroom scene itself. I don't know how people can be so cruel to their own children. But meanwhile, I've ordered and received a copy of your book. It arrived just after Christmas and I can't wait to read it. I hope 2017 is going to be a better year than any of us can imagine.