My mum wants to talk about things that make me uncomfortable. She has written a book that is meant to be published in October (as October is known to be the most harrowing month). I have not read the book yet, and I do not know if she means to let me read it before it is published. She has asked many other people who appear in the book for their permission to use their real names.
She has not asked me if I mind being in her book. Or if it is okay to publish photographs of me. Or if my memories of what happened match hers. I know the answers to these questions, or at least I think I do. Facts are facts. The photographs are her property to publish as she wishes. And me, I was there. I cannot pretend I wasn't even if that is my preference. I am not allowed to pretend myself away. Just like attending the memorial and trying to sleep on the pull-out bed in the living room open on all sides. Feeling raw and exposed is my own problem.
Or I am not kind enough to notice why she wants to know if I ever saw myself as an abused child. I tell her no, obviously not, because we went to Hawaii and we had a house with high ceilings. And because I never would have dared her to do things I was afraid she would really do.
I do not really really really know what these things mean. Only that my mum wants to talk about them and I find myself saying what is meant to keep her safe from any more hurting because I know she suffered too. Because I know she is looking for peace and I want her to have it. All of us.
My Dad, he listens on the periphery and wanders off to take photographs when he sees something more interesting. I would like to follow him instead of having this conversation, I would like to follow his eye which almost always knows when to look away.
My relationship with these people has improved greatly in the last few years. But I still feel I do not know them as well as I want to. I try to absorb the excess love they express for J. We laugh a lot, all of us. We have always done that in my memory, laughed at things because they are otherwise impossible to navigate. I prefer that to the difficult and pointed questions.
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There are so many things that jump out at me about this post, some of them have my thoughts, head in hands, others thoughts have me screaming, or just plain perplexed. Well played you, I find it hard to imagine myself penning words such as this. And then I catch myself.
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