Page 16 of Even After This
Disoriented, I fumble around until I sit on the side of the bed, hotel phone in hand, and stab the operator button.
The voice greeting me is too loud for my not-quite-awake ears. “Good afternoon, Ms. Harper, how can I assist you today?”
Still in a post-nap fog, I hear unplanned words tumble from my mouth. “I need to report a homicide.”
The voice clears its throat. “Excuse me?”
“I murdered my clock while trying to turn off the alarm.” A yawn interrupts my confession. “I’m so sorry—please charge it to my room.”
Stifled laughter comes through the phone. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Harper. However, I will contact housekeeping and have a replacement sent to you right away.”
I wind the cord around my forefinger. “Don’t enable my poor behavior choices, otherwise I’ll never learn.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Harper. Can I help you with anything else?”
Once the blood in my finger is cut off, I unwind the cord the opposite direction. “No, but I can’t guarantee the safety of the other small appliances in the room.”
“We’ll take it one incident at a time, Ms. Harper. Thank you for making me smile.”
He thinks I’m kidding.
I rejoin the phone to its cradle and hang my head in my hands.The crankiest of moods accompanies me as I rouse from my dead-to-the-world nap. What is wrong with me?
This isn’t hard,Meredith. You’re triggered.
Long, deliberate breaths start to ground me.
Grief is stealthy.
I don’t choose when it rears its ugly head. My only options are in my response.
When I left Sally and the kids, I floated back to my room on a cloud of anticipation and hope. Allowing myself to dust off the cobwebs of my mommy skills somehow liberated me. I felt grateful for the opportunity to jump outside of myself and encourage someone else. I’d really leaned into the situation. A sense of pride had washed over me, and my grief didn’t immediately steal it away.
But the reminder of my personal catastrophe settled over me like a wet blanket while I slept. Instead of a suffocating ache, I woke up to a seething spirit. The fatigue, moodiness, and hungover feelings are all familiar foes. They know they aren’t welcome. And they know I’ll take time to wait them out.
Deep, long, deliberate breaths.
The question is, will I risk being around Sally and her children again, knowing there could be consequences like this episode of emotion?
Over the last four years, I’ve lived life as if I’m playing a game of dodgeball. My reality is so painful, I take care to hide in the corner, avoiding the different spheres of loss.
At first everyone else protected me. Birthday parties, weddings, and baby showers passed without invitations in my mailbox. At some point they resumed, but it became more comfortable for me to ignore them, and I disappeared right off the social grid.
That’s just it. The corner is safe.
I benched myself from my own life.
And for the first time in four years, I’m curious. I want to come out and play. I do. Even if it hurts.
The question I was too scared to ask Prissy runs through my head like a news ticker across the bottom of a television screen.
Is it possible there’s still something left for mein this life?
Stretching my arms, I stand on my tiptoes as I inhale once more. I fold my body over, my hands touch my feet, and I exhale. Back curled, I turn my head and talk to the deceased clock on the floor. “Let’s suit up.”
When I arrive on the mezzanine level, it’s a bustling hub of connection. Three helpful staff members pack the concierge desk. Those waiting for their parties lounge on various plush couches, chairs, and ottomans. The hotel bar welcomes guests for late-afternoon libations.
Sally isn’t difficult to find. Toby and Layla, noses and hands pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, gaze in awe at the swans floating in Cheyenne Lake.
