Chapter 3

The next week was a blur. I kept myself pleasantly buzzed at all times. I made use of Instacart, and got a delivery of a variety of liquors, to make sure that I wouldn’t have to leave the house. Maybe variety isn’t quite right, as it was just rum and tequila, but it was the kind of variety I liked. It was a struggle to eat, and I had pretty much been living off of peanut butter toast, as nothing else seemed palatable.

My phone buzzed. Georgia, again. She texted at least three times per day, this being her evening check in. I had just been swiping through my photo albums, looking at pictures of River. He took pictures constantly, it seemed to be constant when he was alive and we were out doing something. He would always mock lecture me for ruining a shot, when I tired of his antics and no longer wanted to participate in his photos. Now though, it seemed there weren’t nearly enough pictures of him. I would give anything for thousands more.

When I wasn’t drinking or looking at pictures, I was popping Ambien, as an escape. I had begun taking more than I was prescribed. Sometimes, I took one in the day. It provided a lovely dream-like feel. It seemed to block the part of my brain that dealt with sadness and anxiety, leaving me feeling relieved. When I was on Ambien, especially if I mixed it with a bit of alcohol, my grief was too far away for my brain to reach it. The only negative effect I experienced was memory loss. Georgia would text me to check in, and I would counter with a really upbeat and positive reply. The only problem was, I wouldn’t remember sending it. The next day, I would read our text chain, and realize that I had no memory of a major portion of the day. It was a bit alarming, but not enough to make me stop.

Buzz. My phone vibrated again. Georgia.

I picked up the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey. How are you doing today? Do you want to come by for supper?”

“I uh. I’m OK, but I don’t feel like leaving the house.”

“Listen Ellie, I want to give you space, and time, but I also worry.”

If this was a conversation with anyone else, my temper would have snapped immediately, but I knew her intentions were good. I also knew that she wasn’t judging me, that went a long way.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” My throat tightened, the way that it does when I’m about to cry. “All I want to do is numb the pain, however I can.”

“I know sweetie.”

“I don’t know how to get back to regular life. What am I supposed to do?” I was crying by this point. Georgia was the only person I could cry around without feeling ashamed. I don’t have many memories of my dad, but I do remember him mocking my mom when she cried. This instilled a deep fear of showing my emotions, which sucks, because my tear glands seem to be connected to my temper, and my temper is easy to fire.

“I think, you just have to put one foot in front of the other. I don’t think what you are doing is wrong. I’m a little worried about the drinking and sleeping pills, but I think it’s ok to just survive right now.”

Relief washed over me hearing her say that. Maybe I wasn’t completely unsalvageable.

“Maybe you could try to fit a few normal things into your day. I don’t mean going back to normal life, but maybe a shower, a walk outside, or going to the grocery store. Just something that feels a little bit normal.”

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Would you like to go for a hike with me tomorrow. I read that the outdoors might help.”

“You read?”

“I have been scouring the internet for peoples experiences with grief like a crazy person. Blogs, reddit threads, youtube videos, you name it.”

This actually warmed my heart, even if only a little bit and I emitted a small laugh.

“See, see. I heard that. You laughed. So people help, even if you think you don’t want to see them.”

“Maybe you’re right. I could try a hike tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll call in the morning to iron out the details.” She paused. “I love you Ellie. I wish I could do more to help, but please know that I really, really love you.”

“Same.” I whispered. “Talk to you in the morning.”

Letting out the breath I had been holding, I stood and made a decision. I was going to go to the store. Ignoring River’s clothes in the closet, I grabbed a clean pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. I brushed through the tangles in my hair, before pulling it back, and grabbing a ball cap. It was early evening, but the sun still brightened the sky, one of the perks of Canadian summers. Before River’s death, I wouldn’t walk anywhere without headphones in, listening to anything to block my thoughts. Today, I just wanted silence. I realized that I had to make space for my sadness. Masking it wasn’t going to help, and it wouldn’t work anyway. The grocery store is only about a 10 minute walk, but I decided to take a detour and walk along the river. Sitting on a bench, I closed my eyes, and listened to the thrum of the water as it rolled past. People passed, and I caught small snippets of their conversations, straining my ears, until the sound was lost. They moved onward, just like the water in front of me. I felt as though I were two people at war within one body. A part of me wants to give up. To find a quick way in which I could end my life, and be done with this horrible turmoil. My grief feels like a deep wound, that keeps being torn open. It burns and aches, and I am not sure how to find reprieve from it. Destruction seems appealing, and I yearn to be careless, in hopes that I might be too careless. The other part of me knows that River would be heartbroken if I gave into my grief. That its up to me now to make the most of my life in his honor. I just haven’t decided yet if I can do that. The sunlight sparkled on the water. It glittered in a thousand different spots as the water coursed by, and I could feel him with me.

Georgia picked a short, touristy hike. Normally, River and I wouldn’t choose a hike less than 10 km, but I wasn’t sure how today would feel, so I was happy to take it slow. We loved hiking together, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous to try it without him. Hiking wasn’t Georgia’s thing, so I knew that she was doing this just to be supportive. The parking lot was packed, and I was somewhat looking forward to pretending that I was just a regular person.

You know that place, where you just feel at home, like a place where you just belong. That is how I feel in the forest. I love trees. They are strong, steadfast, and much more alive than people give them credit for. They are the musical instruments of the forest, creating symphonies as wind rustles their leaves. As we walked, I felt the wound ache, but I also felt solace. Georgia was quiet, which is very unlike her, as normally she likes to chat about anything and everything. Sensing she was nervous about upsetting me with conversation, I broke the silence.

“Its hard, but its beautiful. I feel a little bit like myself out here.”

“Im proud of you.”

“I can’t handle too much love, I’ll fall apart.” I said, running my fingers under my eyes.

She intertwined my fingers in hers, and we walked holding hands, and listening to the birds.

Once we reached the lake, we found a sunny spot in the grass to sit. People all around us were picnicking and enjoying the view. The beauty of the lake nestled in the mountains, was worth the crowd. Tossing a few pebbles into the lake, I marvelled at my ability to follow them all the way to the bottom of the crystal clear water. Georgia was rummaging around in her backpack, pulling out containers.

“I brought snacks.” She declared. “And libations.” She produced two small tetra packs of wine with a pleased grin upon her face.

“I thought you were worried about my drinking.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m worried, I am just prepared to be worried. You deserve it today. This is a big step.”

Leaning back on an elbow I turned to her. “Talk to me about something normal. Hows the salon? Hows school going for Henry? What about babies?”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like mom.” She let out a genuine laugh at her own joke. Georgia was always quick to laugh, and her boisterous cackle often got others laughing along with her. Mom always talked about how happy she was as a baby, and how anything could get her giggling. She brought me to tears more times than I could count, by simply being unable to control her own laughter.

Her blue eyes twinkled and her deep laugh lines danced around her eyes. She hated her laugh lines, worried that if they were this bad at 30, then they would be unbearable at 50. I loved them. I felt an overwhelming urge to hold her close and kiss her on the lines that ran from the corners of her eyes toward her hairline.

“Well, Ashley’s back with Jeff, if you can believe that. We all spent weeks talking her through that breakup, and then she has a little henny and she’s right back between his sheets. I can only imagine we will be back to square one in a few more weeks.” She continued chattering on about her salon. I listened, feeling proud of her for her success. It takes a lot of balls to start a business from scratch. Sure she knows how to cut hair, but she has figured everything else out on her own, and done a great job of it.

“Im going off the pill. I was scared to tell you, because, well because I feel guilty being excited about it.”

“Don’t be silly G. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“It feels weird thinking about the future, especially in front of you. I don’t know what its like for you…thinking of the future.

I thought about it for a moment. How honest should I be? Most days I felt like I was fighting to keep my head above icy water. My brain knowing what I need to do to save myself, but my limbs, weary and numb don’t move in the way that they should, and my head sinks below the surface, and all that I can see is a blurry glimmer of life past the grief. Its in these moments, where I seriously wonder if trying to break the surface is worth it, or if I should just continue to sink until the fight turns to peace.

“I feel torn in two. A part of me wants to be reckless and destructive. Drink too much, shirk my responsibilities, and wallow in my misery. The other part of me knows that I have to keep going. That I have to live for both of us now. I just can’t imagine that I will ever feel happy again.”

“I know it’s cliche, but I think it will take time. Maybe today you only smile once, but next week, maybe you smile twice. Slowly it might get easier.”

“I worry about it getting easier. Every day that goes by, I’m further away from him. The day after he died, he was only gone 24 hours. But now, its more and more, and I’m afraid. And what if it does get easier? Then I will feel guilty about that. There is no way to win, its either anguish or guilt.”

Georgia put her arm around me, and I rested my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She said simply. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

We sat in silence, taking in the water, and listening to the chatter of tourists and well traversed hikers alike. I closed my eyes, and the breeze danced across my skin. I could feel it gently picking up my hair and using it to tickle my face. The light movement across my skin felt akin to someone stroking my face with a feather. It was mesmerizing, and I lost myself in the relaxation of it. Georgia spoke and broke my trance. “Promise me, if it gets to be too much, that you will tell me. I would never judge you if, if you felt suicidal.”

“I sometimes do. But not in a real way, more like a fantasy. Just a way to not have to deal.” Concern flashed across her face. “I will tell you if I need help, I promise.”

“OK, you promised.”

“I did.”

We meandered back down the trail, without much conversation. The rocks crunched under my boots, and the familiar sound gave me a pang of both sadness and joy. Letting my mind wonder, I felt proud of myself for doing this today. I didn’t think I could leave the house, but I’ve done it twice now, that’s something.

The parking lot was still packed, which is common for the mountains in the summer. Being able to see them in the distance, year round, I forget how much of a tourist destination they are. In the winter months, the Banff area is packed with tourists, who come to enjoy skiing and snowboarding. It practically becomes a mini Australia, as so many young Aussies come to work and ski at the hills. In the summer, come the hikers, campers, and people who just like to take in the town and its beauty.

Georgia was throwing her backpack in the back of her SUV, and I was changing out of my boots, when I heard someone shout my name. Instinctually, my head snapped up and I looked around. I didn’t see him right away, but Alex was jogging toward me. Alex is one of River’s good friends. They went to highschool together, and then university, although they were in different programs. Alex studied english, and now works as a freelance writer, as well as an artist. He fancies himself a tortured creative. River wasn’t into drugs, but the few times that he experimented, it was always with Alex, who declared that experimenting was part of the creative process. One night, he talked my ear off about writing after snorting coke, and painting after having mushroom tea. I assumed he must not have an addictive personality, because he never seemed to take things too far.

“Hey.” He said, wrapping me in a big hug. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Uh ok, it’s my first day out of the house.” I noticed Georgia awkwardly looking awkwardly between us. “Oh Alex, this is my sister Georgia. Georgia, this is Alex, one of River’s good friends.”

“I’m one of your good friends too.” He chimed, his left brow arching upward.

“Yes, of course.”

“Aah, Alex, I’ve definitely heard about you.” Georgia interjected, looking up at Alex from under her lashes. Georgia was as loyal as our childhood cocker spaniel, and she would never stray from Henry, but she couldn’t help herself. A flirt by nature, she easily slipped into a teasing behaviour with men.

“All good I hope.” He replied, matching her playful tone. Alex was conventionally gorgeous. He knew full well that his square jaw, crooked grin, and green eyes sent most women swooning. He looked much more like a star athlete than a starving artist. Only his long brown hair, pulled into a man bun, hinted at his non conformist nature. Alex looked at me, “we should get together. You could come hiking with me and my buddies, or whatever you want to do. I’ve been filling my days trying to keep busy, to help with, well you know.” I did know.

“That’s a great idea.” Georgia answered for me.

“Good, we’re all in agreement then.” Alex laughed. Alex’s friends, ready to go, called out to him. “It was really good to see you Helen. Promise you’ll call?”

“Yes, yes. We’ll hang out. It was nice to see you too.” We embraced once more, and Alex ran back over to his group of friends.

The day, although a reprieve from solitary grieving, was exhausting. I poured myself a rum and diet coke and collapsed onto the sofa. Realizing it was Sunday I exhaled loudly. I really just wanted to be alone after peopling all day, but I always call my Nana on Sundays, and I didn’t want her to worry about me. The phone rang four times, and I began hoping she wouldn’t answer, but then I heard the click of the line on her end.

“Hello.”

“Hi Nana, it’s me, just calling to say hi.”

“Hi Helen, how are you doing.”

“OK I guess.” I lied. “I went out hiking with Georgia today.” I really only told her that because I knew it sounded good.

“I know it isn’t the same for me, I was so much older, but I have an idea of what you’re going through, and I know it’s horrible.” She was referring to my grandpa’s passing. He died when I was 10, so my grandma has been alone now for 15 years.

“God, tell me it gets easier.”

“You probably won’t believe me, but it does. Did I ever tell you about my friend who lost her fiance?”

I really didn’t want to hear about it, but I also didn’t want to be rude. “No Nana, I don’t think you have.”

“She was a wonderful young lady, really funny, you would have liked her. She was so heartbroken, thought life wasn’t worth living after he died.” I didn’t want to tell her that I know exactly how that felt. “Anyway, she hung in there, and eventually she decided that her life was a gift.”

Rolling my eyes at the cliche, I couldn’t help but ask, “What happened to her?”

“Oh we lost touch after I married your grandpa and moved to the farm, but I just know she made something of her life, I can feel it.”

I knew she was trying to be inspirational but I wasn’t in the mood. “Listen Nana, I’m pretty tired, I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Of course you are, love. Well don’t you forget that I love you.”

“I love you to Nana, night.”

Not actually ready for bed, I poured myself another drink, making this one stronger than the last.