Somewhere in the middle
As her words seeped in, the ground beneath me disappeared. The warmth from earlier evaporated, replaced by a darkness that crawled into my being. My soul grasped for something—anything—to hold onto. The air could not steady me as I plummeted into the shadows of the past.
I had spent a lifetime meticulously constructing a world that felt secure, a sanctuary built on the fragile hope of connection. Family was the tether to this 3D world and the only thing that made me feel safe. The sense of belonging I had yearned for all my life was gone. Ripped away, it left me feeling hollow inside. Spiraling, I remembered this abyss.
The house was quiet, but my mind was anything but.
Shards of visions pierced my thoughts.
Familiar in its presence, an old companion whom I thought I had left behind long ago.
Pain reverberated through my soul, shifting me into a stoic-like state.
I could hear my footsteps echoing across the room as I walked down each stair.
Each step reminding me of how alone I truly was.
Was I trapped in this cycle, doomed to relive the same torment over and over again?
After hanging up the phone, I felt myself pulled into the kitchen.
The room felt heavy as I entered.
My eyes settled upon the ominous yet strangely comforting object hanging from the ceiling.
I reached out and slowly ran my fingertips along the strands of the rope.
The tightly woven fibers felt symbolic.
I lifted the rope with both hands.
Its weight felt heavier than I expected.
The fibers brushed my collarbone, rough against my skin, before settling around my neck.
For a moment, I just stood there.
The thought of escape whispered in my ear, coaxing me with the idea of peace.
Time lagged between breaths, each growing louder in my ears.
Teetering on the edge, a sense of calm washed over my body.
I yearned for relief from the relentless ache that gnawed at my soul.
A respite from the turmoil that haunted me for so long.
My leg moved almost on its own, kicking the chair out from beneath me.
In a quick jolt my body snapped, dropping with the pull of gravity.
The rope tightened around my neck.
My esophagus was being crushed from the weight of my body.
Sharp pulses ran through my spine.
Suffocating strangles, unbearable.
My body twitched.
Oxygen dissipated from every cell.
Asphyxiation clamped down.
I felt a strange sense of relief. Finally, released from the burdens I had carried for so long. My thoughts drifted as my vision blurred. Yet one question cried out in my mind. How did I end up here again?
With one last sigh, I released everything that had ever hurt me.
And then, as if the universe wanted to prove how strange healing could be, the day rewound itself in my mind…
In stark contrast, my day started off quite differently. The morning greeted me with kisses of sunshine visiting me through the window. I welcomed its warm embrace as it squeezed through my eyelids and into the remnants of my dreams. A humming vibrated through my body while stretching my arms above my head and curling my legs as I bellowed out a morning wake up call to my body.
Pulling up the down comforter and sinking back into the sanctuary of fluffy white pillows, I enjoyed one last slice of paradise before launching into my day. Weekends were a precious, an indulgence in the pure delight of sleeping in and waking up organically. It’s like a mini vacation at the end of each long week.
My bedroom was a tranquil ocean of blue walls framed by white window dressings cascading down into pools on the floor below. Crystal strings glistened in the sunlight from the chandelier above. On the right side of the dresser is a white Buddha as a reminder to detach from judgment. On the left is a tall white elephant adorned with dangling necklaces, reminding me that some memories are meant to be cherished while others are best left behind.
As part of my morning routine, I grab my iPhone from the nightstand and glance at my to-do list—laundry, grocery shopping, and cleaning. Jumping out of bed, I lift my shirt and examine my belly, hips, and thighs in the mirror, as if to check whether what I see meets my and social standards of acceptance. Over the past year, a few extra pounds have softened my once six pack abs.
“I need to get back to the gym and tighten up again.” I say to myself.
Today feels like any other weekend, except for the broken washing machine that makes laundry at home impossible. Thankfully, my son and his wife live just a seven-minute drive away, so I head there for the second week in a row, eager to see my six-month-old twin grandbabies, Max and Mason. While I cherish these visits, there’s always a slight tension when I ask my son, Nate, for anything. The last time I asked him for help several years prior, with some five-year projections it ended badly. H frustration rose so quickly it ended with me crying and telling him to leave. I swore I’d never ask him for help again.
That similar twinge in my gut keeps poking me, and I’m questioning whether it’s a good idea to even ask again. I try brushing it off, but it lingers and persistently tugs at my thoughts. “It’s just laundry, right? Could I really be overthinking this?”, I thought to myself.
My mind flips between the options on the drive over. It's just laundry. Why does asking him for anything feel like this?
“Hey Nate, mind if I come over and do laundry? The washer and dryer delivery are delayed. The first one I ordered had the wrong hookup, so I had to return it and buy a different unit.” I told Nate.
“We’re going to be at Jill’s watching the game. If you can come this morning, that would be best. The game starts at 1.” Nate says.
“Can I just pop in and out like last time? Won’t be there for long. In the middle of something right now.” I ask.
“Yes, what time?” He questioned.
“Closer to 11. Does that work? Or how about 11:30?”
“OK.” He replied.
“Would after the game work better? Say 4-4:30?” I ask.
“Now is better.” He Says.
“K…packing up now.” I say before heading out.
Nathan’s tone strikes me as off-putting. We had discussed this visit earlier in the week, and he seemed fine with it. But now, the mention of heading to his sister-in-law’s, who conveniently lives across the street, seems like an odd response. Was my initial intuition right? My thoughts continue on the drive over.
As I turn onto their street, I notice the progress on the new build at the entrance to the housing complex. Rows of colonial-style homes with stone facades and aluminum siding in neutral tones line the street, each boasting meticulously manicured quarter-acre lots. Large bay windows and spacious garages grace the exteriors, while black decorative lampposts dot the sidewalks. It’s a cul-de-sac neighborhood with friendly residents exchanging greetings and lighthearted conversations, especially when they take the little ones for a stroll.
As I drive deeper into the neighborhood, a profound sense of happiness and connection begins to envelop me. This feels like a genuine family, ordinary people living ordinary lives. Yet it’s something I never quite experienced in childhood. Lately, I’ve been waking up with this warm, fuzzy sensation that wraps me in a cocoon of love and acceptance. It’s as if the sun is shining from within, radiating warmth throughout my entire being. Like a gift from God, bringing with it a deep assurance that everything will be alright. For the first time in my life, I feel truly loved by a family, my family. One I helped to create. Though not by choice, through circumstances and relentless hard work.
Megan greets me as I step through the garage door, with her bustling activities around in the kitchen. At about 5'3", she has a petite waist that contrasts with her curvy, Kardashian-like hips and thighs in similar fashion to the star’s cute physique. Megan's naturally blonde hair falls somewhere between her shoulders and mid-back. Most days, she wears it straight or pulled up into a playful, slightly messy bun perched atop her head. Since becoming a new mom, this has become her signature look. The state of her bun often reflects her day. On calmer days, it's neatly in place, but when things get hectic, stray strands escape in all directions, giving her a frazzled appearance. On the busiest of days, the bun slides down to the side of her head, hinting at the vortex of activities and caretaking she's been juggling.
The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, with piles of fresh produce covering every available surface. Containers, cutting boards, and a variety of appliances cluttered the counters, all part of Megan's weekend ritual of preparing meals for the family. Amidst the organized chaos, she expertly chopped, cleaned, and cooked an array of organic dishes. Her commitment to making all her own baby food from scratch, using only organic fruits and vegetables, was astonishing. It was the latest trend in childrearing, and Megan had fully embraced it. The sheer amount of work this involved, especially for a working mother with twins was exhausting just to watch. Balancing breastfeeding two little ones while meticulously crafting homemade baby food, all while juggling a full-time job, seemed like a superhuman feat. It was a testament to her seriousness about motherhood and providing the best for her family.
As I stepped into their home, my first order of business was to head straight for the laundry room. I quickly loaded their high-capacity washer with a full load of clothes, eager to get the chore underway. With that task out of the way, I made my way toward the living room. In passing through the open kitchen area, Megan was a force of nature in her preparations.
"Do you need help with anything?" I asked.
"No." She replied, and not just once, but several times throughout the day.
Megan’s love for cooking was well known, and Nathan often praised her culinary skills and ambitions of becoming a chef. Knowing it’s best not to interrupt someone in their element, I made sure to stay out of her way as she worked intensity and instead took care of the little ones. Meanwhile my stomach rumbled as I delighted in the savory flavors waffling in the air from whatever she was concocting in the other room.
Nathan, just as busy as Megan, spent the day darting in and out of the house juggling a mix of tasks. He handled household chores, worked in the yard, and popped in to help with the kids, all with a seemingly endless supply of energy. In between, he squeezed in some time for his hobbies, like skateboarding and occasionally would walk down the street to chat with TJ, his brother-in-law.
Standing at six foot three, Nathan towers over most people with his broad shoulders and lean frame. His dirty blonde hair, browner these days, is usually tied back in a man bun, giving him a relaxed yet metrosexual look that his family teasingly compares to a modern-day Jesus. Some speculate that he keeps it long to avoid the early baldness that plagues his father, while others think it is a subtle rebellion against his wife's preferences.
Nathan is a true Leo in every sense of the word - confident, charismatic, and one who enjoys attention. Whenever he walks into a room, all eyes are on him as he commands space like a typical lion. Nathan has a flair for a more theatrical navigation of the world. And at times his natural leadership qualities cross over into a more arrogant persona, this was especially true in his twenties. Now he is more aware and has subdued those parts of his personality.
Like the king of the jungle, Nathan cares for his family. He would do anything to protect them and ensure their happiness and well-being. He is a good man, a much better parent than I ever had the chance to be. Patient, loving, and empathetic, he embodies all the best qualities of a father. His family is his top priority, and it was evident from the very beginning how much he adores Megan, long before their wedding day.
Nate and Megan share many of the same Leo traits, their birthdays just two days apart, which only strengthens their bond. Their marriage is dynamic, a true partnership rooted in love and mutual respect, a relationship that stands as a testament to the power of genuine connection.
The week’s groceries arrived in the middle of the day’s chaos, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. As I looked through the bags, I casually asked Megan if I could grab some yogurt.
“Sure.” She replied.
Spotting a container of raspberries nearby I grabbed a handful, rinsed them off, and added them to my yogurt along with a little raspberry jam. I made sure to stay out of her way in my preparations.
As I was digging into my yogurt, Megan suddenly stopped what she was doing and glanced over at my bowl. Staring at its contents and without blinking, curtly she said.
“Oh.”
A faint pause.
“You added raspberries to your yogurt.”
I froze.
Spoon halfway to my mouth.
Did I mess up? Should I have put them back? It’s just a few raspberries.
“Yeeaas,” I squeaked out.
What was I supposed to do. I commenced eating, but the moment felt awkward.
In hindsight, maybe I should’ve apologized or double-checked if my choice of toppings was okay. But she did say it was fine, didn’t she? Besides, I clearly remember the last time I visited. Nathan had excitedly showed me their new refrigerator, opening it up with a grin and pointing out where they keep the Greek yogurt.
“I love yogurt!” I had exclaimed, my face lighting up.
He’d chuckled, matching my smile. “I know you do, Mom. That’s why I’m showing you this drawer.”
It was a small but sweet bonding moment. Yogurt had always been my go-to snack when babysitting, especially with so many other foods off-limits because of the wheat content. Fruits, particularly, were a rarity, a habit left over from my fitness competition days. So, raspberries were only an occasional treat for me.
Shortly after, Megan and Nate said they were going to head down the street to watch the game at her sister’s house.
“Would you mind watching the kids while we are away watching the game for a little while.” They asked.
“No, not at all. Would love to.” I replied.
After an hour or two they returned home.
Something changed.
I could feel the atmosphere shift.
Nathan’s gaze flicked between Megan and me, his voice carrying a sternness that made my stomach drop. “Mom, the yogurt and raspberries are for the kids.”
My body tensed, my heart sinking as an emotional shutdown overtook me.
It felt like something inside me flipped on, sharp and sudden.
My chest tightened.
My thoughts thinned into static.
My body began shutting down.
I hurriedly gathered my things and left without a word to anyone.