The end of the carnival

  The autumn rain lashed the windows in a serious display of nature's fury. I tried to recall if I had closed all the windows, picturing each in my head until the rain lolled me to a kind of trance. Lightning flashed. I counted the seconds until the thunder boomed overhead.

This was my favorite time of the year. It gets darker earlier and earlier every day, the whole hemisphere yawning, getting comfy for the winter. When I was young, I loved the summer. I wanted nothing more than to hit the beach, swim, laugh, hike. Like a lizard I would soak up the sun regardless of the lobstered skin and the dehydration.

 Now as I get older, I find it’s the cool darkness of the fall that I crave. I have become a night creature, moon soaked and strange. I crave rain, I crave the need for sweaters and hot tea, cozy evenings curled up with a book. I am too tired for people and so I love this time of the year where everyone else wants to be cozy too.

               Outside the wind was howling and I smiled. Storms always fill me with a kind of muted excitement. You can feel the electricity permeate the air. Hairs stand on end, a powerful reminder of how little control we have.

For a moment I thought about the animals, the birds out there, exposed to the elements. Inside me the little girl who loves animals, wants only their safety and happiness, is cringing at the idea. There is an older girl too, she knows that nothing lasts forever and that yes, animals and even people will probably die tonight. She knows this and she understands that it's ok. Nothing can last forever and even animals deserve to rest.

I remember ‘Pet Cemetery’, the movie that disturbed me so much as a child. It wasn’t the violence; it was the ripping away of death. It seemed so selfish to me, even then, to rob a creature of its rest. Then again, I have always had a particular relationship with death. I used to talk about it, but no one wants to hear a child speak about death, as if children shouldn’t be able to understand such a concept. It bothered people so I had stopped talking about it. I just remember this feeling, like there was something happening before I woke up on this planet and in this body.

I had a before, so it made sense to me that I had an after. Now, after so many years on this green and blue marble, I don’t really worry about if there is an after. I don’t really need there to be.

While the thought of oblivion terrifies some, it sounds like release to me.

Have you ever woken in the middle of the night? A dream still so fresh that you aren’t really sure who you are? Where you are? Your memories, faded like the dream, unable to remind you of your fears, your aspirations, your longings before that moment. That is how I imagine oblivion. No memories, personality wiped. You don’t even need death for that. There is Amnesia, Alzheimer’s, Concussions.

Our reality is tenuous, one good knock on the noggin and we are different people. Isn’t that too, a kind of death? As we age, our cells shed, we learn and grow. The girl I was 20 years ago is dead, all her cells flushed away, thought process too.

I'm not so far gone as to think my mind won't change eventually. I have seen people face their deaths and I know my turn will come. I am healthy, strong, but sometimes I get this bone weariness and I wonder, when my time comes will I be afraid?

I thought of ghost stories, those I thought, would scare me the most if I believed in them. Stuck forever, watching as the world moves on. Unable to participate, locked in the emotions that most tormented, alone, with no release. No death for ghosts. I always shudder at the thought. My philosophy has always been, it's not so bad if at least you get to die in the end.

I thought about these things, as I sat by the living room window. Watching as the sky rolled with dark oppressive clouds. Swirls of red, yellow and orange leaves dancing, reveling in the chaos. How beautiful I thought, taking a sip of my tea.

A knock sounded at the door and I got up to answer it. Jack stood there, shivering in the wind and rain, looking terrified and soaked through.

“What’s wrong honey?” I asked as I wrapped him in a towel and ushered him into the kitchen. He looked at me wild eyed.

“She-she’s…she.” He tried to force the words, but they would not come, instead he was choking on his tears and raw emotions. I hugged him, holding his shivering frame as he sobbed, hiccupped, sobbed some more. After a time, I gently pull away. His eyes were red from crying and he looked so tired. I sat him down on the couch.

               “Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.” I said calmly but firmly. He sucked in a deep breath, exhaled and then took another. I smiled at him encouragingly and after a few moments I could feel his tension begin to ease.

               “She’s dead” he finally manages and before the sobs began once more. Oh no, I think. Not his grandma. She was the last of his family. Poor child I thought. Poor sweet child.

               “You’re sure?” I asked, and he nodded. I would have to go over there I thought and sighed. I laid him onto the couch and brought him some tea with a drop of whiskey. He was only 13 but I thought it couldn’t hurt. It was only a drop after all. The boy needed some fortification. Gathering my coat, my keys, my phone, I checked on him once before leaving. He was fast asleep.

               It was hard going, in the wind and the rain, but in the end I managed to make it over to the house. I marveled at the strength jack showed in making it all the way to my house in this weather.

               The front door was unlocked, and I let myself in, she was sprawled on the floor, skin grey, limbs askew. She was dead, there was no doubt about that. I dialed 911 but the storm must have knocked out the cell towers. No signal on my phone, no tone on the landline.

               Her body was stiff, but I managed to put her into a more dignified position. I covered her with a sheet noting the look on her face. She looked peaceful. She looked calm. I took comfort in that.

               Once I got back to my own place, I put the kettle on and made some dinner. Soon Jack joined me in the kitchen, and we sat together.

               “I’m not hungry.” He told me but reached for a sandwich anyway. I smiled at him, seeing the tension and stress. My heart ached for him. He was still so young, but old enough now to really understand the loss.

               “Jack,” I began carefully “what are you feeling right now?”

               “I miss Grandma, I don’t know what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go.” I could see the fear there. I wished I could do more to comfort him, but I knew I could not take this from him.

               “Its ok to be sad.” I told him. “She was such a huge part of your life. It's ok to miss her.” He nods at me sadly.

               “Why did she have to leave me, why couldn’t she just live forever?” he asked, sounding like a little boy and I squeezed his hand.

               “She was very sick, my dear, which makes her kind of lucky if you think about it.” He looked at me quizzically, sadness forgotten for a moment.

               “What do you mean?” he asked, a little dubiously.

               “Remember when grandma took you to the carnival?” he nodded at me, chewing on a bit of sandwich. “well, when you first arrived, it was so bright and fun and exciting, right?” he nodded again.

“By the time it got dark, and you had ridden all the rides, eaten the cotton candy and popcorn, how did you feel?” He thought for a moment. A serious expression on his face. I watched as he remembered that night, the emotions as they took turns casting his face in different shadows.

               “I was tired and sleepy, I just wanted to go home and get into bed” I nodded smiling.

               “That’s right. Now imagine that life is like a carnival. Your grandma had ridden all the rides, eaten the candy and now that she is tired, she is going home. To rest, to sleep. Her time here has simply come to an end. It's ok to be sad because she has left a big hole in your life, but there is no need to be sad for her. She is no longer in any pain. I think that she is lucky because she got to stay until the end of the carnival, she got to stay long enough to get tired and so going home doesn’t feel bad, its just the way the day ends."

               “I guess I never really thought of it that way.” He admits and takes a sip of his tea.

I hug him, together we go back to the living room where I light some candles, I pull out my box of old comic books and pass it to jack. He riffles through it and finds a few that take his interest. We sit on the couch, reading by candlelight until the storm begins to wane. Soon the storm would pass, and we would call the authorities, but for now I just let him be a kid, now worries or responsibilities at least for a little while.