Behind the Window

It was dark outside. Lights flickered in the sky and the slice of moon pierced the blue black nothingness.

Only the sound of the rain on the window could be heard – a gentle tapping like the hands of tiny children wanting to come in.

I sat by the bay window seat clutching my hot water bottle, soft blanket wrapped around me and just stared. The air was cool but I felt warm.

I knew every tree and bush, every fence post, footpath and letterbox along the road outside and even in the blackness of night I could picture them all. A tiny portion of forest separated the houses from one side to the other. I was the eyes and ears of the street. My reporting had found many stolen pieces of equipment – pinched from gardens and garages across the road from where I sat, day after day watching and wishing.

My loyal friend, the one who had been with me through my most harrowing days slowly wandered over to my chair, jumped up on to my lap, buried a soft head under my chin and moving it back and forwards, told me she was in her favourite place. “Hello Missy” I lovingly whispered and stroked the warm soft fur. My constant companion to whom I told my worries and concerns purred gently, her tummy going up and down with each loud ‘ppprrrr’. As I watched on her eyes shut and I felt her relax. If only it was that easy for me.

I watched an old dog walking outside; his shaggy coat silhouetted against the ’ball hitting’ wall across the road. He came from number six and was let out every night when the husband came home from night shift. The dog wandered around for a while, sniffing at the lamp post and clumps of grass that other dogs had lifted their legs on, deciding suddenly that it was his turn. I banged on my window to see what he would do. His head shot up and he quickly looked around to find out where the noise came from, and he stared at the window. I didn’t move, so seeing nothing the dog ran home.

The gentle rhythm of Missy’s breathing and purring was slowly relaxing me. I could feel my eye lids growing heavy and the more I tried to keep them open the harder it got. I must have dozed off because a gentle movement on my shoulder stirred me and I opened my eyes.

“Hello there my lovely daughter” my mother softly said “Would you like me to help you get into bed? It’s very late.”.

“No Mum. I just want to sit here” I replied reaching out to touch her arm. “Oh you’ve got my tablets, thank you”.

She put the tablets into the palm of my hand and a glass of water on the small table next to me. I knew it had to almost be time to take the only thing that kept my pain at bay  because my back was starting to ache, the kind of ache that no matter which way you try to move, it doesn’t go away.

My mother silently went back to her bed and I continued to look out into the darkness – grateful that I now could look into it instead of being enveloped by it.

The rain steadily fell – so heavy that a couple of squirrels jumped from a huge tree, deftly landing on their feet, tails swishing up into the air as they hit the ground and scurried off to find somewhere a bit more waterproof to shelter.

My hot water bottle had gone cold so I wheeled myself into the kitchen, Missy still asleep on my lap and put the kettle on to heat it up again. Everything was within reach for me – my life made a lot easier by a caring and loving mother. “I am very lucky” I thought as I poured the water into the rubber bottle.

I slept fitfully through the night, waking up when the newspaper was thrown from the moving car into our garden. ‘He must be half asleep again’ I thought as it hit our letterbox and rebounded into the neighbours bushes. Sometimes he came very early like 4am and other times it wasn’t until 5.30am so I either heard him or saw him depending on the time. On one occasion he must have been desperate because he quickly got out of the car, the motor still running and raced over to the bushes – I guessed he was going to the toilet. And he had no idea that anyone was watching him.

My mother was up early as usual. The neighbour had thrown our paper back into our garden so she went out to collect it. The rain had eased to a drizzle but the bushes and plants in the garden were bent over with the weight of the water that had fallen heavily on them all night.

We sat together in the kitchen and drank our tea. “I’m going out to the shops for a few things after breakfast love” she told me “I can either help you to shower before I go or you might like to wait until it warms up a little – it’s up to you?”

“I think I’ll wait a bit Mum. When you get back will be fine” I told her, not feeling like getting undressed in the cold air.

“We can go out for a lovely walk today when the rain stops if you like” she said tentatively, knowing what the answer would be, and what it had been for a long time now. I didn’t even need to answer; I just looked at her soft face and shook my head.

I loved this time of day because there was quite a lot going on. The school bus pulled up across the road and slightly to the right. I positioned my chair to the perfect spot and watched. I had grown up with these school children, from grade 1 upwards. Some of them and even their parents would wave at me through the window, rosy cheeked from the cold air. I noticed if one of the school children was missing and wondered if they were sick, relieved when they appeared a day or two later. I remembered when I had waited at the same bus stop as a young child, eager to get to school and play with my friends. We would chase each other and play ‘tag’ sometimes one of us tripping up and scraping a knee, and going to the office for a band aid. My favourite game was hopscotch, chalked squares with numbers written in them, school shoes thumping either on one leg or two. I sighed at the memories, a long and slightly sad breath.

 I recognised when one of them was a bit sullen or miserable looking and thought maybe they had been told off before they left home, just as I sometimes was., but usually by the time you got to school after chatting on the bus, you had forgotten that you had a ‘mean mum’!

My neighbour Mrs Burton had taken her dog across the road for a walk into the forest. As soon as she was on the other side the French poodle was let off the lead and it pranced off into the trees like a canine ballerina. I think Mrs. Burton was one person who didn’t realise I had a birds eye view across the street. As soon as she entered the canopy of the forest she took out her cigarettes and matches and lit up. That was her choice but the irony of the situation was the fact she was a doctor and very proud of the fact that her role in lecturing school students about the terrible impact smoking not only had on your health but the health of others by passive smoking was applauded by so many. I wonder what Mitzy the ballerina thought about it.

My physical freedom had been taken away from me when I was 11 years of age. I was hit by a truck while crossing the road. No matter how many times you are told that you’re lucky to be alive, it doesn’t make you feel any better about the fact you will never walk again, that you will always be in a wheelchair and never completely independent.

I suppose when you are a child you do rely on your parents for a lot of things, that’s just a part of growing up but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of being a burden as I got older. Of course this notion horrified my parents and they reassured me that the opposite was true, that it was not a duty but something they wanted to do. The truth was, unless they cared for me, who else would?

My father died five years after my accident and that is when I felt a real loss. He was my strength, literally. He carried me. I used to think of the story about the footprints on the sand and Jesus carrying someone without actually being there. That is how I thought of my dad. He was always there, ready to pick up the pieces or just to pick me up. Depression hit me and the darkness enveloped my life. It was as if a black hessian bag had been thrown over me, and as much as I tried to fight my way out, there was no opening.

It was hard for my mother without my dad. All the heavy lifting – of me – had to be done by her. I could help with the upper body but my legs had no movement whatsoever, but we managed, and we still do.

After about six months, with medication, therapy and my mother’s persistence, I began to find an opening in the hessian bag. Slowly the opening got bigger until one day I poked my head through and saw the daylight once again.

I started to feel more optimistic about life ahead in a wheelchair and enjoyed the simple pleasures in life like waking up to see the sun rise, and  listening to the purring of Missy. I laughed once more  – usually at silly thing that Mum and I found amusing and I realised just how much I had missed it, when after my  tears of laughter  had dried on my  cheeks, I felt the lightness and happiness in my soul .

My days consisted mainly of writing, listening to music and reading. I had lost the inclination of going out in my wheelchair into the big wide world. I felt scared at the thought of it, so I didn’t.

The lounge window was my world. I could see and hear all I needed to from there. My mother went out into the land beyond the window and reported back anything she thought would interest me.

I had just finished writing a chapter of my book when my mother came in from the shops. She helped me to shower and then as usual I sat myself in front of the window to watch the after school activities outside. The sun had decided to make an appearance after the light rain of the morning and outside looked bright. A rainbow appeared high above in the bright blue. I thought back to when we learned the colours of the rainbow in Geography, saying it over and over again as if somehow it was going to change the course of our life if we knew them, that they had magical powers and really did have a pot of gold at one end. Out loud I recited

“Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet” happy I still remembered!  I used to think that if I ever had a little girl of my own I would call her Violet.

I sat and watched until the arc of colour faded away, blown by the wind, taking the pot of gold with it leaving just the bright yellow sun up there.

Missy jumped up on to my lap and snuggled in, warm and soft. I stroked her gently, deep in thought.

“Down you go” I told her and wheeled myself into the kitchen where my mother sat drinking a cup of tea.

“Mum. I’ve decided I would like to go out for a walk today. It’s so lovely outside. Do you still want to go?”

She didn’t need to answer. I could tell from her smiling face and blue eyes sparkling from where the tears had welled up.