The Offspring

The Offspring 

It was New Year’s Day. A gray, soggy-sock day. The perfect day to visit Colleen.

“On her birthday? Are you sure about this?” my mother asked me, a gentle, pained look on her face. 

“There’s no better day to reach her. You know what this day has meant to her. Better than anyone, you know! Year after year you’ve been the most celebrated guest at her New Year’s birthday parties. Front and center, for the last 30 years.” 

“Yes,” she nodded, gazing past me with shiny eyes. “So many wonderful years. Colleen was so surprised that first year Rob threw a New Year’s birthday party for her. They were only just married. Remember the piñata ball he dropped from the banister at midnight?…You were there, of course. So small then, just a baby.” 

“A baby, yes. The baby in the back room. I doubt if anyone even imagined I was there,” I said softly. 

“I remember…there was one who heard your cries. Colleen’s friend, Margaret. She lost her father that year, and was going through a hard time. Held you most of the night, imagining what you would grow into. She knew,” my mother said, and then she smiled faintly. “And yet, she didn’t want you or me to leave. She held you, and accepted me. She welcomed us into her life, as an inseparable team. Courageous woman.” 

“Well then,” I said, straightening, “it’s time we gave Colleen a chance to do the same.” 

“She’s been so unwell since Rob’s death,” my mother said, her beautiful features creasing with sadness. “It’s been three months now since she lost him. She’s shut me out. Not eating well, not taking visitors—least of all me.” 

“No, no. Least of all me, mother,” I assured her. “I have never been a welcome guest in her house.” 

“It’s true,” mother said, matter-of-factly, but with the warmth and acceptance that radiated from her always. “I just hope that today she can understand…I’m not able to spend time with her if she won’t accept my offspring.” 

I chuckled humorlessly. “I know of no companion more sought-after than you, and yet…you come with the greatest baggage of all. Me.” 

“My son,” she said with resolve, and a touch of chastisement. “I am of little worth without you.”  

The Bereaved 

Colleen gave her 44 ounce Diet Coke a little shake, and her pebbled ice shimmied obediently against the styrofoam cup—a dopamine-triggering noise for her on a normal day. It was not a normal day though, and it seemed impossible to wring a drop of joy out of the crusty, withered cloth that was her life now. 

She sat in her beige reclining chair by the window, her legs folded to the side, still in the oversized sweatshirt and stained joggers she’d worn to bed, even though it was almost 5pm now. She tried to ignore the chair that matched hers, positioned close enough to hold hands with the person in the other chair. She had never supposed she’d find it empty. Especially not at 54. 

It was New Year’s Day. A gray, soggy-sock day. My birthday, thought Colleen. I wish it wasn’t. 

She wished it could be an anonymous day of the year, maybe March 9th or September 18th. Not a day that was filled, like a museum, with beautiful memories collected year over year. She did not want to visit this museum today, because all those precious memories? They were shattered now, beyond reuse or repair. An attempt to behold them or make sense of them now would only lead to devastation and bloody hands. 

And so, she willed herself to be numb to her birthday memories of New Year’s pasts. The parties Rob would throw each year, taking care of every detail—from invitations, to food, to entertainment. No one threw a party like Rob, Colleen thought, and then she reached for the remote, because clearly she wasn’t doing a great job at being numb. She was about to turn the TV on when she heard a soft knock at the door.

Who could that be? Colleen asked herself, her face flushing involuntarily with anger. She had told her friends, family, and neighbors—repeatedly in some cases—that she wanted to be left alone today. All alone. 

The Embrace 

I stood at the door in my best gray suit that was tailored to my long, slender body. Mother stood behind me, which was atypical. Every year before this, I slunk in behind her and was ignored by everyone. But things have changed this New Year. 

The moment Colleen answered the door, I could feel the warmth within her house, and by the look on her face I wondered if she could feel the chill I was about to bring in. 

“No,” she mouthed noiselessly, her eyes immediately averting mine. She was about to slam the door, when my mother caught her attention, tears in her eyes and hands outstretched. 

“Colleen, let us in,” mother pleaded, nodding her head slowly. 

“You show up here with him, and expect me to let you in?” Colleen asks sharply, narrowing her eyes as hot tears threaten to spring from them.

“Let us in, Colleen. Let’s spend some time together, the three of us. We can work things out,” mother promised. How could you not trust a face that earnest? 

Colleen turned abruptly from the door and strode back to her chair. She had left the door open though, and that was all the invitation I needed to follow her in and sit in the chair next to hers. 

She watched me sit down and let out a cry, burying her face in her hands. In a muffled voice she said, “You…sitting in Rob’s chair. How dare you.”

I wouldn’t think of sitting anywhere else though, this was clearly the chair I belonged in. Even my mother knew it, and she sat at my feet for a change and looked up at Colleen.  

“Oh Colleen. Can I give you a hug?” mother asked.

“Hardly,” Colleen breathed out, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth and then saying, “How could you bring him here? This is all your fault. It’s all your fault! You are not welcome in my life anymore.”

“He’s a part of me, Colleen, he’s been with me all along. The moment you brought me into your life, he was there.” 

“But I never invited him!” Colleen shouted. She still wouldn’t look at me. Not even after I came to every party—a wallflower though I may have been, I’m no wallflower now. Today I knocked on her door and sat in her late husband’s chair, and she would still like to pretend I don’t exist. 

“If you invite me, you invite him. If you forsake him, you forsake me. Don’t you see? We’ve had so many wonderful times…you remember them, don’t you?” my mother asked pleadingly. “Rob dancing in the kitchen with you to Elton John, how he always remembered to pick up your favorite ice cream on a grocery run, the way you—"

“I don’t want to remember,” Colleen interrupted in an exceptionally tired voice. “Because look at who sits in his chair now. Grief!”

It was true. My name was Grief. And so I had to sit in Rob’s chair and follow my mother wherever she went. My mother, who is Love. The most sought-after companion, with the greatest baggage of all. Me. 

“Yes,” my mother conceded tenderly. “My forsaken child, who grows stronger each day you associate with me. And look at him now—a grown man after your 30 remarkable years of marriage to Rob. You’ve been so brave and resilient, to accept us both into your life for so long. Don’t leave us now, Colleen. Don’t you see that we brought you the best of each year?”

“Yes, but that’s all over now,” Colleen said, wiping at the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks now. “You gave me three amazing decades and now I’m left with him stealing the show.” She gestured to me, still not looking me in the eyes. 

There was another knock at the door. “For heaven’s sake,” Colleen blurts out. 

“May I…may I answer the door Colleen?” mother asked, and Colleen shrugged in frustrated compliance. 

In a moment, Margaret was being warmly ushered in. Margaret, who held me as a baby and accepted what I would become. She and my mother walked arm in arm now. 

“Oh Colleen. I know you weren’t expecting me today, but I also know…” Margaret looked at me, right in the eyes, and smiled sadly.

“I know how it feels to sit with Grief, and well…I didn’t want you to have to do it alone.”

“How do you have the courage to look right at him?” Colleen asked, shaking her head incredulously.  

Margaret sighed. “It is not for the faint of heart, to look directly at all you’ve lost. But do you know what I always find reflected in his eyes?” Colleen shook her head no. 

“Her,” Margaret replied, pointing to my mother. “Grief is born of Love, an extension of her. And when I accept him, embrace him even, Love heals me.” 

Margaret and my mother walked toward me and the three of us embraced. Then Margret turned encouragingly toward Colleen, reaching a hand toward her.  

It took a few long moments, but finally Colleen melted toward us, stumbling, sobbing, healing as she enveloped herself in the arms of Love, Grief, and a friend.