Thistle & Weeds, part IV
There's no outrunning the past. No matter how you try to hide from it, in the end, all you can really do is confront it and move on. Keep moving forward. Keep pushing.
Meredith keeps her eyes closed when she finds herself seated again, not sure how long she stays there just trying to piece this together. "You should know," she murmurs, "you should know, you should know. What am I supposed to know?" Maybe it's nothing, just her mother's embarrassment for the act of attempting suicide all those years ago. She spent years teaching Meredith, by word or action, not to be weak, not to rely on anyone.
Be an extraordinary woman, Meredith. Those had been her words to her five year old daughter when she'd sprawled out on their kitchen floor and told her not to call 911. The water lapping at her legs is bitter cold, nothing like the hot, sticky blood of that afternoon, but her breath catches in her throat anyway and she finds herself fighting again to breathe. She is not extraordinary. She's not normal either, not anything remotely like ordinary, but she's as weak as her mother always said. If she can't go back to the island, she isn't sure she wants to go back at all.
We get so bogged down in what came before that we miss what's right in front of us: the life we're living now, the answers we've already earned, the love that makes it worthwhile to keep trying.
Her heart stutters in her chest as Meredith bends her head and clutches at her pants, forcing herself to take deep, uneven gulps of air. She should know this, she should know. Weak or not, would she do the same? Would she be brave enough, desperate enough, alone enough to hold the scalpel to her wrists? (She promised once that she'd be careful. That doesn't fall under the definition of careful, not in the same way, but it's precise, drawing the blade through the skin to make the incision to stop the pain of being left behind.)
No, she thinks, no. She let go once. She wouldn't again. And neither would her mother.
Neither would her mother. Because if they'd meant to do it - if Ellis had wanted to - she would have done it right.
Because that's what we're supposed to do. We're not meant to stay still. We're creatures of progress, of change. We aren't supposed to lie down and give up. We're supposed to keep living our lives. To keep fighting to go on. To keep loving.
She's on her feet without thinking, sloshing forward through the ebbing water, breaking into a run as the floor goes dry. Bypassing the E.R., she turns the corner and comes to a halt, her mother just framed by the opposite end of the hall. "Mommy?" Growing older has never stopped her, the word slipping out vulnerable and hopeful at once before she starts to run again; she won't hover in doorways now.
"You didn't do it," she says, and though everything keeps starting over again, she forgets to think her mother might not understand. It's a weight she carried for a long time, it's too important to go unremembered, and Alzheimer's has no hold on Ellis here. "You didn't try to kill yourself. If you'd wanted to, you wouldn't have slit your wrists. You wouldn't have given me time to save you. You would have cut your carotid. You didn't try."
"You don't understand," Ellis says, and Meredith can feel that uneasy relief being shut right down again, her mother's demeanor as cold as ever. "You could never understand. He should have left his wife. He said he would and then he turned out to be a coward."
"You thought he'd come back." Meredith's brow furrows and she shakes her head. "But he didn't know. You never told him. No one did." She stops and stares, trying to find something she gets behind that hard set jaw and the glint of unshed tears. "I do understand."
It's the answer that catches her by surprise: "You deserve better than that." Ellis reaches out and pulls her close, Meredith leaning in, unresisting, to wrap her arms around her. "Don't do what I did. Don't be a coward; just keep going. You are... you are anything but ordinary, Meredith. Don't doubt that you should have better, you should be loved. Now run. Run."
She can't stay here, whatever might be on the other side, can't just give up. That's just another way of letting go.
Meredith holds on just a second longer, eyes shut tight, and breathes in deep. It's more than she ever expected to hear from her mother again, more than she understands how to process, and when she pulls back for one last long look before pushing obediently forward, it's the last time she'll ever see her.
Because no matter how intractable the old mistakes may seem or how damaging the past once was, it's the past for a reason. Haunted or not, all we can do is get up... and try again.
Meredith keeps her eyes closed when she finds herself seated again, not sure how long she stays there just trying to piece this together. "You should know," she murmurs, "you should know, you should know. What am I supposed to know?" Maybe it's nothing, just her mother's embarrassment for the act of attempting suicide all those years ago. She spent years teaching Meredith, by word or action, not to be weak, not to rely on anyone.
Be an extraordinary woman, Meredith. Those had been her words to her five year old daughter when she'd sprawled out on their kitchen floor and told her not to call 911. The water lapping at her legs is bitter cold, nothing like the hot, sticky blood of that afternoon, but her breath catches in her throat anyway and she finds herself fighting again to breathe. She is not extraordinary. She's not normal either, not anything remotely like ordinary, but she's as weak as her mother always said. If she can't go back to the island, she isn't sure she wants to go back at all.
We get so bogged down in what came before that we miss what's right in front of us: the life we're living now, the answers we've already earned, the love that makes it worthwhile to keep trying.
Her heart stutters in her chest as Meredith bends her head and clutches at her pants, forcing herself to take deep, uneven gulps of air. She should know this, she should know. Weak or not, would she do the same? Would she be brave enough, desperate enough, alone enough to hold the scalpel to her wrists? (She promised once that she'd be careful. That doesn't fall under the definition of careful, not in the same way, but it's precise, drawing the blade through the skin to make the incision to stop the pain of being left behind.)
No, she thinks, no. She let go once. She wouldn't again. And neither would her mother.
Neither would her mother. Because if they'd meant to do it - if Ellis had wanted to - she would have done it right.
Because that's what we're supposed to do. We're not meant to stay still. We're creatures of progress, of change. We aren't supposed to lie down and give up. We're supposed to keep living our lives. To keep fighting to go on. To keep loving.
She's on her feet without thinking, sloshing forward through the ebbing water, breaking into a run as the floor goes dry. Bypassing the E.R., she turns the corner and comes to a halt, her mother just framed by the opposite end of the hall. "Mommy?" Growing older has never stopped her, the word slipping out vulnerable and hopeful at once before she starts to run again; she won't hover in doorways now.
"You didn't do it," she says, and though everything keeps starting over again, she forgets to think her mother might not understand. It's a weight she carried for a long time, it's too important to go unremembered, and Alzheimer's has no hold on Ellis here. "You didn't try to kill yourself. If you'd wanted to, you wouldn't have slit your wrists. You wouldn't have given me time to save you. You would have cut your carotid. You didn't try."
"You don't understand," Ellis says, and Meredith can feel that uneasy relief being shut right down again, her mother's demeanor as cold as ever. "You could never understand. He should have left his wife. He said he would and then he turned out to be a coward."
"You thought he'd come back." Meredith's brow furrows and she shakes her head. "But he didn't know. You never told him. No one did." She stops and stares, trying to find something she gets behind that hard set jaw and the glint of unshed tears. "I do understand."
It's the answer that catches her by surprise: "You deserve better than that." Ellis reaches out and pulls her close, Meredith leaning in, unresisting, to wrap her arms around her. "Don't do what I did. Don't be a coward; just keep going. You are... you are anything but ordinary, Meredith. Don't doubt that you should have better, you should be loved. Now run. Run."
She can't stay here, whatever might be on the other side, can't just give up. That's just another way of letting go.
Meredith holds on just a second longer, eyes shut tight, and breathes in deep. It's more than she ever expected to hear from her mother again, more than she understands how to process, and when she pulls back for one last long look before pushing obediently forward, it's the last time she'll ever see her.
Because no matter how intractable the old mistakes may seem or how damaging the past once was, it's the past for a reason. Haunted or not, all we can do is get up... and try again.