So I stayed in bed. I had absolutely no energy, I couldn’t remember the last time I ate or drank, or even showered. My bedroom was a mess, and my hair was even worse. I could hear Mom and Nan moving around downstairs, but they didn’t come up. They were good at giving me space, and respecting my boundaries. They knew I was hurting, and that I would come down when I wanted to. Eventually the clock hit five; I slid out of bed and made my way downstairs.
“Shh, she’s coming,” I heard Mom say.
“She can probably hear you, calm down,” Nan answered.
I felt a stupid grin coming, and as I turned the corner Nan blew into a birthday kazoo, and Mom held up a plate of pancakes.
“Happy birthday!” they both said.
As upset as I was, the surprise lifted my spirits. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten my own birthday. I was glad I had folks who remembered.
“Thanks, guys.” I smiled. “I appreciate it.”
Mom placed a plate of pancakes on the table in front of me. I sat down, not exactly hungry, but ate them anyway.
“They might not be as good as your grandfather’s,” Mom said. “But I’m trying my best.”
“I know.” I smiled. “Thank you, I haven’t been keeping track of time lately. I…honestly forgot my birthday was today.”
“You’re young, don’t let go of your memory just yet,” Nan joked.
Through the grief, I was happy Nan was doing better than when we got here. That wouldn’t have been possible without Clay.
I smiled and took a big bite of the pancakes.
As nice as it was to see Tia, Mom, and Nan that day, I thought back to what I had been doing a year ago in Halifax. I had gotten home from school and Mom was away. I hadn’t had a good day. I was alone, overwhelmed with school, and sad. That evening the phone rang; I picked it up to hear his voice. My grandfather’s. It was our yearly routine. One of the hardest parts about losing someone is losing the little things. I got choked up when I realized I wasn’t going to receive a phone call for my seventeenth birthday. I wasn’t going to hear him tell me the story he told me every year. That wasn’t going to happen ever again, and I had to come to terms with that.
I could barely stomach any food; instead, I decided to go outside and sit in the tree house, wishing it could take me away from the rest of the world.
I thought about Clay and I spending so many nights up there, clear sky or rain, soaking in everything. The sky was clear, so I watched the sun begin to set and I could see the universe for what it really was. Healing.
A little while later I was surprised by a familiar voice.
“Hey, hon.” Mom was climbing up the ladder to the tree house. “Happy birthday.”
“Mom, hi?” I sat up. I didn’t expect her to come out here.
Mom was trying, I knew. I loved her, and I apologized, and I forgave her. We were a work in progress.
“You’ve been in your room a lot. Are you okay?”
“I am. Everything is just…everything is just hard.”
“I know, hon.” She gave me a hug. “I know. Loss isn’t always straightforward.”
I moved out of the way so she could sit down. She lay back with me and we looked at the sky sprinkled with stars that were so far out of our reach. I never had a chance to sit up there with Mom before. Back in Halifax, we sometimes sat on the rooftop and looked at the streets below because we couldn’t always see the starlight. But there was something genuine about this. I think she could feel it too.
“You’re still thinking about him lots, aren’t ya?”
I knew she meant Grampy. “Yeah. Yeah I am.” She didn’t know who I was talking about—and maybe I meant both.
“I’m sorry, hon.” She held on to me and I rested my head on her shoulder.
I never told Mom about my confrontation with Blake. I thought it might hurt her too much. Mom was more than enough for me—I was realizing that even though I didn’t always show my appreciation, I had hit the jackpot when it came to moms.
“You spend so much time alone, I always feel like there’s more I should be doing,” she said.
“No, Mom. No. You do more than enough. I’m just hurting right now. But you’re the best mom anyone could ever ask for.” I paused. “I’m sorry about how hard I made coming back for you. I really messed up. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I should have been more empathic.”
“Oh, babes. You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m sorry too. I should have been more honest with you.” She looked down at her hands and then back at me. “We’re different, me and you. I spend most of my time running away from the past, you spend most of your time running straight into it.”
I sat with that for a moment. She was totally right: our relationship was like a game of tug-of-war. We spent so much time heading in opposite directions, it caused a rift between us. But there we were, laying in my childhood tree house, finding peace in the middle.
“Is he the reason you want to be called Annaka again?” Mom asked after a while.
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “I spent so much time hating that name. To suddenly understand why I have it, and how much those before me sacrificed…I don’t know. I can never be ashamed of our family’s past. I can never be ashamed of who I am, or where I come from.”
Mom smiled at that. I was done dwelling in the past. I wanted to start anew, focus on the future. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep a small piece of the past with me.
“He would be proud
