The Right Thing

Dried leaves and dead brush crackled under my feet as I trudged through the dense forest. Blue light cast by a full moon filtered through the pine needle canopies to leave pools of light. I used these spotlights as guides leading me along a path to? I didn’t know where. I could not remember how I had gotten there, but it seemed right, so I worried not.

An owl’s warning pierced the night. I, along with all the woodland creatures, halted and held my breath. I don’t know why I had become so primitive and skittish. There was no rational thought to my movements, but they were correct in guiding me.

A whoosh of air ruffled my hair as something flew by my right shoulder. I ducked and fell into the fetal position on the forest floor. The heady smell of earth filled my nostrils with the promise of life and death. The aroma comforted me, and I felt like whatever happened next it would be ok.

My stomach plummeted as talons sunk into my back. They didn’t hurt as I was pulled up and up and up. I knew I should be afraid of the heights we were climbing, but my mind kept egging the owl on. “Higher!” I wanted to scream, “Higher!” The bird must have heard my wishes and continued to do just that.

The owl pushed us past clouds and past where the sky meets the vast ocean of night. We rose past the moon. We soared out of our solar system, through the milky way and on to the boundaries of the universe. I was dreaming, I knew. Still, there was something comforting about the whole thing. I could feel a warmth in my chest, and I was at peace.

The owl hooted again and unhooked its claws from my back. I floated in space unworried till the owl flew past my ear and whispered, “Your life is meaningless,” and I was plunged into eternal darkness.

I woke with a jolt of terror still echoing in my chest. I sat up and paused before throwing off the covers and swinging my legs over the side. I took in fortifying breaths in an effort to shake the deep feelings of woe. I could not win and broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

I cried into my hands until they pruned with the moisture. I tried wiping them away with my nightgown sleeves, but it did nothing to dispel their flow. I got up and wailed like a banshee as I shuffled to the bathroom. I flicked on the light and immediately shied away from it. The darkness in my soul blustered at its brilliance and it only agitated my grief.

I looked at the woman in the mirror. I knew her once. She was confident in herself, and her resolve was unwavering. So why then was she a stranger to me now?

Large tears plopped in the skinks making the same noises a leaky faucet would as I began to cry anew. My decision was right. What I had done had been for the better.

“I did what was best!” I cried out to the woman in the mirror.

I could hear her reply in my head, “So why does it still hurt?”

Because I lived in unknowns now and I was lost. I had done the right thing but had never planned for a life beyond my decision. I had given away my purpose so that others could have a better life. It was the right thing to do even if my life would feel forever wrong.

I shuffled to my kitchen, where I pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Only a thimble or two remained. I drank it straight from the bottle dismayed it would not be enough to fill the void in my chest. I hated nights like this where I remember what I lost and gave away.

I had always wanted to be a mother. I had always wanted a home to lord over with my husband. I had always wanted to be the nag no one could not live without. Most of all, I had always wanted to be my families rock or pillar.

I had never expected my husband to die. I had never expected to be alone with twins. I had never expected to be the weakest point for my family. I had never expected to become a user. Yet, there I was angry, violent, and self-destructive in my grief; unable to provide proper support in any capacity.

Many would say you can rally. You can find the strength. You will preserver. I felt a weight, though, that I could not overcome or explain away. I let it drag me down and eventually, let it keep me there. Granted I was always functional, never sloppy in the daylight, but I was devoid of love and nurturing.

I did not want my newborn twins to have a broken mom. I did not want them to grow up in a broken home. I did not want them to struggle in the gaps I could not stretch myself to fill. I would not let them stay down there with me, not even when the selfish side of me wished to keep them for my own fulfillment.

I was no home, so with what was left of me I found them one. I found them a really good, loving home. They were not subjected to neither foster care nor adoption agencies, with their crude rationales. Instead, I gave them two dads with warm hearts that would guide them into the wonderful adults they are. I know I did the right thing. I know I saved them from grief, I provided them with opportunities I could not offer myself and I know I gave them a bright future.

I reminded myself of all this as I stumbled back to the bathroom. My first born, I had saw weekly on my favorite tv show. She had looked healthy and full of life. It could have been makeup, but her father’s yearly update on the two confirmed her happiness as well as my youngest. The younger of the two by half an hour was shier than her outgoing sister but had found her own slice of success in veterinary school. I could not be prouder of either of them and was glad that they had not been nurtured by my anguish.

I teetered over the sink again. This time not looking at the sick woman in the mirror. I was there to fill a void and I could not fill it with such a small amount of whiskey. I pulled out a Xanax and an oxy from pill bottles that did not match their condense. I swallowed them without water, letting their bitter embrace take me from my pain before shuffling back to bed.

A hoot lilted in through the window and I could not stop myself bawling again. I gritted my teeth in anger. “Get it together,” I told myself only to be taunted by the creature more.

“Who, who, who are you?” it jeered. I went to the window intent on throwing something at the mocking owl. “Who, who?” It continued to ask.

I dropped the slipper I had been ready to throw and cried at the window pane, “I don’t know who I am. I am lost, but everything is alright. I did what was right. That means everything is OK!!!!!!!” I screamed the last.

The owl startled at my outburst and flew away. It left me alone, but the drugs were already starting to hug my insides, so I wasn't sad to see it go. I was not fit to keep company.

"Everything is alright," I told myself sleepily as I crawled back into my covers, the drugs doing their job of lulling me back to the lost oblivion I craved.