Begin Again

Tender Pain

She looks me up and down, as if I wasn't ever supposed to get out of that bed. But without a word she is halfway to her bedroom, her backpack tossed onto the counter with a third of the contents spilling out.

I wish she would stop looking at me like all of this is my fault, I mean... it is for the most part, but I'm her mother, I want her to be able to see what I see. I see this strong and beautiful girl that has more strength in her than anybody I know. And here she sees me muddled and broken down, when this isn't who I am. This isn't, this is me getting hurt, not me at any other time. This Iis me dying inside and letting a little trickle of that pain seep out into the world. This is me cracking, breaking. This isn't me broken.

I do my best to let her fully settle in before I even think consider striking up any kind of conversation. And besides that, I have no idea - what so ever - what I am going to say. I know that this has to be heartfelt, but I'm not sure why she's hurting. I know that there are several reasons, undoubtedly, why she is in such pain and frustration. But I want to know specifically what pushed my little girl into such deep waters, she doesn't deserve to drown like this.

Finally, I take my long trek down to her room. At least Tadashi thinks I can do something... or I'm his last resort. So many things could go wrong, I just can't think of anything that can go right.

My index knuckle taps three times on her door. She doesn't say anything, or at least I don't hear anything, so I ask gently to come in. To my surprise, she actually responds.

"No." That's a great conversation stopper, but we haven't even had a conversation to stop yet. So I push my words and the door, barely peeking my head into her room. "I said no." I can literally hear the irritation in her voice as she turns over her shoulder and picks up her round eyebrows.

"Kyoko, sweetie, we need to talk about this." She glances at me in the doorway, but then returns to pretending to be busy, milling about her bedroom. Six years old and she has to go through this... She reaches for her phone, trying to distract the both of us. "No," I say softly, entering the room. She's sitting on her bed now, texting. As politely as I can, I slowly take the phone out of her hands and set it on the desk next to us. "No," I say again, equally as soft, "we've been putting this off, both of us have."

I place my hand on the back of her shoulders but she refuses to look up, and her dark blonde hair conceals her face. "I don't have anything to say." This is the kind of excuse where you can tell, there's a lot on her mind but nothing in her mouth. I breathe in nice and slow, the last thing any of us need is for me and my big mouth to make the situation worse. So maybe I don't dig deep, maybe I better just try and mend the tear right now. She might not be ready or quite frankly old enough to have a solid view on death, or a firm grasp on the concept itself. So I make my response as simple and mild as possible.

"I'm not going to ask you to say anything, but I'd like it if you'd listen." Now that's the problem with grief, sometimes words are your enemy, they tell you what you need to hear but destroy what you need to feel. These are dangerous waters to be in. Kyoko, unfortunately, is a victim of circumstance, and she has to succumb to whatever mud Tadashi or I have to tread through, the least I can do is hold her hand through the murk.

Hesitantly she breaths an "I'll try". My immediate inclination is to correct her for saying that, make her face the fact that she either will or she wont. By the looks of it, that's the response she was craving for whatever reason. The words make my head hurt a little, just the way she said them.

"We both will," I say under my breath, hoping she doesn't hear me doubting myself and quite frankly this conversation. I manage to disguise it with a kind of sigh, I don't think that she heard it in the first place, which is fine by me. I pray that this is the last time I mess up this conversation. "I know that you think, that you think what happened to your grandfather is my fault, but..." There's no way around saying it, all I can do is put it as softly and sweetly as possible. The truth is killing us both. "He was a sick man..." I take another slow breath in and do my best to continue without my voice giving way.