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It's no use Crying over Spilt Milk (P.O.V. 2)

It’s no use Crying over Spilt Milk

Taking a sip of my black coffee, I look over to the huddled, sleeping form on the sofa. I remember hearing the staircase creaking last night; she probably couldn’t sleep again and came downstairs to watch TV. Her pale face contrasts with her dark, tangled hair and her brows are all scrunched up, as if concentrating on something important. Her hands are restless, shaking and clutching the blanket, even in slumber. It pains me to see my own daughter suffering so much.

It’s my fault.

I should have been there for her but instead, was at a business trip that I would skip if I could go back in time. During those few months, Caroline’s life spiraled down the hill. I should’ve paid attention to the tattoos on his arms, the piercings, and the smirk on that self-satisfied bastard’s face the day she brought him home. Instead, I turned a blind eye and trusted Caroline to make the right decisions, not expecting her to need advice or a caring mother to talk to. He ruined my daughter’s life; she got addicted to not only the narcotics, but him as well.

            Caroline groans and stretches as she wakes up and I snap out of my reverie.

“What?” she asks, angrily. Her attitude also took a drastic turn towards hostility since then. I don’t want to lecture her first thing in the morning, so I just shrug and take another sip of my bitter coffee. She enters the kitchen, opens the fridge and gets herself a carton of milk.

Her face becomes as white as a sheet and it’s as if time freezes as I watch the jug slipping from her hands. I stand up as the milk spills onto the kitchen floor; all over Caroline, and the fridge door slaps closed. “Dammit” she hisses, upset.

When she doesn’t make a move to clean it up or at least pick up the carton, I feel my temper flare up instantly. All the stress what with the rehabilitation and sleepless nights comes bubbling up to the surface. “Clean it up!” I yell, “Why are you so clumsy? Why do I have to do everything for you? Do you think this life is easy? Didn’t I teach you anything? You bring shame to this family!”

 I feel my blood pressure rising as I’m screaming at a blank face. I don’t think she’s even listening to me. She doesn’t even have the decency to look at me when I’m yelling at her. “What is wrong with you, Caroline? Are you even hearing what I’m saying right now? You never clean up after yourself! Don’t expect others to do it for you! How can you just stand there? Clean it up! Clean yourself up! You’re a mess!”Why can’t she just pull herself together and come out of her depressive rut.

“I’ve got no time to clean up! I’m sorry that I’m not perfect! I never wanted to become a mess!” she yells. My heart squirms with guilt as I realize the pressure I’ve put her under the past few years to be perfect but the anger for her decisions overrides the remorse.

“Your choices and actions made you a mess! Now you have to take responsibility over your life and get yourself together!”

“I had no choice, mother! I loved him! I’m sorry about the mistakes I’ve made but I’m still grieving! Why can’t you understand that?” Hearing those words about that filthy scum fuels my rage as I remember all the misery he put her through.

“Because it’s been over a month! Get over him! He’s never coming back! And I’m glad! He changed you for the worse! Just look at yourself!” I scream at her. I watch as she looks at herself in the full-length mirror beside the couch. I try to calm myself down as I whisper “Look at what you’ve become.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. It’s too late. She’s already crying. I look in the mirror as well and see my daughter.

Beautiful, even in tears.

She falls to the floor with a wail and starts sobbing. For a split second, I feel utterly hopeless.

Then, my motherly instinct kicks in as I rush to her side and try to soothe her aching heart. I should have been there for her then but the least I can do is be here for her now. “Oh dear,” I say as the regret finally sinks in fully and the impact of my actions and words hit me. “It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be just fine. You will get through this,” I say softly as I pet her tangled hair.

Putting aside my conflicting emotions and anger at her, him as well as myself, I focus on my little Callie.  “We will get through this together. We will put your life back together! Piece by piece.”I try to convince us both as she nods on my lap and cries quietly.

“Piece by piece,” I whisper as she pulls herself closer to me.

We need to be strong. For each other.