Most saltwater fish school (swim in the same direction in a coordinated way) part or all their life. Schools are protective places. Fish in a school are less vulnerable than a single fish swimming alone. Fish in schools are also cooperative hunters. Feeding behavior in one fish catalyzes food-seeking behavior in others.
I wake with the thought to check on Elisabeth.
Ever since she was a baby, I've dreaded going back into her room after bedtime. I've always believed that my invisible footsteps would wake her. Even (ridiculous) that she could hear my thoughts. Going back in after lights out was a path to certain wreckage, a boat crushed on shore. Hesitant to even move, I lay there, adjust my pillow and glance at my clock. 3:30.
Then I remember the small dormer window above her head is open. She'd pleaded to keep it that way even though I worried she would get cold. Ok. I drag my heavy, warm body out of the thick nest where I had burrowed. Crossing the hall, I enter her still bedroom. I pad lightly toward her bed and pause. The shade is down, the window shut. F must have closed it.
Did I call for you? I hear her words the instant I turn away.
Noiselessly, I take a single step toward the door.
Mama, did I call for you? Elisabeth asks again.
I stop.
No, I just came in to check on you.
I was having a good dream, she says and sits up.
I walk closer, lean over and kiss her muggy forehead.
But I don't think it would have ended as good if you hadn't come in, she continues.
I put my arms around her small body and breathe in her sweet, young smell. Elisabeth takes my pointer finger as she always does and wraps it in her fist.
I'm not staying, I think.
Despite this, I squeeze her close. Her grip relaxes and Elisabeth lays back down. I turn and creep back to the door.
Good night, she calls.
What?
Good night, she repeats. See you tomorrow.
I repeat her words back to her and head to the bathroom. I sit on the cold toilet.
Juvenile fish practice schooling techniques in duos, then gradually within larger groups as they age and their skills get better. Schooling behavior is not innate or learned from older fish. It is something that develops with practice over time. Schooling fish are more efficient swimmers.
Why didn't I speak first? I hate ("what kind of mother....?") but understand my silence. I truly believe that the quieter I am, the greater chance she will have of drifting back. I have, for many years now, tried to prevent storms. Black out shades and facing backwards. Teaching Elisabeth to voice a feeling instead of stuffing it. Mental health days from school. Permission to yell, shout or curse if it keeps her safe. I want to keep the boat, buoyant, alight. Far from the rocky shallows.
Being a survivor parent means a constant balance of my hurt with the fear of my child being hurt. I know this is the shaky shack where my anxiety about sleepless nights resides. A few months before Elisabeth turned two, I’d been doing a lot of thinking about the conversations I had over the years with abuse survivors. Growing up in families where there was abuse or neglect often left them feeling alone and vulnerable. Life happened around them or to them but not with them. Choice, care, protection were absent. I wrote this, “If Elisabeth cannot see me or feel my smile of reassurance and close touch, she might feel unprotected.”
Schooling species of fish have eyes on the sides of their heads. This means they can easily see other members of their school. As a result most schooling fish lose their ability to school in the dark. They remain together, though, still part of the group, safer and well-fed and together.
What I’m Thinking:
How I will NOT miss being among the horrible drivers and relentless traffic when I’m in Berlin in July. We will not have a car during our year abroad. People driving these days are making me not only nervous for my safety and sanity. Public transit here I come!
Whether its people in larger bodies, #MeToo stories or politics, our society seems to be at a new high with our lack of tolerance for others’ differences. It feels hateful and discouraging. I’m getting curious about how this will show up for me during my year away.
What I’m Reading:
Wandering Stars by Tommy Orange. It’s not a sequel exactly but Orange’s book takes up the story of Lony, Loother, Orvil, Opal and Jacquie from his first novel, There, There. Wandering Stars talks big issues like addiction and trauma through the lens of the various identities we each have within us. One of my favorite kind of book: pithy, tight, original and with characters I love from day one. Gonna go out on a limb and say that if you cheered for Demon Copperhead or felt his pain at the starkness of his situation, you’ll love Wandering Stars.
Bozo by Souvankham Thammavongsa in The New Yorker. Not what you think and that last line, DAMN, it’s a humdinger.