Nathan's Mom Died

Reality is different now. And we have a dog.

“Fripouille”

I’ve grown up three times since becoming an adult: after my first breakup, during my abortion, and now that my boyfriend’s mother is no longer here.

It’s not supposed to be about me. It’s his mother who died. It’s his pain that’s bleeding through every instance of time. Maybe because I love Nathan, or maybe because of my close proximity to him, it hurt me too. 

We got the call late Tuesday night. His mother’s dog wouldn’t stop barking. Neighbors tried to ring, but no one answered the door. The firefighters came. They fed the dog. They sealed the apartment and said we could take him when the doctor arrived in the morning.

We booked the first train to Paris and tried to pack our bags. Nathan made some calls. He hadn’t spoken to his dad in 2.5 years. When he answered, he thought Nathan was calling for his birthday. 

Someone tried to steal my purse at the train station. Nathan flipped out; I wonder if that was good for him. Releasing energy. We got to Paris and Nathan’s dad picked us up. He joked about coming in his red ferrari. His dad has a red Clio. Who jokes at a time like this? But who cares?

She was buried the next day. Nathan didn’t want an autopsy; her death seemed natural. I met family who hadn’t spoken to his mother in years. Everyone said the same thing. She was a complicated woman. But we should have tried.

Shiva started after the funeral. It’s a 7 day period of doing nothing. Mourners can’t take showers or cook for themselves. Nathan wasn’t allowed to walk the dog. The closest family members sit together and be. Whatever happens — whatever arguments or pains or stories are supposed to come out — come out.

On day 5, I went to the gym. Tried to exercise the contextual grief away. I saw life had continued. Men chatted with me. A few got annoyed I used a machine for too long. Someone convinced me to do 5 sets of abs with them. I remembered a truth about life. How it goes on.

We stayed another week. We had to unpack the house. Every single paper. Every single photo. Every single pair of baby shoes. Every single everything had a story. I could only imagine the stories and Nathan could only remember them. We did the same thing — organized stuff — and we felt completely different things. It was hard to reconcile those differences in my mind. 

We went back home. Nathan had to get back to work. I wanted to feel normalcy. I kept thinking that I wanted to run away. I hated the grief surrounding us. I hated having to have a dog. I couldn’t imagine the state Nathan was in. His circumstances were non negotiable. He couldn’t reject the feelings; they weren’t just feelings. They were new facts of life. 

Nathan’s dad drove us to the train. The dog sat in the back seat. I didn’t want him. He kept biting me. I didn’t want to take care of something. Nathan started work and I started watching the dog. I fed him, walked him, and caressed him half the day. I started to understand why Nathan couldn’t give the dog away. I felt like I was growing up a bit. This was part of our life now. Despite my deepest intentions, regardless of all my feelings, that dog also became mine. 

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I missed you guys. I missed writing. I missed the routine and reflection, and the routine of reflection. I’m back now. I’ll share more in the next few weeks. Thank you for loving me.