"Heaven lies at the feet of mothers"

This is it.

Go wild.
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Heaven

When he was young, his parents told him a story. Many stories, really. A different one almost every night. And he would sit there mesmerized by the voices. But one really took to him. He can’t remember the story but the last line, the moral of the story; that he knew. “Heaven lies at the feet of mothers.” It’s about loving and respecting mothers, who have carried and reared their children and given up a lot for their offspring. It was music to his seven-year-old ears. How something as simple as loving your own mother could guarantee admission to paradise. He had found the perfect Get Out Of Jail Free Card. No matter what he did, how many walls he um, decorated, how many cookies he ate before dinner, how many glasses he accidentally broke; he could still go to heaven.

They said it started even before he was born. While she was still in school. She had caught her father with another woman. He knows why this affected her. He can hear the love and admiration she has for the man every time she talks of her youth. So he can’t really fault her. It sounds funny hearing about her actions back then. Even with the solemn faces the adults use when they tell him her history. She had plans to become a nun. His mother, a nun. Sometimes when he stops wondering about the absurdity of his mother in a habit, he realizes nuns don’t have kids. And he doesn’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing.

She was also a chaser. His mother was a chaser. Sometimes he’s convinced he’s lost his mind… Part of the whole nun gig was fasting of course. And of course she would have to fast for the 24 hours before the final match. Somehow they actually managed to win the match. She collapsed about three minutes into the celebrations and had to stay in the hospital for a week.

He can’t blame her for that whole episode. Her pillar of strength, her role model, had been desecrated. Almost anyone could have snapped.

The second time was after his birth. When he was eleven, his father sat him down and described her … condition. Postpartum depression he called it. Looking back, he seemed to young to be talking about his mother’s mental illness. But his father most probably wanted to prepare him after finding out about the prospect of a third child. But it was unnecessary really. He could still remember the aftereffects of his sister’s birth. The sound of screaming, glass shattering and him huddled in a corner beside a closet, not crying. Instead just feeling numb, trying to figure out how he could help his mother, help her get well again.

But postpartum depression didn’t explain why it happened again in Rome. It was supposed to be a nice, relaxing holiday. Enjoying the scenery, the food, the company. Instead he is woken up by his father’s screams. He thinks that’s the reason he’s become a very light sleeper. Never know when you might be needed up and alert. Never know if you might wake up to the same scene again, his mother half way out a small window in the kitchen, his father holding on to her legs, pleading for her to get back into the room. The fact that their room is on the eighth floor doesn’t escape him. How he found the strength he’ll never know, but he’ll never forget that wild look in her eyes as he’s hugging her, sobbing, begging her to stay, telling her how he loves her, how he needs her.

He’s almost certain that was the moment he started hating her.

Her declarations of wanting to leave the hotel room. Her delusions of being married to someone else, that the man sleeping soundly in the next room, the man you know as your father, kidnapped her. That he had a different biological father. She dragged him into the bathroom, neglecting to turn on the lights. Opting instead to leave a slight opening at the door. He just sits on the toilet looking at her, the woman who could guarantee him heaven, spouting nonsense, drinking water straight from the tap, not at all listening to a word she’s saying.

He’s absolutely certain that was the exact moment he gave a big Fuck You to the big guy upstairs.

Nowadays she gets the episodes more frequently. Not the delusional type, no. More of the staring into space, mulling over things. He doesn’t really bother. With her. With them. With all of it really. Because he thinks he’s finally got it. Why life gave him such a crappy hand. “Heaven lies at the feet of mothers.” He smirks as he stares at her. He was never destined for heaven after all.

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It's all my fault.

-The Daughter