One week ago.
Kallan went on a sleepover . . .
Our house is so quiet when she is gone. Too quiet.
I miss her.
Kallan never sleeps very much when she does a sleepover.
I was prepared for her to be a little cranky and tired the next day, but Kallan generally makes it through the day after a sleepover without too much trouble.
No big deal.
But then I saw her eyes when she walked through the door the next morning.
A glittery dark manic energy within them.
Uh oh.
She brushed past me and into the house, hyperactive and stringing her words together without pause, “Ididn’tsleepatallnotoneminuteIstayedupallnightitwasawesomeandIamnottiredatall.”
Maj spoke doubtfully, “I’m sure you fell asleep at some point.”
“NoMajIdidnotandyoudonotevenknowbecauseyouwerenotthereMommyMajisbeingmeantomeWAAAAAHHHHHHH!SHEDOESNOTKNOWWAAAAAHHHHH!”
OK, then.
I escorted a screaming and hysterical Kallan down to the couch in front of the TV, “Why don’t you take a little nap?”
“Idon’tseewhyIshouldIamnoteventiredthenexttimeIhaveasleepoverweareallstayingupallnightitwasawesome!”
And then she fell asleep as though she had fallen into sleep from the top of a very tall building.
Gone.
I tucked a blanket around her body and checked the clock. 11:00 am.
I decided to let her sleep until 3:00 pm.
I didn’t want to let her sleep the whole day, because then she would just be up all night.
Again.
I went to wake her at 2:55.
And then again at 3:05.
3:10.
At 3:15, I sat on the couch and pulled her up into my arms, “Come on, Kallan. It’s time to wake up.”
She woke just long enough to acknowledge my embrace and then fell back asleep.
I jostled her, “Come on, big girl. You can’t sleep all day. Come check what Daddy’s doing with the boat. Maj and I have been helping.”
She slept.
I shoved her out of my lap and stood with her slumped into my side, “Come on.”
She shuffled bonelessly with me through the house, and then said, “I have to go potty.”
Ten minutes later, I found her curled up in her bed, sleeping.
I was less patient this time, “Kallan, you have to get up. If you sleep all day, you will be up all night. Get up.”
She rolled listlessly out of bed and walked with me to the kitchen. Laid her cheek on the kitchen countertop and closed her eyes. Fell asleep and then startled awake as she slipped sideways toward the floor.
I caught her before she fell, but she began to cry.
I hugged her close, “Aw, babe. You’re exhausted. Your body can’t just skip a night of sleep. I’m sorry today is so hard. I’m sorry I need you to get up and do part of the day with us.”
She cried.
“Oh, Kallan! I have a good idea! Why don’t you take a bath? Clean off some of this sleepiness . . . you can take a bath and then come out to see what we have done on the boat. OK?”
She snuffled into my chest, “A bath sounds good.”
I followed her up the stairs and helped her start the bath. Checked the temperature . . . not too hot and not too cold. Got her a change of clothes and a fresh towel.
Held her hand as she climbed unsteadily into the water, “I’m really tired, Mom.”
“I know, babe. Maybe next time, staying up all night is not such a good idea, OK?”
She smiled up at me from the tub, “OK.”
I went downstairs to make some coffee.
I heard Kallan turn off the tub water.
I called Mark in from the driveway, and he and I sat at the dining room table and drank our coffee. Maj joined us, and we talked for a few minutes about the summer and the boat and soapbox racing and things Maj wants to do. Maj got herself a glass of water and sat back down, “Where’s Kallan?”
“She’s taking a bath.”
Mark looked at me, “She’s awfully quiet.”
Maj laughed, “She probably fell asleep in the tub.”
I looked at the two of them, “That’s just silly. She didn’t fall asleep in the tub. But she has been quiet . . . let me go check on her.”
I walked up the stairs, “Kallan?”
I walked into the bathroom, “Kallan?”
I saw her.
My heart stopped.
Just for an instant, because an instant was all that was required to realize that I was not looking at death, but for an instant . . . my heart stopped.
She was lying in the tub, flat on her back, arms at her sides.
A settled water-distorted heaviness to her body.
Her hair a dark undulating cloud around her head.
Her face peaceful and serene.
Perfect.
Gone.
That sense of gone filled the small room and filled my heart and my mind and my imagination until all that there was in the universe was a hole.
Gone.
All in an instant.
Gone.
My heart thumped the next beat.
I saw that the water line rose just to the corners of her closed lips. That her face was dry. That her chest was moving.
That she was sleeping.
I sank to the floor, working to catch my breath, “Kallan!”
Ears below the water, she slept.
“KALLAN!”
She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at me.
Her smile faded as she took in the tone of my voice and the look on my face.
Still lying in the water, her eyes slid first to one side and then the other, and her face filled with panic as she realized where she was. She reached an arm for me and I held her hand and helped her sit up. She was confused and upset, “Why are you yelling at me, Mom?”
I helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel, “Sorry, babe. You scared the crap out of me. I didn’t mean to yell.”
She started to cry, “I think I fell asleep in the tub, but I’m not sure.”
“You did fall asleep. I came in and you were asleep. You were . . . ,” but I let my words trail off before I say . . .
Gone.
I hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. Spoke with forced casualness, “You are not supposed to sleep in water, Kallan.”
Kallan bent to pull on some clothes, “I know that, Mom. I’m hungry.”
“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She paused for a moment to inspect herself in the mirror. She pulled her wet hair back from her face. Smiled at her reflection.
And then she turned and raced down the stairs.
Gone.
Leaving me behind.
Again.
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People? I know it’s Saturday.
Surprise!
Also? For those of you who pay attention and read every day, you may have noticed that this post describes events that happened last Sunday. Events that happened between the writing and the publishing of the post Perspective.
Yeah.
