by Jess Kolbe
Of course, instantly, both turn the heat up on me to share. I sit back in my chair trying to create space between us and the onslaught begins. It’s like they are pecking at me and my life is the carcass. I’m angry, white knuckling it, answering some, swallowing the painful awkwardness of the situation, knowing that Evie is inside probably even seeing all of this and I wonder what she would be thinking. I’m a fucking volcano and an eruption feels imminent. I place my hands on the table, spreading my fingers, a big clue to them both to hear me. Through gritted teeth, I tell them to STOP, silence falling over the table. The waiter gives me a reprieve with the arrival of coffee followed by Evie walking past, no eye contact. I search for her and see her run at the crossroads, pained, the emotion of things spilling out. I want to go to her. I see her distress that I caused. The pit of my stomach churns. I don’t want her to go, what is wrong with me? She is on another level, one I could never be on. Mum places her hands on mine, her soft touch instantly calming my panic. She gently asks Ruby to leave us. I say “No, Ruby, stay. It’s okay, Mum. I’ll tell you both, your son’s a weak bastard.”
Since we lost Dad, we are all a lot more honest with each other. I like it, less bullshit, although at times they both still take forever to get to the point. Mum looks at me and straight up says, “I don’t need you anymore Sam, nor do I need you to be the strong one of the family anymore, you’re not to take your fathers place.”
While I am feeling stunned and in shock at Mum’s assertion, Ruby pipes up with the same sentiment. “I want my brother back and not another father. I already had one and I think we all agree he was pretty great.”
A well of emotion and relief bubbles to the surface. I feel sort of numb, like my brain has gone into shock, but in a good way. I feel lighter, in that I don’t have to hold that full responsibility. It feels like I don’t have to hold it all on my own anymore.
“Your father is still here, he lives on in us, and how we continue to love him. You have to forgive yourself and I’ve told you and will continue to tell you Sam. Now listen to your mother. You freed your father from pain, you did what Dad needed you to do. We all needed you. He and I are grateful for your kindness.” Mum, holds my hand, looks at Ruby who nods and they both says, “it was a kindness.”
Overwhelmed by the acknowledgement and emotions, a few tears come out under my sunglasses. Mum reiterates her beliefs. “Now you need to decide what you believe, because an accident killed your father and you, my son, eased his pain and showed such love to your dad in his final moments.” When we lost Dad, I immediately took on the role of the strong one, being the man of the family. It’s important to me that I protect my family and they come first, as that is who Dad was. Talking of Dad in past tense, hits me hard and I’m having flashes of my promises to him before he left us. Ruby and Mum both know my death bed promise to Dad. I would have promised anything to a dying man. I made many bargains with God or whoever would listen in the hope that he would survive. I made promises to give my Dad what he needed to pass, to alleviate his pain. When Dad realised it was too late, he couldn’t survive, I agreed to take care of the family, to look after Mum, I would have agreed to anything to ease Dad’s pain. I allow my tears to flow freely. Since losing Dad, Mum and Ruby know me so well.
I decide to tell them all about Evie. I take a large bite of my éclair to add in sweet courage, telling them everything, from our first meeting after we lost Dad, our date, to that walk on the boardwalk where I lost my shit. How it was too much, too soon, too intense, it was too, too, too. I fucking froze. I told them how I didn’t tell her about Dad, how I sort of pretended he was still alive. Hesitant of their reaction, I look up. Mum is in tears, Ruby reaches out to hold my hand and I repeat I just can’t, I can’t… I can’t feel anything… We had this intense moment and I almost became a blubbering mess, I felt her and this fucking emotion, just came from nowhere. I am not weak, with emotion attempting to climb out of me, I look to them both for help, feeling wounded and stupid.
Mum says through tears, “You had a lot of emotions going on with this young lady, and you are trying not to feel anything at all. You shut off everything after Dad died, and you can’t turn off how you feel about Dad and her. Sam, you are battling yourself, feelings were developing. I know you are shut off to your grief, but you can’t close yourself off, because it closes you off to everything. I know this, son, because I am still trying to not do this myself. I felt like my love for your father was leaving me and I couldn’t feel the pain, I was numb to everything and I realised I wanted to feel the loss of your Dad and honour our love and life together, because I need to feel his love and even though he is gone, his love isn’t, that is always within me and you and Ruby.”
Mum makes sense. It’s so hard to hear her pain. My throat is like sandpaper. Letting Mum know that it’s too late with Evie, that door is closed, slammed shut. Mum reminds me of the connection we experienced and the feelings I already have for her. “Don’t run away now, she’s opened Pandora’s box!” Ruby adds, “You can’t close it.”
Even when you know you’re being a dickhead, you never like being told or admitting it, especially to your sister, who will proceed to give you shit for the rest of your life. I don’t know about that, clearly, I’m still struggling with the emotion and thinking through my thoughts out loud with them both. When you are trying to be numb, and you feel something, I guess the floodgates or proverbial box open. I tell them about my stalking capabilities, embarrassed, my voice still hoarse with awkwardness. A level 10, I might as well go all in and tell them how I treated her. Ruby looks entertained at her big brother; she’s chuckling at my stupidity. I announce, wounded, that it’s over and there is nothing more to discuss. Mum smiles “Stalking must run in the family! Your father stalked me, you know. He used to stand at the gate to the farm. He would sit on the fence and whenever a car or my parents came near, he would stand to attention in the heat. Your grandfather thought he was short a few beers. He would always smile, politely and respectfully, at all going in and out of the farm. Sam, you know where she is,” she says with that beaming smile that I have not seen in such a long time, “so go to her and start with a smile.” Mum gives the best advice.
I stand, feeling hopeful, polish off my éclair, kiss my girls on their heads and go in search of Evie. On the way to the beach it’s not long before my eagerness is replaced with confusion, not sure how, or what to do or say, tossing up whether to borrow my sister’s words, even if I don’t completely agree. Thoughts of Dad are beginning to rise in me again. I arrive at the beach. I can see a rug up in the dunes and I assume it belongs to her. I head up towards the blanket and the coffee confirms it for me. Hearing a scream, I look around and I think I spot her in the water. There is next to no-one here and she’s in the white water, just letting the waves hit her. She’s at their mercy. I want to help and yet I understand it not my place, so I stop myself. I can see she’s in control, she’s right where she wants to be in the midst of the chaos. Being thrown around by the waves, crashing into her body, fighting to get back to her knees before the next wave, taking each blow from the wave.
It’s painful to watch, as she rises again and again, amongst muffled screams, braving her emotions. I am so ashamed. It feels terrible each time I hear her cries, knowing that I caused this. I can hear her crying and it is so hard to resist running into the water and holding her, kissing her hurts, the ones I caused, guilt rising in me. What have I done? Desperately trying to escape the rising emotion of shame from witnessing her pain. It feels excruciating and more tears fall down my face. She stands and walks further out, swimming beyond the breakers. Being near her belongings, feels wrong, watching her, waiting, while fear descends on me. She feels things so differently, so deeply and she’s not afraid of anything. Look at her being with the pain, letting it out. Fuck, I shouldn’t be here, I’m not the man she needs. Remember what she said in the garage, she told you to come and find her when you figure yourself out. My thoughts move to her body,
how she experiences things, savour’s moments of pain and joy. This is not how a man thinks or feels, well, fuck, it is, but well, I don’t know. I do know, I want her in my life, and I want to learn to experience life how she does, I want to savour us, I want to be a better man for her, for us. I want to hold that body, while we both experience each other, my God. I can’t ruin this!
A volcano is rising in me, of holding the last 6 months down, in the depths of me, of fighting with what I genuinely want. I’m struggling not to lose it, to explode. Trying to compose myself but watching her body roll gently with the rise and fall of the waves is completely distracting. I’m brought back to reality by her soft sobs rolling up the beach, this is torture. The lump in my throat has returned, hurting, my gut sinks. Having to sit in how I’ve hurt Evie is horrendous, reminding me of Dad and the day I found him. I couldn’t breathe with the lump in my throat, until I had to pull my shit together and tell Mum the love of her life was gone, I just closed off, shutdown, I had to. The thoughts of Dad, the thoughts of Evie, I can’t hold the tears at bay anymore. I don’t try stop them nor do I attempt to hide. Fuck, I held my Dad in my arms for his last breath… Dad’s gone forever, I say to myself. A woman who could be the one, Evie, is out there feeling, being brave, expressing her pain. That’s a woman that I want, shit, could I love her, do I? I’m so fucked up. I feel the urge to stay, not to run, not to fight my feelings away, to just stay and wait for Evie and to sit with what I am feeling, to feel with Evie. I can hear her voice getting softer and softer and its soothing me and my own tears begin to slow. Right, start with a smile, and the truth about Dad, as Mum said.
I’m caught in my own acknowledgment of my grief when, Evie’s piercing eyes catch me off guard. She freezes on seeing me. I just sit in the one spot, like concrete that has set. I feel her on my skin before I’ve touched her, how do I do this? How do I actually say such horrors, such pain? How do I share with this woman, that I killed my dad? How do I tell anyone what I am trying to outrun, the pain of what I did, of further hurting people, the thoughts that live with me every day, haunting me! Fuck, am I considering telling her?
No, I can’t. I can’t even get the words out of my mouth, they reverberate around my thoughts, both in pleading that I did the right thing and that he could have made it and I killed him. Even the fact that Dad asked me to release him from the pain, that he was dying anyway, knowing the truth and reality of the situation doesn’t stop my fears and thoughts doing a number on you, that ‘if only’ haunting my thoughts. A tug of war battles between my pains and fears of the way people would look at me. Evie looked at me as a man. I know it was the right thing to do for Dad and that even after what happened it wasn’t another 30 minutes until anyone else showed up. It was an accident. I understand this and yet I still hear his screams at night, loud and in agony, my silent screams mixed with undertones of the smell of diesel. I knew then that he would die quickly if I freed him. I relive it every night. I knew the tractor was the only thing keeping him alive and he knew too. I fight myself every day about what I did, should have done, over, and over again, on replay. I am controlled by my pain, by that day. My pain is on pause, as am I. I know it, logically, I know Dad’s screams remind me that I had the courage to carry out his wishes, to release him from pain, to love him, we both knew how bad it was.
In Evie’s garage, in the moment when she looked at me, I felt her pain and it sent me right back to Dad. His anguish, pleading with me, the sheer helplessness. I felt being powerless to save him and instead helping him to die. I fight my emotions and acknowledge Evie’s sitting behind me. I saw her expressing her emotions in the waves, open and honest. She isn’t a coward, and even if this is the last time we speak, I need her to know, to understand, I need someone to know what happened to me, this is not the man I am, this mess of a man.
The day I lost Dad pours out of me, like the flood gates on a dam. I just stop holding back and I talk. It’s strange. I know she is sitting behind me but it’s like I am speaking aloud to myself and, I think, to Dad, really. It is like I am finally processing what happened to me, how I lost my Dad. I even share my thoughts when Dad asked me to move the tractor, the silence of knowing what that meant fell over me, when I realised how bad it was, even thought I was still trying to give him hope, he’d been there a while before I found him. How my freeze-frame memories are tormenting me in the middle of the night, how I forced myself to be numb, to look after Mum and Ruby, to hold Mum’s screams while covered in Dad’s blood, how I became a zombie, closed off to the world, everyone and everything. How weak I am, how the responsibility of taking care of my family falls to me, there is no buffer, there’s no more Dad, I am the man of the family. I could always rely on Dad, he was always there for me, a foundation and now I’m so alone and struggling to feel the gravity of shouldering that responsibility for my family.
The sense of shock that falls over me, also angers me because I am not this man, fuck, who is this emotional man? I have always thought people should just get on with it, until now, until knowing this pain, I’m a fucking mess. My idol, the one man I went to for everything, is gone.
HER | Thirteen
Why am I smiling at him? Not a complete smile, but a knowing smile, hinting that our journey is not yet over. My emotional self is in complete opposition to what my rational self is saying. And yet I’m thanking the universe for dropping us in front of each other again and begging her to please help us work through whatever is going on. I know he’s battling his own monsters. I saw it right before my eyes, and yet my little girl inside doesn’t want to be hurt, she wants to protect us and run. I walk up to the rug and wrap myself in a towel. He looks at me differently, like he is looking beyond me. His focus remains out in front and he hasn’t turned to talk to me. Maybe he won’t? What is he doing here?
We are silent for what seems like forever, I’m screaming on the inside, playing it so cool on the outside, until I notice my hands are uncontrollably shaking, so I allow them to continue to shake. I don’t hide them, in fact, I encourage them by shaking my hands more to help alleviate the anxiety that is rising and enable me to be present with him as it feels like a big one. I did tell him to come back when he has figured out what he wants, didn’t I? Can I survive this emotion? Did he just watch me purge my heart out to my ocean? A wave of goosebumps adds to my trembling, turning my insides. I hug myself tighter to comfort myself and the emotional intensity.
Fuck it, I don’t care, I can only be me and show up even as a screaming crazy woman being tossed around in the ocean, no matter what because this fucking hurt. He hurt me and he just witnessed the result of that pain. You don’t need to hide, Evie, you don’t, encouraging myself. I reach for the warmth of my coffee and wrap my hands around the cup to soothe myself, as I sit behind him sipping on it. He still doesn’t turn. “Evie,” is the first word spoken.
My name, full of emotion and angst, hitting me sharply in the heart. I immediately want to reach for him, the pain in his voice, in my name, it is with all my power that I stay seated without interruption. This is clearly not a moment that I need to fix.
‘Let the man speak’ rises from the woman inside me who recognises pain.
He clears his throat, an attempt to hide the emotion in his voice. I continue to hold myself and sip my coffee.
He begins, “Evie, I never told you about my dad,” and I’m slightly perplexed as he talked a lot of his dad.
I listen without comment and somewhat holding my breath for what he is about to say, the energy, he looks emotional. Then a beautiful man tells the story of a father and son and I can feel the tragedy coming, air escaping my lungs at the understanding of unthinkable pain. I stopped breathing as my insides begin twisting in the recognition of pain that can’t be healed, only lived with. Tears that I had thought all dried-up roll silently down my face as Sam tells me what happened to his dad. I’m tormented by not being able to reach or hold him. I want to feel it all away. As loudly as those feelings scream, I am also awa
re no one could or ever can do that for me, so I sit back, burying my feet into the sand, seeking grounding to prepare myself for the story I can’t fix, as I am a guest in this moment, right now. I am listening and feeling what is being described, as this is Sam’s grief, from all accounts the first time he’s really shared what he feels, what he thinks, how this has affected him. I am the passenger, albeit a weeping one at the enormity of loss between father and son. One of the most challenging situations ever is to watch a loved one in pain and not being able to take it away, no matter how hard you want to. Sam’s grief pours out of him, the responsibility he feels now for the family, the running the farm, together with the tremendous sadness that his dad will never meet his kids, too never being able to have a beer and talk about nothing and everything.
HIM | Fourteen
I feel ashamed of myself for falling apart in front of her. I try to reason with myself, I don’t like what she is doing to me, fuck it’s all coming out wrong. I know it’s not her, I’m trying to show her there is a fucking man here. I loved Dad and I’m missing him terribly, he’s gone, nothing, like he didn’t even exist. My thoughts and emotions collide, and I let it out. I share with Evie the pain at finding Dad like that, thinking he was joking at first, then seeing those eyes, burning into me, pained, trying to be composed in his physical pain and the recognition for both of us that Dad wasn’t going to make it. Dad was courageous to the end. He was my support even while I was freeing him from the tractor. I was a complete mess, crying, screaming, shouting, hopeful that I was wrong, hopeful that it was never that bad, hopeful that Dad would survive; he was awake and lucid. I was repeating ‘Don’t die Dad, don’t die,’ to the point that I was saying it aloud. Dad encouraged me to let him go, and telling me he was immensely proud of the man that I am. That he is incredibly lucky in life to have lived and loved so hard.