to nz and back

We went to new zealand, we're back. Hamish ground to a halt and his parents bought him a ticket home and he got scooped up out of here and out of his downward spiral. Two weeks later, I drove to vancouver with my four year old, spent the night, navigated through multiple phone calls and half the city to a pharmacy that sold felix's wound care product, we walked in the rain past multiple asian restaurants, we went thrifting in a half hipster/millenial/consigned shop, half uncurated and where hidden gems can still be found. I was engrossed in old bizarre postcards in a corner and felix lost track of where I was, when I straightened up and went to find him, he was gone. Some customers walked in the door and behind them I saw Felix, face wet, so sad and lost, looking for me, ready to go searching. We ran into each other's arms, I apologized profusely and all was forgotten when he found the funky sunglasses rack. A few hours later we were travelling internationally, backpacks full of snacks and toys. If you're ever at YVR, go to the very end, the USA end, and visit the Fairmont Hotel lobby bathrooms, have a beer in their eatery. A touch of glam before being packed into the sardine tin with wings, breathing recirculated air and farts, crumbs everywhere, the hum of the plane a constant white rushing noise. We went to new zealand and we had a glorious time. As in, H and I haven't had a time like that in Felix's lifetime certainly and before then and after our initial courtship, maybe a couple times. For the first week anyway. Then the dopamine of our reunion wore off and regular hamish returned, hangry, volatile, hyperfocused, non communicative, on his phone the first second he woke and in bed with it until he passed out at night. But that first week, life was sweet. We were buddies and all important in each other's lives. We took care of each other. We spent time together. A mama papa solo bike riding date along the ashburton river trail, or just shopping, or walking through the paddocks looking for chooks and pukekos. Felix was in heaven, though him and I lost our connection as Ham and I were regaining ours. Felix got so aggressive and mean towards me, I was the bad cop, the only person who placed boundaries, stated or enforced rules, expected politeness or apologies or cleaning up after oneself. I didn't see him half the day, he would sit in and examine various vintage vehicles in malc's shed, or drive around in the quattro with malc, or play in bed or by the fish pond with trudi or on the rope swing under the oaks with Amir. He got barefoot-in-gumboots blisters immediately and we both got tanned, and the weather was perfect. F and I went on a ferris wheel and watched a vintage tractor parade from the highest point of our parabola, he learned to ride a trike, one from the 20's at that, he learned how to float on his back in a lifejacket, he learned about jetboats and Austin Healey's and trimming horse hooves and Afghani meal customs and satellites and driving on the other side of the road. He also experienced the medical system in nz, getting a much needed quick little operation whcih in bc we would have been on a waitlist for. There we got into the OR within three hours of entering the hospital. Under a surgeon who knows Hirschsprungs Disease like the back of his hand. It was an absolute miracle and felix went from being very sick to bright eyed and bushy tailed in a day and a half, plus we met the kindest most sincere people, whereas one is acccustomed to hospital staff in canada to be embittered, jaded, burnout and impersonal. We went to new zealand and I got to take a break from adulting for a little bit, other than being a mom - that doesn't stop even when I sleep. No grocery shopping, no bills, no awareness of how much hydro cost, or what the state of the water pump is, or when garbage day is. No to do list, no need to look at a clock or calendar. It was relaxing all the time. I didn't need to start planning dinner at 10am, or at all. One day, I read a novel for four hours, drinking a mint lemonade with my legs stretched out in the sun to get some colour. The fridge and pantry were overflowing, the cars never needed fueling up, the animals were someone else's problem. The doors were always open, friends would show up unannounced, stay for simply a beer or a couple of nights, we'd spread persian rugs on the grass around the fire and fall asleep there looking at southern stars. Mati and I worked on an infuriating puzzle in the living room while felix played surprisingly atmospheric and soulful piano. Chestnuts were ripe, as were hazelnuts and plums and the best apples I've ever had. I made an avocado pit dye bath and dyed vintage linen napkins and handkerchiefs I found at the thrift store, it all came out a delicious pink. We went to the local track and I taught felix about thoroughbred racing. We drove to the mountains and he was a mountain goat. Malcolm and I went to a used book store that was actually a barn, an old one, drafty, huge, high ceiling, tin roof and sides, and behind the shelves, a sea of unopened cardboard boxes filled with more books, stacks two stories high. Two haughty cats belonged to the place, very dignified and very above responding to any human attention in any way other than disdainfully. I did do dishes and sweep. I can't tolerate messes or people ignoring messes. The two terriers were cheerful if wiry companions. I found Little in a back pasture, abandoned mare, still alive. Lonely, with broken long hooves. H and I tried to do some corrective trimming but I'm not sure we did any good. It's shameful to neglect an animal just because you can't handle your own feelings of shame around neglecting said animal. In my opinion. I went out to see her every couple of days, worked my way through her mane and transformed it from ropey tangled dreadlocks to short and kempt and smooth. A pocket knife may have come into action. She liked the company. We went to new zealand and my inlaws and I rekindled our friendship after some rough years and since I am a blunt german, I told them, again, about hamish and how it is here, everyday, when they can't see. And this time, they didn't say I was lying or at fault, they believed me and were deeply affected. They asked how they could help. I didn't know yet. Last week, back in canada, I had a session with my counsellor again after a break of two years. She planted a seed in my head that couldn't be uprooted and a couple days later there was a family intervention over video call and I said please don't come home unless you're sober. If you do come home before then, we will be living seperately. So for the sake of felix, do this thing, finally. His father had tears in his eyes and a wobbly hoarse voice, she loves you mate. His mother begged him to do this thing for the sake of his grandfather and others who didn't, and ended up alone and broken. I just need him to finally take some responsibility but he predictably became a victim and I the bad one. Middle finger emojis the next few days, telling me how much I've hurt him, how banished he is from his family. It's incredible, really. He was supposed to fly back today, and I have been sad all day, and my mother has been missing him and felix actually talked about him. I miss the simplicity of his builds and repairs and fixes. Not complicated, though on the rough side. I miss his forward energy, when moderated. I miss his smell, if he's been showering regularily and not sleeping in his clothes for days. I'm sad at the choices he's made that have led to him not flying home to us today. I'm sad that he doesn't see them as choices, i'm sad for felix who is spending so much time with uncle kevin when it's hamish who should be building swallow nests with him and installing them, building felix a mini workbench next to the big one in hamish's shop, who should be racing bicycles and working on motorbikes and having dance parties with us, brainstorming plans for a felix area upstairs, or for new shelves, or how to reapply resin to the birdcaller. I'm sad that I am absolutely thriving and blossoming with the absence of volatility and abuse and uncertainty and stress, with the absence of him. I feel like all the energy of the full moon and of springtime is in me and I am moving through the house like a wave, reorganizing, sorting, throwing out the old, restructuring. I have come unstuck, I'm not just surviving anymore. I'm not walking on eggshells anymore. I don't have any great expectations, I know the statistics and I know my husband. But I've placed the boundary and he's not here and it's a break at the very least. It may well be a golden time before the next storm. But the HOPE is that he will take that TRY he has and that stubborness and that desire to be good and amaze me. When we left new zealand, I wept. I was so heartbroken, not at leaving my husband behind, but the country. Canterbury and the plains and the Alps and the people and the air and the mentality and the beauty and the fantasy of living there. Our seat mate leaving Christchurch was a very comedic man, british, living in Victoria and he had me in stitches immediately, dry witty humor. Quoted Rumi, taught anthropology, told me I was lovely. I was in the middle of laughing when we lifted off but it turned to weeping as I watched the big long hedges drop away and those patchwork fields and quant farms and the braided rivers. I'm tearing up right now as I write. NZ really grabbed me this time. I felt like half a person for the first week back. Felt like everything was surreal and I was floating through my days, like I wasn't really on the BC west coast, in a small ex mill town at the end of a road. Felix was horrible. His behavior became so bad, I felt reluctant to turn my back to him because of how aggressive he became towards me. After a few days of madness, he said he was upset because I took him away from nz, "it's my home". Our return didn't lend itself to easing those feelings; an altercation with a taxi driver at YVR, a mad dash through the city, ferry lineups and delays, felix pooed himself in the car while in an endless cue of cars waiting for the next sailing to Gibsons, we didn't get to Barbie's till very late and then felix wouldn't let himself sleep, he just wept and said he didn't want to sleep there, where could he sleep, he wanted to be home. When we did arrive at the farm the next day, we found a construction site, a wet and soggy one. Our external staircase has finally rotted through and the men were working hard to make a new one, there were tools everywhere inside and out, it was grey out and the world was saturated. Felix stood in the middle of the little kitchen and looked around and started crying quitely and forlornly, let me hug him and said that this wasn't home either, where can we go? I know that feeling, especially after making such an incredibly long journey in a relatively very quick amount of time, not all of us arrives with our bodies and everything feels misplaced and jangly. I tried to tell him that we can make a home inside ourselves, that we take with us wherever we go in the world so we never get lost or feel adrift. Now it's him and me and I am on top of the world and we've got forward fresh springtime energy. I asked a mom out on a (kids play)date, the one I admire and she said yes, we're back in fiddle class, I am looking at extracurriculars. I am paying my taxes and feel great massaging again, looking at craniosacral courses on gulf islands, I'm booked for pelvic floor physio, I'm saving money, planting a garden, eating nettles, I'm slim and happy....well, other than the missing husband thing. I just know that it was a huge open door, a golden moment in time. We had a glorious time together, he is in a place he loves, that is home in his bones, his parents are committed and financially able to support us all, he was away and then I could place the boundary about coming back. it's heading into a season that I can handle without a husband. It is worrisome but I don't regret the choice I made and there's no backing down. I don't want to stick around to see how much worse it was going to get.