In Between

 
In Between

This song is about my sister Frankie, my family, my mother-in-law, who has bravely been battling cancer, and my babies, both living, and lost. I recently underwent a hysterectomy, and have struggled with the reality of not being able to have more children. I always thought I'd have a house full. I suppose I've more than made up for this with my daughter Charlotte, my daughter Emily and her boyfriend Scott, and my son Michael and his girlfriend Lahring, who all live with us. But that doesn't mean I don't wish I could have had more...

I woke this morning from a dream that was so real, I could feel it for hours afterwards.  I can still feel it now.  In the dream, I had a new baby, and was waking to the soft light of morning.  I looked around the room, and saw my baby for the first time. I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but it was mine. It looked just like all of my babies, so familiar, I had to catch my breath when I woke up for real. I reached over and pulled the bassinet closer, and the nurse helped me pick the baby up.  That first moment, when baby snuggled into my chest, just below my neck, and turned its cheek against my breast, and I could see its face so clearly; feel the downy soft of its hair against my skin. The baby yawned, and stretched with its whole body to settle in,  the way they do when they’re new.  I woke up still smelling that new baby smell, and ached. I tried to close my eyes again to go back to the dream, but it was gone. I could still feel it, though. It was almost as if I had actually held one of my babies, perhaps one that I had lost years ago and never had the chance to hold.  And I realized that I will have to wait for grandchildren now, to feel something that’s mine like that, so tiny, new and close again.

I started thinking about the memories you have; the sense of belonging and family that is so deeply ingrained in us. What it was like to be young and at home, with my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters - everyone I loved. How much I loved those impromptu get-togethers that happen when you are a part of a large family. And how we don’t really have that anymore.  Everyone is so busy. And these have, indeed, been dark years for us, as a family.  We've lost so many, and worry constantly about those who are still so ill, myself included - and I was one of the lucky ones. I wonder how Charlotte will remember things when she’s older.  I’m sure, though, that she’ll have her own memories, too - ones that I don’t even realize we are creating right now.  There is still laughter and light all around us. There are still good things and hope. I still have hope.

I remember listening to Opa, my Dad and his brothers singing all those old German folk songs. My aunt and Oma, laughing with delight at their silliness. I didn't understand the words, but it didn't matter. I just loved the sound of their voices, vibrant, young and happy. The goosebumps on my arms when they would sing in harmony. The way Opa’s hand-rolled tobacco smelled. The smell of their after-dinner brandy, and the beer they'd let us sneak the foam from.  The warm comfort of their bodies in the summer; how I had to turn my head when I was a kid and my aunts and uncles hugged me when it was hot out and everyone smelled a little earthy since no one wore deodorant back then. But nobody really minded.  My aunts and mother would put springs of lilacs in their bras and all us girls smelled like Coppertone oil and Gee-Your-Hair-Smells-Terrific shampoo and chlorine and sun from swimming all day.  Our breath, sweet and spicy from Fireball Gobstoppers and Popeye Candy Cigarettes.  And the Viburnum at night. The rich, sweet smell of them was heavenly, and the crickets would wake up, and we’d hide under the table together with our Barbies and cinnamon toothpicks to listen - and hope that our parents would forget that we were up way too late.  I loved it when my father's family would come from Germany to visit. All of us happily crammed into one house, with everyone from town over late, every night, and the wonderful smells from my mother's kitchen, where she and my aunts always seemed to be baking something for us. The music and the happy laughter of my father and his sister and brothers, acting like kids again, themselves. It was everything I knew in one place. And everything was right in the world.

When Frankie was in her coma, I would sit by her bed, listening to the hospital sounds and wonder at the fact that, even with all of the machines that were keeping her alive, nurses walking in and out,  doctors voices, the scritch of their pen as they noted something in her chart, and the occasional voice calling one of them to another ward, far away - it was oddly peaceful there. Once the initial panic was over, we settled in to the alternating hope and dread, and even boredom of days and nights in the ICU.  I would imagine that she was only sleeping, like a princess in a fairy tale, once you could see past all of the tubes and instruments that were attached to her.  I often wondered if she was dreaming.  If she was remembering how I would sing her to sleep when we were very young.  Or the walks through the forest in Germany so long ago, and how afraid she was that we wouldn’t find our way home in the night.  How the moths clung to our lanterns and the mosquitoes buzzed around us, and the stars and fireflies woke up, and seemed to lead the way.  My Dad and my uncles sang all the way home to my aunt and uncles house, where feather beds would be waiting for us - even in summer. Where the light from the porch lamp pooled on the cobblestones under our feet.  I imagined that it was that light that warmed them, even though I now know, it was the late afternoon sun and they were just holding its warmth into the night.  I imagined her now, being led back to us, along that secret path. Back to my voice, singing to her as she slept.

She told me once, after she woke from another of her comas, that she heard me singing to her, and that, although she was frightened, it was a comfort to her. When she woke up the last time,
and had lost so many years of her memory from the fever, she still - somehow - knew the words to some of the songs I had sung to her, even though most of them were from the years that were otherwise lost to her.

It proved to me that we are always connected, even when we think that one of us may be lost.

-Carla




In Between - Carla Muller - Feb 28, 2016 (amended July 29, 2016)

I smell brandy and tobacco, and I swear, it smells like home
And the sweet viburnum summer nights that I will always know
And Mama’s in the kitchen as the sun is setting low
We are all we’ve ever, all we’ve ever known

There are places in between what is far and what is home
And though time is fast, I’m guessing that it’s best we didn’t know
And even if I can’t remember all the words, and what they mean
I still love you, and the way you sang to me

There are those so close, you can’t tell where you end and they begin
All your stories, they are known; and all places, they have seen
And family’s just a name for those you can’t quite call your friends
But I know that you’ll forgive me, in the end

And there are places in between what is family, what is not and
I have seen you on the footpaths of my dreams, but I’d forgotten
And even if I can’t remember all the words, and what they mean
I still love you, and the way you sang to me

In the quiet of machines and footfalls, close around my bed
There’s a path here, in the forest;  back to home, away from death
And the voices of the past are often comforting to me
And the hours are far too short for me to linger, lost in dreams

And there are places far between what is living, what is not, and
I have seen you on the footpaths of my dreams, but I’d forgotten
And even if I can’t remember all the words, and what they mean
I still love you, and the way you sang to me

I still love you, and the way you sang to me

I held you close this morning, in my arms, and felt so sad
And I cried for all the nevers, and for all I’ve ever had
And I know that I will see you once again, my little ones
And we’ll while away the hours in the sun

And I have seen you on the footpaths of my dreams, lost in time
Your face just like the others, so familiar, and mine
And I have wanted, I have wanted, so much more more, but life’s not that way
So I’ll write our songs and wait another day

And there are places in between what is lost and what is home
And though time is fast, I’m guessing that it’s best we didn’t know
And even if I can’t remember all the words, and what they mean
I still love you, and the way you sang to me
Oh, I still love you, and the way you sang to me