When the morning comes

16 | a helping hand

It was the Monday where the trip would take place, where things started to change even more when it came to Benjamin's behaviour.

Black clouds had thickened the air, making the air feel damp. Rumbling of the thunder could be heard in the distance, light flashes brightening the sky so now and then. The trip was cancelled. I had taken the day off for Benjamin- his teacher wanted a chat. I feared the worst, but didn't speak out my thoughts when Benjamin had given me nervous looks.

It was hard to get him out of his sleep in the morning- harder than it usually took to wake him up. It was something I had noticed more often lately. His sleeping habit had changed. He'd always been a deep sleeper, but lately he slept longer, and the moment he was awake it seemed as if he hadn't been sleeping at all. He never complained about being tired. But I knew better than that. He was just like me, keeping his emotions to himself the older he was getting.

That was part of the problem, too. I didn't know what was going on, other than the stories his teacher kept telling me. His behaviour had been like this for a while now, both his teacher and I were getting tired of it. Whereas his teacher called me with an apologetic tone in her voice for interrupting me from whatever I was doing, Benjamin told me she didn't like him, had laid her focus on him only, therefore was the one who got scolded for every little thing.

When she had asked Benjamin to go to class already so we could have a little chat without him, he had shoved his chair back in great force, but closed the door wisely- with a soft thud. He had kept his mouth shut and his gaze on the floor.

I'd turned my attention to Blake, the young woman who had been his teacher since a little before everything started with Aurora's sickness. I apologised for Benjamin's behaviour, which fed the uncomfortable feelings that appeared inside my guts. The feelings that told me his behaviour really had changed drastically ever since my Aurora had passed.

"Don't apologise." She had shrugged, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for coming. I know it must have been an inconvenience, but.. I guess it's quite important."

"Don't worry about it. He's my child, and if I can judge from the things I hear and see, this is needed." I sat up more straight, feeling my lower back hurting. Sitting slouched back onto chairs and couches. Bad habit. Hard to get out of a habit.

Blake stared at her nails. Unsure of how to start the conversation. "How have you been all this time? Are you able to process it all a bit, or.."

"I feel better than the last time we spoke." It wasn't a lie. But then again, the way I felt was dependent on every day. There was no such thing of processing the death of your wife. How could you? The pain would lessen, they would say. It was a lie. Each day without her pained me more and more.

"That's great, Zev." Blake was young. Younger than Aurora had been. Probably around her mid- twenties. "I mean, Mr. Malin."

"Zev is fine." I gave her a smile. It faded right after. I felt for her. We had stuffed her plate full last year, and it had only been her first year as an official teacher at the school around that time. How was a girl, in her early twenties, supposed to handle a situation where a mother with a deadly disease, a father and a hopeless son were sat in front of you, asking for a bit of understanding and an extra eye on the young boy in case his performances would be a bit less because of the situation going on at home?

How was she supposed to fish out the psychological role out of her folder of life experiences to try to calm a boy who had just lost his mother, a father who cried along with his son, saying the right things to them for a little support. It had been too much to ask, but she was his teacher- there was no other way. We understood when she was at loss for words, not knowing what to say to make us feel better. It was a tough situation and she didn't have much experience back then- which I had never blamed her for.