This week’s Dispatches from New Motherhood piece is Siobhan McDaid’s ‘IT IS FOR THE BEST’, a powerful account of another form of mothering: the canine kind. Siobhan explains that she wanted to explore ‘how mothering comes in so many forms, caring for human babies and dogs, and their varying needs, and the painful reality of having to confront it when they cannot co-habit peacefully.’ In her affecting and evocatively-expressed poem, Siobhan reflects on rehoming her beloved dog, and the impact on her and the rest of the family. As a postscript, Siobhan adds, ‘Luna dog is absolutely living her best life now out in the country and is even training for a marathon with her Dad! So even though it was a horrible decision to make, it turned out to be the best and happiest one, and I'm so relieved Luna is being mothered by a family that meets (and far exceeds) her needs. Meanwhile we were able to foster a disabled dog from Egypt, who is still with us now.’
Here’s to mothering in all its forms!
***
‘It is for the Best’
Siobhan McDaid
I lock onto your eyes as the car moves,
The back window you are framed in
Will be my last picture of you.
I stay still.
You stay still.
But we move evermore away.
There is silence except for the car engine.
I would wave but it feels silly,
And you wouldn't understand anyway.
How can I say you are going to a better place?
How can I say your life will be fuller without me,
And all I can't offer?
So I keep it light.
So you will see that I approve of this person,
That this is a good thing.
But perhaps you sense what is happening.
The jolly lady pretending,
Her voice so bright it cracks my face.
I remember how our little one,
Dozed in the crook of your fore leg,
I remember the warmth of your skin-fur,
As you nestled by me while he fed,
He was our charge, and you his second mother.
I remember your amber eyes, forever silently monitoring,
Deftly swerving away as he wobbled towards you,
His almond-eyed smile and heart wide open.
I remember our procession each day,
Winding downstairs to the rough and tumble of play,
The energy fizzling and soaring.
The rush of cold air as the world blew into our morning,
We ventured out of our bubble to walk through the hours,
While the birds called the daylight in.
I then remember the crunch of his skull against the brick wall,
The wall you pulled us into while pursuing a cat,
The wall a passer-by had to drag us back from,
You in your half-crazed state.
And I remember his siren cries afterwards,
Still strapped to my chest,
Torn from sleep,
His skin flushing with the impact.
I remember the times I guarded your smaller friend
From the flash of your teeth.
His terrified yelps,
His shock at your attack staining the sofa brown,
Leaving him shaking and moon eyed, then wary for days.
I watch you, watching me, as the distance yawns between us.
The car disappears
Round the corner
Up the hill
Signal flickering
I stone still.
And now?
The day ahead to perform.
But nothing works as it should.
The house is eerily quiet.
The absence of you,
And the guilt I wade through,
Have painted the walls a sickly yellow.
Dimming the light I saw in your eyes.
Cloying my mouth like nausea rising.
Another loss to swallow,
Another memory to forget.
Something inside crumbles and hot tears burst through.
Two sets of eyes stare
At me inquisitively, solemnly,
As the ragged breaths play out.
Two sets of eyes, both locked on me.
One clings to me as a koala,
And one, your smaller friend, sits, head tilted, eyes as yours.
How much they both understand is debatable.
How much we have lost is not.
***
‘It is for the Best’ by Siobhan McDaid appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.