The Forgiveness of Square Feet

If someone had told me I was going to share my 800 square foot condo with two other adults 24/7 on an ongoing basis I might have run screaming from the room. That’s not possible, I’d have said, or, Take it, It’s yours. I’ve occupied these 800 square feet by myself for too long to think that sharing a few of them was going to turn out well.

But I could manage it short term. In fact, I was looking forward to it. My son and his wife were coming to visit. They’d be with me a few weeks. I have what I regard as a well-made pullout; a couch. I keep saying, It was made in Montreal, and, Jules gave it to me, as if those two things together were enough to ensure a good night’s sleep and co-habiting success. But somewhere between Toronto and Montreal, the driving portion of my son’s trip, I developed a terminal illness. That changed everything. When my son and his wife got to my place they stayed for the three weeks they’d intended and then my other son and his partner came and they stayed round the clock for a period of time and then my sister took over and she stayed 24/7 until son number two came back and son number one plans to come back and daughter number two sticks herself in here and there and my sister continues to shore up as needed. I’m not dying that imminently but the situation is new enough that we’re all taking a minute to wrap our minds around it.

Never did I think of asking any them to come live with me in the event I got sick. It didn’t occur to me. They have lives, they live them well. But they said, in effect, we’re not asking you, we’re telling you, and I have to admit I was tickled. They didn’t need to tell me twice.

But what about the 800 square feet? It wasn’t tickled. We are still three full-sized adults when it’s the kids and me, two when it’s just my sister and me, and the 800 is the 800 no matter how you look at it. It doesn’t give an inch.

One Saturday recently they brought home some friends; in effect, they doubled their number. They’d decided they needed to play Boggle. But where? In the 800 square feet, of course. I was in bed in my room when they returned and they had the rest of the place to themselves. It’s a lovely space, all windows, southwest exposure, light pouring in. It feels many times its actual size but it’s not. In this instance that was helpful because each time there was a Boggle dispute they were still able to yell out things like, Mom, Is “agew” a word?, and I could respond.

As it turns out 800 square feet is more than enough space for two or three full-sized adults because it’s not exclusively about physical space, it’s about mental and emotional space. In this respect we’ve got one another’s backs. We navigate seamlessly. It started in childhood, our conditioning, and we’re taking advantage of it in adulthood. We’re like a finely tuned engine.

I suppose my being on my way to dead helps as well, all of us on our best behaviour. But it doesn’t feel effortful. It’s not as if we’re holding our breath and trying to think only good thoughts and being someone other than who we really are in order to get through. I’m irritating as hell. Can you get this, can you get that, I ask. It’s endless. There’s nothing I haven’t taken it into my head to want, expect, demand. Actually, it’s good I’m saying this out loud. I need to dial myself back. I’m playing this dying mother and sister card too much.

About a year ago I was in a serious funk. I’d finally realized I’d never again have the kind of access to my kids that I’d had when they were young. Things had turned out just the way I’d wanted and I hated it: they were off being inquisitive and it didn’t include me. I shared my funk with my older son. When I got sick this summer he said, You’re going a bit far with this, Mom, There were other ways to get us to come home.

At the moment the kids and I are supposed to be in Italy. That was the plan. Except that for the second time this year I’ve had to cancel. Now they’re all there and I’m at home with my sister and for all my attachment to the kids I’m just as happy being here in the comfort of my 800 square feet, my body calling the shots, their bodies doing the things they do best, checking out leaning towers and such, knowing that soon enough we’ll be back to being three people in too few square feet and somehow nailing it.

Photo by Jason Abdilla on Unsplash