The Tides of Time

It began as any other day, waking up to the sound of that mad rooster and the numerous birds, tweeting their morning lullabys. There was minor shuffling within the house, telling me that the morning routine was about to start, and typically in a house of 9, the early bird definitely gets the worm. Or in our case the most and hottest breakfast. In our family each age group has given chores. Our working life began at age 7, with the basic jobs of emptying lunch boxes as well as filling them up after dinner and taking out the rubbish. Age 10 were dishes, folding clothes, tidying the games and lounge room and setting the table. At 14 those jobs increased dramatically, why? I couldn't tell you, but we did the rest of the jobs around the house until we moved out. Our parents were both nurses and worked shifts all over the clock. At present Father is on night shift and mother is on afternoon shift. This way we somewhat resemble a functioning family without the heads of the house being absent for too long. Being 15 meant I had to set the breakfast table before I could eat. So I was usually the first one up,but the rummaging downstairs told me I wasn't and father wasn't due home for another two hours. Being the only girl in the family meant I got to have my own room, whilst all my brothers shared, three to a room since they were all triplets. Yes that's right two sets of multiples still at home and a set of twins already moved out, in our family to begin with twins and follow with triplets was normal. Although my aunts and uncles all stopped after thier first set of triplets It was a miracle I was born solo. I guess I was the odd one out, but as I came to discover in the following years, odd was a mild way of describing myself. As I lightly stepped down the stairs I could hear crying. Mother was at the table with her head down and hands covering her face. Mother wasn't due to wake until midday, the time father would go to sleep to prepare for his night shift. It was not common to see our parents in such a compromising way, as they rarely showed any emotion, including laughter and happiness. We just were. We functioned to a military style way of life. Routine, routine, routine. So to see mother in this state, knowing her children would be soon waking for the day and coming to this very table for breakfast, made me stop in my tracks. "Mother, are you hurting? Is everything alright?" I asked with trepidation. Sob sob, sniff sniff... "Nothing will ever be the same again!" mother replied. "Mother please, tell me what is happening!?" "It's your father!!" sniff, sniff sob sob. "There was an incident at work.." Mother was now frantically crying, uncontrollably. "Mother please, what has happened to father?!?" My body was starting to quiver, shortness of breath and blurry vision is all that actually kept me standing. Mother placed her hands on the table and looked up at me. Her eyes were red and swollen, like she had been crying for quite a while. But the way she looked at me I could never forget that stare, that gaze. If I didn't know any better, I would say she was looking at her worst enemy, not her only daughter. Her only daughter whom was a breeze to raise, her only daughter that was born solo, in a predominantly twin / triplet family. Her daughter who was game enough to enter the dining room after knowing mother was in there crying. I could hear the boys fidgeting on the second step at the top of the stairs. The step I always missed, as it made an awfully loud creaking sound, which reminded us how ancient our house was. They were up there listening, but not moving an inch, making me the target of mothers hateful stares. "YOUR father was working that nightshift so we could earn the extra cash for your Netball tournaments, your netball uniform, YOUR NETBALL EVERYTHING!! Now your father is dead!..." My vision was blurred even more, tears endlessly pouring from my eyes. Father was no more, Father was dead. And everyone blamed me.