Missing Dragon
You never know when it will hit. Last night the boys were dressing in their dragon costumes for a library event...and I felt that fist clenching my gut. I flashed on the two other dragin costumes that Turbo has outgrown, and how I should have three little dragons there. It keeps hitting home- he will always be missing.
Getting to OK
Yesterday, I met a friend from Calgary for the first time. I held her baby girl, who was due the same week as my boy, and you know what?
I didn't cry.
I don't know if that means I'm going to be OK, or if I've somehow shut down. But it feels like OK. Not over it, but surviving.
Today, I listened to a song I associated with my supposedly spring baby, and I didn't cry.
Is it OK for me to be OK?
How are you?
It means so so much when people step out of their comfort zones to ask, "How are you?". So many people are afraid to ask, whether because they think I have somehow "forgotten" and they will be making me sad or because they don't want to be burdened with my grief. Some people who were virtual strangers or casual acquaintences have surprised me with their sinsitivity and interest, other people I know well just don't talk about it.
Stage Mom
My neighbor says, "You're such a stage mom" (you must imagine that said by a New Yawk Jewish mother). Yesterday I couldn't eat....it took me three tries to do HRH's bun. At intermission, right after her performance. I tell me neighbor "Shewashalfasecondbehindthe wholetime!!" Neighbor says no, she hit her marks and reminds me that HRH is SIX. And she wasn't nervous...I seem to have carried all hers for her.
Existential Blues
I've been having a hard time with prayer the last few days. After all, the one thing I prayed most fervently for ever since I got pregnant with my first child, maybe before, I got a great big NO on. Then, in the wake of grief Hubby starts coming to church and it's like 12 years of prayer answered! Yay! But he only goes 2 months before he decides it's not worth it. Ahhh. Struck down again. I know you're not supposed to ask for signs, but I could really use a freaking YES right now.
Why oh why.....
...do my brilliant beautiful children have to question EVERYTHING I tell them to do? I know that's thier job. I know it's better than squashing thier tender psyches. But good gracious, can thwy just not SOMETIMES not argue with me?
Dress Rehearsal, part deux
5HOURS!!! 5 HOURS!!!! Who knew sitting for 5 hours could be so tiring? The veddy British artistic director works those kids, and it shows. The culmination of the time and money ($675) spent in the last 10 months is now less than a week away......she is so excited.
What should I REALLY be doing right now?
I should be taking the kids out for a walk, and since I actually have a few spare dollars I could be looking for a yard sale, but here I am downloading fanfic while the kids play in their rooms. But there is construction going on out front, which not only has them entertained (better than Construction Driver Dave!!), it gives me an admittedly lame excuse NOT to go out my front door. Not that my fat butt wil thank me for being such a GEEEEEK!
Dress Rehearsals
Dress rehearsals have started at HRH The Faerie Princess's dance school, and thus I had to learn to do something I have avoided for 1 1/2 years of ballet: do a bun with actual bobby pins. I am convinced I lack the neccesary "hair doing gene". I am certainly doing something wrong. For starters, a few months ago I walked in on a kids only hair cutting party. The VERY short bangs HRH got then are now longish and raggedy. Miss H, her teacher, insists that enough gel will make them lay down. I must be getting the wrong gel. I only have to do this two more times this year, then it's back to wrapping her buns in organza hair tutus.
Ah, and make up. Daddy is less than thrilled with that. Now we have to specify "No make up but STAGE make up until you're 30. "
At least my neighbor sewed the bow on her costume for me.
Parenting this child
What does it mean to parent a child who is gone? It is less time consuming, but more wearying, than parenting a live child. It is emptying the vase of flowers into the compost and carefully picking fresh roses and peonies, irises and forget me nots to place by his picture. He must always have fresh flowers. It is answering the questions of your surviving children over and over. It is searching for his soul in the skies and in your own soul. It is waiting for the far off day when you can hold him again.
Three months later, and I'm still telling people
Tuesday night we all went to the family dental appointment. (They see all 5 of us in a two hour time span, working it so either hubby and I are in the waiting room with kids at the same time). We get there, sign, in...and the receptionist asks, "Where's the new one?" I don't know why, that question always takes me by surprise, and I usually just bluntly say, "He died". The receptionist almost starts to cry and keeps saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry". She asked me his name and what had happened ( this really helps so much, you would have no idea how many people never even ask what we named him). The hygenist asked about him too. In a way, it's cathartic and helps... in a way it's hard. Obviously it helps more when someone asks about Benjamin than when they ignore him. It's just easier on me when I don't have to be the one telling people he died. Hardest are the people who have never, ever mentioned him or expressed condolences.
