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Showing posts from April, 2010

Further and Closer

Image
Today while I was cleaning out Ben and Sam's colouring box and going through a big stack of pictures that they've drawn I found this picture:Dad and Ben made it together. I remember.

I remember googling pictures of race cars for them to copy. Red race cars. Of course. I remember Dad helping Ben draw it, and I remember them colouring it together.I remember the sound of them, just the ordinary sound of the two of them together. I wonder when I will stop finding things like that picture. I'm scared of the day I will stop finding things.

Because every day that goes by without things like that, without Dad... I hate that. I hate knowing that I won't see him tomorrow. That he won't colour with Ben this week or next week or the week after. There won't be any new pictures.

And I today I thought about ten years from now.

I don't know where I'll be ten years from now but I can tell you one thing, in ten years I won't have seen my dad for ten years. Right now I fe…

Monday

What is it about Mondays that sucks, even if you don't have to get up in the morning and go to a real job? Blah.

All I can think about today is booking a room in a hotel and staying there for a week or so. I'm not in the mood to do the things I usually do. At least if it was nice out I could sit outside in our sun-room and watch Sam play on the swings. That would be different. But I'm done with being stuck in this house. I think I may take on the grocery shopping all by myself (not counting Hannah and Sam, who will have to come with) this afternoon. That would be different...

I wonder if I gave Sam some gravol if he would nap this afternoon and I could lie in bed with a book? I could do that... 'Cause that would definitely be different and super fun.

(Probably drugging the children just so I can nap would be considered bad parenting though hey?)

Don't worry. I'll think of something.

Sorry

Dear Dad,

I was looking at some pictures from the year you first got sick and remembering how I felt some of those days, and I'm so sorry.

Some of those days I remember feeling frustrated. Frustrated that you wouldn't come along, or frustrated that we had to go home early because your back hurt... Never really frustrated with you, but sometimes it must have felt like that to you, when I would try to convince you to come, or try to drag things out when it was time to go. Of course it wasn't you I was frustrated at, it was stupid cancer, and how it was changing everything.

I know sometimes I wished you could just somehow be like you used to be, and I'm so sorry if that ever made you feel like I thought you weren't trying hard enough. Because I know you tried.

I think about the day before you died a lot. I think about that night we rushed to the hospital because you were bleeding, and I think about the morning you said you were tired of fighting. And I'm sorry for wh…

Warm Fuzzy

I'm holding Ben on the couch. He's crying because Sam fell on him, and bumped the sucker in his mouth, and hurt "his neck".

Me: You smell like the fire Benny.
Ben: I do?
Me: Yup. See? Smell my hair. I bet it smells like fire too.
(Ben smells my hair.)
Ben: It doesn't. It just smells like it always smells.
Me: It does? What does my hair smell like?
Ben: Like flowers.

And I melt a little. If he only knew, he could ask me for anything right now, and I'd get it for him. Just to make him as happy as he makes me.

Sing With Me Now...

There are some songs that stick in your mind from your childhood, and when you hear them again, it's like you're right back there. Here's one that's been running (heh heh) through my head all day...

When you're sliding into home,
And your pants are filled with foam.
Diarrhea (pfft pfft), diarrhea (pfft pfft).

Ah, takes me right back to hanging out in the playhouse with Doft and Johnny and Mikey, and we'd try to remember all the verses, but when we couldn't we made up our own.

I've been amusing myself during numerous diaper changes over the last day or so, by making up some new verses:

When you're house smells like a diaper,
Cause your baby's bowels are hyper.
Diarrhea (pfft pfft), diarrhea (pfft pfft).

When you're sitting on the potter,
And it's squirting out like water.
Diarrhea (pfft pfft), diarrhea (pfft pfft).

Which quickly inspired:

When you're duelling Harry Potter,
And you're hit with Ava Poowater.
Diarrhea (pfft pfft), diarrhea (pfft…

Still

Half a year. Half a year without my dad. Before this happened if I knew someone who lost someone close I would have thought a half a year was a long time in the world of grief. But it's not really. I would have thought by now that a person would be starting, at least starting, to be okay. I didn't realize that this first year is not really about being okay. It's about just making it through. Or at least, it is for a lot of people. I know I'm not the only one.

It's still just about that, just making it through... Just the way it was all those days he was sick and in pain, all those days we were scared, and those days in the hospital in Seattle, and then the days getting home and getting things ready, and the day of his funeral, and all the long days after that. I assume at some point it becomes more than just making it through, but right now, it's mostly still just that.

I try to pretend otherwise, to myself, and to other people. I feel like I'm letting him do…

Dear Dad,

Three years ago... All of this was really starting. The start of the end. All of the fear and pain was really taking hold of our lives. And my worst nightmare was that we only had you for a few more years. And that's all we had.

And all I can think about lately is what we were doing last year at this time. I think about all the hope. I think about Hannah still waiting to be born, and you with treatments ahead of you, scary, but hopeful. I constantly think about you putting Ben's bike together and walking beside him while he rode it for the first time. Every time I look out my front windows I think about that, I can almost see you out there, especially now that the snow is gone. And when I sit on my couch I think about you sitting in the empty spot beside me... Sometimes I think of you sitting here with Hannah asleep on your chest while you hum to her, and sometimes I think of the very last time you sat here... Eating popsicles with Sammy. All of us laughing and so…