Time heals….
They say. (who the hell are “they?”… I don’t know)
It is so bizarre at this point…It has been 9 weeks. 2ish months. When I type this, I think that in terms of a common joyful timeline…as is it is “9 weeks til Spring
Break,” or “We go on our cruise in 9 weeks,” or “I cannot believe I am getting married in 2 months”…the time seems like –hours, minutes- that you are waiting to pass quickly -- time that excites you-time that you anticipate.
In this case, “9 weeks/2 months” rattles me. I mean, yes, there was a tragedy that occurred this long ago---
But…as I really thought about my own personal horror…how “long ago” it occurred…
I thought…
… so did other (major/monumental/historical) tragic moments in history. After 2 months, the raw horror of Columbine seemed less newsworthy, and after 9/11, the slow cleaning and reconstruction of a city was occurring, and after Hurricane Katrina, the blaming became less focused on politics— their place at the headlines changed, at least for those of us that were somewhat “removed” from the center of the nest of tragedy holding on and hiding in the debris left…
And for those of us that aren’t living in the middle of the debris, almost trapped in this nest of all of those “7 stages of grieving,” (I should talk about that at some point, but not today—not in this post) the twigs unravel, fall away, break off, disappear.
All the while, I am trapped in this nest, woven so tightly, I cannot even peek through the gaps…in fact, the gaps seem to close more and more tightly—like I can’t even breathe sometimes.
It was in the last week or so that I specifically noticed that like many tragic events that are featured on the nightly news, my feature was also fading. People were moving on…living their lives. Yet, for me, it felt like it was happening all over again. It felt like as the texts stopped coming, and the phone calls and messages were less frequent, this moment…the moment Tim left this family, felt like it was on replay over and over.
In my last blog, I think I said it was starting to become a reality. Clearly, knowing what I know now—that was a load of bullshit. I am so fooled every time I hear the back door open.
I still actually think he might come home.
#delusional
I know that sounds crazy, but as I think about the other tragic moments, those people directly affected, trapped in this same nest, were perhaps, in some bizarre way, experiencing some of the same illusions…
this school massacre never happened, and the bell is about to ring for the next period
tomorrow the sun will shine, and the towers will be there
the floods were simply puddles, and the wind was only a breeze.
And he…will walk in the door, and she will run and yell, “DADDY!”
But that is not what is happening. And knowing that it will never ever happen…for crying out loud!! Anyone reading this now knows what it feels like to lose someone—to wish that person would come back—to realize that person is not coming back, but for me …it somehow feels doubled: no husband to dance with in the kitchen, no daddy to dance with in the kitchen…
A blessing, a force, the developmental mind of a 4 year old, perhaps daddy is protecting her heart from all of this pain, but she can’t find the words to say how she feels-how she knows something is different…My heart is breaking, and all of my words are wrong. We butt heads a lot. We yell sometimes (ok, more than sometimes). Then, we tell each other to stop yelling. We tell each other to calm down. I walk away from her, and she walks away from me. We shut doors –and my fear is that we aren’t shutting doors, we are shutting down. BUT….
I am the adult here!!! I am the mom, right?!
I should be able to climb my ass out of this nest, pull my shit together … but I am so sad. Sure, I can look “ok.” I can talk “ok.” I can grocery shop, and buy shoes. I can consistently buy clothes that my daughter refuses to wear even after she says, “I love it.” (how long does that last!!!) I can cook dinner, go to COSI, meet a friend for lunch, do laundry (although, I am really bad at that!!), I can go through the motions, but I am still trapped in that nest.
She talks about him now. The other day, she was at the park with me, and she was walking the perimeter beam, and she said, “My daddy showed me this.” When we were swinging, I said, “Pump your legs.” “My daddy showed me mommy. MY daddy!”
She flips over the couch and jumps off the steps. “Maris!! What are you doing?? Why are you doing that? We are going to have to call 911!” “MY daddy showed me.”
Nothing about our morning is like it was…HE was her morning. I can still see them sitting side by side on the couch sharing cereal watching Good Day Columbus. “Where’s Cameron today?” ….I would come down the stairs to go to work, and he would say, “Look at mommy. She is so pretty.” She would holler to me, “Come hug mommy. Hug daddy, too. Family hug.“ Almost every day….that was the routine (adding in me running late everyday ….where’s my phone, I don’t like this sweater, I need another coat of mascara, I can’t find my purse….) Many days, there would be, “One more hug mommy.” I never walked away from one more hug from her or from him. For all the times I was even a “little” later to work (like any commute, every minute counts!!)…I am and will always be grateful for another hug. I just wish…the “another” could be…with him…with our family. To have one more….
Her world is changed…and so is mine, but I am her mommy.
I will figure it out…if perhaps everyone could stop telling me HOW…and maybe….without sounding rude…maybe believe I can do it. I know I have no other choice. I know I have to do it. I know I am her mother. I AM going to raise her…but I just need a few voices that don’t advise…just believe. I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a jerk—it is not my intention. I am trapped in this nest. I am trying to peek out. I am breaking the twigs away piece by piece. Hell, I trashed at least 8 opened bags of “chips” one at a time the other day. I cussed out each bag: Cheetos, Doritos, Honey BBQ Fritos, BBQ chips, Tortilla Chips, …I don’t even know!!! So, maybe tossing chips isn’t the same as breaking away the twigs, but it’s a beginning. I am having a hard time believing I can do this…but as one of my dearest friends said, “ You ARE doing this.”
And … I guess she’s right. I feel trapped, but I am breaking out, but I have to do it my way …my way OUR WAY.
A few evenings ago, Maris ran into Tim’s office. It has 2 large windows. She ran in, and I asked her what she was doing…She said, “Look mommy! Look at the sky. It is orange and pink, and it is so beautiful!” I said, “Oh it is.” (and I am thinking…ok, what would daddy say—this is his department!!!!). I told her it was the sunset, and then it goes far, far across the sky. Then she said, “It’s up high like daddy, but he’s not that high in heaven, so he can’t touch it.” I said, “I don’t know how high he is, but daddy loved to look at the sky. He loved the weather. Maybe he can see the colors.” Then she said (as she dramatically demonstrated this-actually jumping), “He jumps up high to touch them.”
I, too, am jumping as high as I can—maybe I am falling short, but I am jumping high, I am breaking those twigs, piece by piece…
…but in 10 weeks, 16 weeks, 30 week, I know that as this nest opens, I will still miss stretching my foot across the bed to feel his foot.
End note: I spend a lot!!!!! of time listening to music, and this song popped up a few weeks ago in one of my dozens of playlists…it caught me off guard because I had not heard it in so long. The lyrics, the chorus… I would always tell Tim, “These words are love, dude.” I am not sure if he ever bought into that statement, but he did like the song. Just fucking beautiful….I have always thought these lyrics are fucking beautiful.
Pick a song and sing a yellow nectarine
Take a bath I'll drink the water that you leave
If you should die before me ask if you could bring a friend
Pick a flower hold your breath and drift away
