Something is happening to me. I swear the acupuncture and all my crazy tons of vitamins and minerals and antioxidants and supplements are working. I’m feeling different. I’m not feeling like I'm living someone else's nightmare. I’m starting to believe that this is my own life. I’m more patient with my kids. They aren’t getting on my nerves. I don’t feel like I’m going crazy. I’m not super high. I’m not super low. I’m just coasting. I think the word is normal. I might be normal!!! I’m not saying I still don’t feel sad and cry…I do…but it’s brief and it doesn’t drag me down into the abyss. I think about it, I shed a tear, and it’s no different than the other things I do every day. You’re thirsty, you drink. I’m never going to be able to change what happened. Can't undo it. So we are just chugging along, me and the darlings. I’m still a little afraid of summer time. It’s a lot of boys without a break. Ever. No school. People keep asking me about camps. There are no camps for babies, people. The only camp age kid I have is my 10 year old. I’m not an idiot. I’m not sending the only one who can wipe his own ass away. I will find some baby sitters and figure it out. We'll swim, go to the beach alot, do Disney, play ball, swim some more. I will figure things out. Except for this: Between June 3rd to July 5th, we have to get through our anniversary, Father's Day, Dave's birthday and the anniversary of his death. All in one month. Umm...yeah. Mini freak out. We're gonna deal. Not sure how.
We had a day last week where the 5 year old spoke graphically and in great detail about Dave being dead on the garage floor. I started to be really freaked out about it, then remembered that the goal is for him to be able to express it and sort it out and move forward. So, that day, before we even made it inside after school, we hugged and cried and sobbed and squeezed each other so tightly in the front yard. And it was ok. It’s our story. We can’t change it. Our life isn’t ruined over it. Because I’m not letting it be ruined. Later that day we all talked about how things are getting better. How our lives are not ruined. How we are, somehow, still happy. I think this is as much of a shocker to them as it is to me. I can’t even express how certain I was that I was destined to be some kind of lunatic person. The person who could overcome all odds, except this one. I kept saying that to my friends, and they kept laughing and assuring me it wouldn’t happen. I was afraid I’d die a bag lady; dirty and living with cats in a hoarder’s house. I really thought I might go that crazy. I really felt that crazy sometimes. This grief stuff, it does make you question your sanity. I look back to the last 8 ½ months, and I’m horrified at what I see. Me, yelling and screaming and crying and hyperventilating and trying to take care of the darlings at the same time. Yeah. That wasn’t so good. There are a lot of moments mixed in here and there that I’m not that proud of. I sucked as a parent. I guess that is to be expected. I did the best I could; I still wish I could have done better.
This week lots of beautiful sun shiney sunflowers are starting to pop up and bloom from my potted plants. Because in Dave’s last week, when he was so manic and crazy, he constantly had a mouthful of sunflower seeds, spitting them everywhere. I kept collecting them, sweeping them from the patio, pulling them from my hair even….they were flying around that much…and going “Dude, what is the deal with the sunflower seeds?” He was going crazy, that’s what the deal was. He was in a major depression and full blown manic on top. A deadly combination which results in suicide 30% of the time. Oh, to know then what I know now! It’s so ironic…mother nature. To put these flowers in my pots right now. Thank you. And Fuck you.