Sunday, November 12, 2006
I worry that I won't be strong enough to go to the hospital on his birthday. That the toys I've bought and the cake I'll bake will go to waste because it's too hard. Some days, just getting dressed is too hard. Admittedly, the can't-get-up days aren't frequent enough to worry me, but they're becoming more frequent as the holidays and his birthday approach.
I also worry that going to the hospital will be more than Scott can take. He hasn't expressed any such concern, but if you knew Scott, you'd know he'd never come out and say no. Not to me, not about anything concerning Nova. I don't want him to feel pressured to do something he doesn't want to.
I've considered just asking him, outright. He'd be honest if I did. But truth is a transient and changing thing when you're grieving the death of your child. One day you feel one thing, the next, you feel something different all together.
And the holidays, well... I don't think I can even discuss Christmas without my baby. I don't
want to do Christmas with him missing. And pardon me while I feel sorry for myself for just a minute, but... Thanksgiving? Seriously? Whatever.
And yet...
We have already made plans for Thanksgiving dinner. Scott's always been the "I'm watching the game, lemme know when it's food" kind of guy. This year it seems to be really important to him that we cook the meal together, make dishes he had when he was a kid... He's also already pulled out the Christmas decorations and checked the lights. He's tossed the broken ones and bought new ones for the outside. We've been shopping for Christmas for weeks now - we've been known to do all our shopping in the last half of December.
We're some sort of sad oxymoron.
And to totally change the subject...
At Halloween I found a picture of myself in costume 6 years ago. It's a group picture of myself and some co-workers, and we were all goofing off and laughing. In it I look so carefree. I remember that night pretty vividly, because I worked at that place for 6 years, and that was the only time they let us dress up. Plus, my costume was see through so I bought a skin-tone leotard to wear under it. When I went to work, my boss nearly swallowed his tongue because he didn't realize I wasn't just wearing sheer pants, and it was just so funny to see his reaction (he nearly sent me home!) because he was generally such a fun loving guy with so few hang-ups...
Anyway I compared it to the picture of the 7 of us that was taken for the Charlotte Observer piece. I remember that day pretty vividly too, and again, we were all cutting up and acting silly, because that's how we generally react to cameras. I remember thinking to myself how absurd it was too be that happy, when I was getting my picture taken for a story being written because my son was dead. I really
thought I was ridiculously happy that day.
But when I compared the two pictures I realized how UNhappy I actually looked. I recognized how my standards had dropped, and how completely my definition of happy had changed. It also struck me how much I'd aged in those 6 years between those 2 pictures. I am amazed by how losing 2 children has effected me physically. I look 15 years older, and weary... I guess I don't put up such a good front after all. I am tired, and it shows. And that bothers me more than I can explain. It isn't that I'm vain or worry about looking old, it's that I don't want people to look at me and dwell on my losses. I do that plenty for myself already.
posted by Erin @
1:07 AM
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