I saw someone who looks just like you did yesterday.  Now I am obsessed with their life. What are they like? Do they share the same interests? I want to know more.

Yesterday, as I stood at your grave, I had nothing to say.
I probably wouldn't have been there if I wasn't just passing by.
Ten years of you being gone is not a celebration.

I've had a writer's block of something I think about every single day.
You could say I was "over it", but the truth is, I am in a different phase of grief.

One year after your death I was scared.  "This can't be my life"

Five years after your death - I was angry. "Why us?"

Ten years after your death - I realize you will forever hold a place in my heart. "Life goes on". 

Grief is such a personal thing:
No one can tell you how to grieve.
No one can tell you how long to grieve.
No one can tell you who or what you can grieve.
It just happens.

I have lived that day over and over in my mind for ten years now.  You were fine and then you were gone. 


There is no end to this story. It never ends, we live it every day. It only evolves. Ten years later, from a time when I couldn't imagine a life without you, I find myself can't imaging life with you. We have become our own little unit. We have found our footing and are just living life - missing you, of course, but not needing you.

This was the hardest remembrance post I have written. I have no words left. For now I will leave you with the ten things I will forever remember about you:

1. Your confidence.  You had a beautiful quality of not caring what people thought.
2. Your facial hair.  You spent more time on your facial hair than I ever thought was possible.  I acted annoyed, but I loved your pride.
3. You were an amazing friend.  You were so loyal. You were a forever friend to everyone you met.
4. You made me feel beautiful. All the time. 
5. You could make anyone laugh. 
6. You loved surprising people.
7. You were so good. You just always knew what to do.
8. You were organized.  Not an annoying organized, you just always had a good place to put things. 
9. The way your hair curled over your baseball hats. 
10. You cared about me more than I ever deserved. I know that sounds dramatic, but I was a brat. I really was. You made me realize how to be a part of a family and to love. 

 I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
Our lives
Are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss
The dance

-Garth Brooks, "The Dance"

It says: "when I was 4 my dad died"

I ran out of pictures of us.
I remember one time someone took a picture of us.
I was wearing jeans that made me look skinny.
We were content.

Somehow I lost that picture.
I have it in my mind, but I can never share it with anyone else.
Now that I have exhausted all photos of us, I really miss that image.

Eight years.
Hard to imagine. 
These days I'm more afraid than I am sad.
I don't really know how to feel.


A simple glance across a room and I could see love. I felt safe. I knew what you were thinking.
Glances like that are scarce.
I don't expect to ever find that sort of allure again.

After eight years, I think I can confidently say that we are going to be alright.
Life goes on.
Even though it's a scary ride, we are enduring this crazy little life.

Grief is a funny thing.
Unfortunately it's not a haha funny.
EVILBOY and I go back and forth with our grieving.
Just as one of us is starting to smile, something triggers the other and it begins all over again.

EVILBOY is just shy of nine years old.
We lost his father when he was only 15 months old.
He never got the chance to know his father.
He missed out on so many things that R. wanted to do with him

Last night was a bad night.
The tears.
They are messy and hastily slighted by their owner.
He tries to be strong.

"I wish my dad was here" was all he managed to get out between gasps.
And I just knew that the night would be long and would entail his size 4.5 feet, sharing my double bed and kicking me in the back.
...and that it did.

He's had it rough these past few weeks.
At a time when he should be celebrating his absolute favourite holiday with the family we rarely get to see.
He spent most of the time in our dim apartment taking care of his ill mother.
That makes me feel like shit.
It is absolutely not fair.

Last night we made elaborate plans that included DVD shopping and the best hot chocolate in the whole wide world. We also made plans to visit the cemetery.

In my mind it would have been so easy to find his flat stone under what seemed like a foot of snow. I pictured us closing our eyes and automatically drawn to his location. Although sometimes life has a funny way of kicking you in the crotch and reminding you that life is definitely not a fairy tale.

I was angry.
I was so incredibly angry at R. for not giving us a sign (even in the afterlife the guy gets nagged).
I was angry at myself for not knowing.
I was angry at EVILBOY because I knew he was in the wrong area.
I was angry at the snow and the cemetery caretaker and the windchill and the loud traffic...
It was very overwhelming.

I don't know how to help him.
I don't know how to help myself.
We've done the support group - twice.
and as stupid as this sounds - I never expected it to be this hard.

Being a parent shouldn't be this hard.
It's just not fair.

R.,

It has now been seven years. Someone asked me how long you had been gone for the other day and I very confidently answered eight years.  When I thought about it some more, I realized it has only just been seven as of this very moment.  Somehow I lost a year of grieving somewhere I guess. 

I was thinking about writing this letter a few days ago.  These are getting harder and harder for me to write.  Memories of you are becoming distant and each year so as I write these letters I feel like I am just saying the same things over and over.  Still miss you.  M. has grown so much this year... It's almost like a telephone call to an old friend now - as sad as that seems.

The truth is, I feel like since you've been gone, I have completely glamorized our life together.  We were like the "Brangelina" of the Cancer Clinic.  You with your young, sickly swagger and me the young girlfriend who looked at you like you were Zeus god of all gods. How much your friends loved you. The love you had for, well, everything. The way you used to pay our bills every month..$70 to this company and $80 to this company just to tide them over until the next overdue bill.  I find myself in similar situations lately, yet when you were here with me, it was so much easier to face. Just knowing I could look over my shoulder and you were there to back me up meant the world to me.

I wish I could still see you there.  Cheering us on.

Our little boy is not very little anymore.  I know if you were still alive, this would be the point where I begged you to have another child because I can't stand to watch our only child grow up into an independent little being. He asks about you all the time. He cries about you all the time....and he won't cut his hair because he wants to look like a Power Ranger.  Oh, and get this, he bought himself a Rolling Stones poster to put on his bedroom wall!  Our eight year old is turning out to be the quirkiest kid I know, reminds me so much of us! 

Miss you forever. 

-n.

It has almost been seven years since we've said goodbye.  Just like that, the only person to ever understand me, or love me for being myself was gone - in an instant.

For over six years now I have been surviving - without my best friend.
I think this kind of makes me an expert or something.  An expert in surviving.
Not like surviving the wilderness or anything, please don't turn to me for that kind of advice.
I am an expert in surviving grief.
...and that is a pretty awesome title to have.
Something to be proud of. 

The other night my expertise was tested when I received a late night phone call.
R.'s cousin died last summer.  She was not very old. It was very tragic.  Very sudden and unexpected after a short illness.

She was a great woman.  She was the kind of person that loved everybody and would do anything for you.
and she truly cared.

The phone call was from the mother of this woman and it came as one of my evening television programs was coming on TV.  In other words, it was a bad time to catch me for a deep conversation.  Not to mention, my phone has had horrible reception in my apartment lately, oh and also - I hate talking on the phone!!

As I was saying, I didn't want a phone call.  I wanted to be left alone where I could curl up in my new Snuggie and watch trashy TV, but she was distraught and I could tell my expertise was needed.

Her daughter's husband has a new girlfriend.

To be honest, I do feel he has moved on pretty quickly, and I do agree with the mother, and I think she was looking for someone to be on her side.

But the truth is, everybody grieves differently.  If he has moved on, good for him.  I'm not sure it's a very healthy thing to do so soon, but if he is able to then, well, good for him.

R. told me - just once - that I should find somebody else that makes me happy after he's gone.  We didn't speak much about death, it wasn't an easy subject to speak of in our house since none of us wanted to believe it was going to happen.

Almost eight years later and my heart is still with him.  I would have done anything for that man, as he would have done anything for me.  It's hard for me to imagine anyone else could even compare. I have him up on an imaginary pedestal, made of pink sparkles and Hello Kitty stickers (which is a pretty amazing pedestal in my eyes). 

but I will let you in on a little secret...

I am terrified to even think about anybody else.  I know it's the right thing to do, I know it would make me a happier person to be in love again, but what if nobody loves me for the things R. could accept about me? My insecurities were hardly a worry when I was with him.  He made me feel confident and just so - happy.

So if her husband was able to find that love again so quickly - if he had the courage to move on...good for him!

One of my favourite pictures - May 2004

Losing a loved one is hard.

Losing your one true love is difficult.

Losing the father of your child is devastating. 

Losing your father is unfortunate.

He was everything to us.  He was the base that our household stood on, when he was gone it imploded like a card house in the gentle breeze of April.

This is the kind of thing you just don't move on from.  He is a part of my life forever.

What I didn't expect was to gain a family.

Something that I hold very dearly to my heart.

R.'s family stepped up and welcomed me in with open arms.  They never made me feel like I didn't belong. In fact, the first time I met R.'s aunt, she told me to call her "aunt".  Of course, she was drunk, but that didn't matter, she was (and will always be) my aunt.  That didn't change.

I am invited to family functions.  This family could have easily turned their back on me, requesting visitation of EVILBOY on holidays and sporadic weekends - but they never did.  It has always been open invitations for both of us.

They call me aunt, sister, and daughter still.

and I know they really care.

When I mentioned to R's mom that money is extremely tight these next few weeks (back to school shopping for a 90 pound boy is not cheap!), she didn't hesitate to offer whatever she could.

and for that I am grateful.

Sometimes it hurts. Seeing R's family, with mannerisms and facial expressions that remind me of him.  They don't even know they do these things, but I am watching - remembering - a time when everything was just okay.

I can't go to one of these functions without thinking about how our life could have been.  Would we still be together (thus making me a step grandmother - long story!)? Would we have more children? Would we have a house and that RV camper that EVILBOY dreams of?  Who knows. I just know it has to be better than this.

A family adopted me.
and it makes me smile.

EVILBOY comes from a long line of fisherpeople (politically correct version of fishermen).

I knew his dad loved fishing when I met him.  There was just something about his love for fishing that I found extremely attractive.  He liked to get his hands dirty and he was a great fisherman and knew a lot of fisherman stuff.  EVILFLU likey fishermen and dirty hands.



R. liked fishing so much that he even liked his pregnant woman to pose with his catch...

Wow.

Unfortunately, R. did not get a chance to take EVILBOY fishing, something he talked about so much when our little boy was still sleeping in his crib, but sometimes life isn't fair.  Poor EVILBOY wants to love fishing so much.  He has his dad's fishing rod and most of his tackle box contents, but the poor boy doesn't have much luck with fishing.

The first time I took him fishing was at the Thames River just down the street from our house.  We casted out between the old rusted shopping cart and stereo speakers that had been discarded in the river.  Of course we didn't even get a bite, which kind of made me happy because I honestly didn't know how to get a fish off the hook if we did catch one. Not only that, I was fairly certain it would come out with three eyes or something.  It was probably a good thing.  EVILBOY was having the time of his life though - until this happened....

TOXIC MUD!!!

We soon tried fishing again, only this time we cheated and went to a fish farm...and we brought a boy to take the fish off the hook.  Only wouldn't ya know it, there were no fish at the fish farm - either that or they didn't like our bait or constant reminders to EVILBOY not to get too close to the fish lake.


EVILBOY caught his very first fish in the summer of 2009. In the very same spot that his father used to fish very often. 

Goderich - July 29, 2009

He was so proud.  Triumphantly holding up that fish in one hand, his other little hand clutching onto his beloved Shrek fishing pole.  Because he caught the first fish of the day, we all had to pay him.  It was a day he will never forget.  In fact, he still talks about it quite often.

We sort of retired fishing after that time.  Life got busy, he caught a fish and I still didn't want to touch fish or worms.

Until yesterday.

EVILBOY has been with my mom all summer.  Yesterday they were at the boat and EVILBOY saw some fish swimming around in the river.  He thought it would be a great opportunity to catch some fish using only a net.  He was successful - until he leaned in a little too far and next thing my mom knew, he was in the river with the fish, net and all.

The passion that little guy had to catch a fish reminds me so much of his father. You can always dry off but letting that fish get away is a crying shame. 

Of course EVILBOY fell in the river again 45 minutes later as he was stepping off the boat.  I guess he got his mother's sea legs. 

I'm sure this is not the last time he will get the urge to catch a fish.  It probably won't even be the last time he falls in trying to catch a fish.  He makes us all very proud.  Way to go EVILBOY!

R.,

Six years to the day since I have seen your face, felt your skin.  Six years and two days since I have heard your voice. That day will forever be in my mind.  I remember coming around the corner and seeing that car in the driveway and just knowing that it was the day.

I remember the people who loved us.  I remember not offering them anything to eat or drink in our home - I don't think anybody ate or drank all day. We just sat. Cried.  Apologized.

You were my crutch.  I know it may not be the right thing to say, but without you I have done so much that I never would have done.  I felt safe with you and I was happy to just be with you.  Bettering myself wasn't on my mind.  Traveling, learning to drive, working out of the home - all things I never had even thought twice about.  I was that happy to be with you.

A day doesn't go by that I don't think about you. Sometimes I even feel like you are still here with us.  It has been so long now that I can't even imagine how our life would be if you were still here.  I never really got to know your parenting style, I never really learned your wishes for our son and decisions you would have made.  Most of the things I regret now involve communication.  Rather than hoping you would live, I should have prepared more for if you died.  I'm a Taurus, stubborn as ever, and I honestly believed you were going to beat cancer.

Even up until the day before you died, even with hospice involved and all that awful medical equipment, I still believed you were going to be here today.

Our son is growing up so quickly.  The funny thing is, he is finally starting to look like you, which is a really good thing because I was having a hard time picturing my "identical twin" as a teenage boy.  This year has been the hardest so far of raising our son.  He is so smart and he is really starting to notice that he has a dad who can not be with us.

This picture of M. really reminded me of you.

A few weeks ago he had a breakdown when I mentioned your name.  He was crying and said "don't even say that name because it makes me cry".  I never thought he would miss you so much after only knowing you for the first 15 months of his life.   It's amazing the things he does remember from such a young age. He will be okay.  We are beginning counseling again next weekend to help him understand more about death.  The last cycle we did was when he was four years old - a little too young to understand still.

I can't say that these past six years have been easy.  I miss you.  I miss you more than anybody could ever know.   These past six years have included some of the most trying times in my life.  I have become someone I never imagined I would be.  However, I never regret the moment I met you - it's the six years of saying goodbye that have made me the person I am today.

Our lives will go on.  We will both grow older - without you, but you will forever be in our hearts.

-n.

EVILBOY overheard that today was his dad's birthday last night while visiting family. On the way home he had a whole bunch of questions to ask about his dad.


EVILBOY: Mom, did my dad have a heart attack? [side note: A leader in the cub scouts recently had a heart attack and died.  Mason was pretty close to him and it affected him quite a bit].

ME: No, he had cancer.

EVILBOY:  Like Terry Fox?
ME:  Yes.

EVILBOY: So he had a wooden leg?

ME: No, he had cancer somewhere else.

EVILBOY: Where?

ME: In his neck [R. had Lymphoma so it was pretty much in his lymph nodes but most notably in his neck]

EVILBOY: So he had a wooden neck?

ME: No.

EVILBOY: Can we bring a cake to the Goodwill for him?

ME: ??

EVILBOY: You know, where the ghosts are. [then I realized he meant graveyard, not Goodwill]

ME: No, I don't think that's such a good idea. 


...and then I listened to him plan a birthday party for his dead father for an hour or so complete with skeleton decorative plates (because that's what he is - his words, not mine).


HBD (36)

Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.

I wish that I would have loved him less.

Then it wouldn't have hurt so bad, for so long.

I wish that I didn't say those things.

Even though I apologized, I'm sure they affected him forever.

I wish that I didn't make all those plans for our future

Because now I'm living them without him.

and it just made me cry again.


I thought this was supposed to get easier. I miss him. I miss him more now than I think I did before. I've battled these demons for almost a whole year now and I felt good. I felt too good for a while and then felt bad. I've missed him emotionally, physically, financially, socially, every way I thought I could. Then I realized, I miss him being.


What is being? You know when you look over at someone and they are just there. You know when that person reaches out for your hand or kisses your cheek and you want to ask what it was for but you don't because it's just nice to have that someone there. That's being. You never ask why, it's just nice to have. It's taken for granted too many times. Being with friends and seeing the person you love across the room and thinking how lucky you are to have that person in your life. That's being. Having someone at home when you walk in the door.

My heart feels broken tonight. Nothing bad happened...I just realized how much I miss his being. I miss what we could of been. What we were. What we had. At 24 years old, I feel like I lost that and I'll never have my chance again. Too much has happened, it can never go back to the way it was.

I miss being.
 
-Nikki (04.22.2006)
 

I drove by our old house the other day.
The door was open.

A man was sitting on a wooden chair parked by the front door, smoking a cigarette in the same place you used to. I think that was our wooden chair, the one I left behind.  I wonder if he also found the piece of my heart I left behind?

or that piece of EVILBOY's playpen that I carelessly forgot in the crawlspace.

The kitchen is still yellow. I am still amazed that you knew exactly what yellow I dreamed of.  It was even more spectacular that I ever had imagined.

I was never really into surprises, but when you surprised me with that yellow I felt loved.  I felt happy and complete in our home.  Even though we didn't have it all, I sure felt like we did.

That weekend my family was throwing us a baby shower.  You stayed behind, and it never really crossed my mind that you had anything planned.  I was much too excited to see my family, and to eat cake.  I was really fat at that point and food was my weakness.

When I walked through the door after my trip, the smell of fresh paint still lingered.  You were on the couch, exhausted.  It didn't take much for you to reach your limit those days.  In fact, a few weeks after that you were in the hospital for your bone marrow transplant. The colours were perfect. The warm yellow kitchen and the pale living room and hallway.  I knew you didn't really agree with the purple, but you did it to make me happy. You painted our baby's room blue.  At the time we didn't know he was going to be a boy, but the blue you picked out was absolutely perfect either way.

Then there was the crib.  You bought our baby a crib and set it all up while I was out of town.  It was all just perfect.  I felt a little bad for not even thinking about a room for our baby.  I had plenty of other things on my mind, but once the room was set up I was in love with it.  It felt so perfect.  Your heart was in it and it didn't matter that it wasn't what I had in mind, it was just beautiful.

All these memories brought up from peering into a stranger's open door.

Funny how that works sometimes.

I entered the Mabel's Labels Show Your Bliss contest.  You should enter. Go now.  Then come back because I want to tell you about my entry. 

The contest wants a picture that shows you in your happy place.  It wasn't hard for me to think of my happy place.  It was in September 2004 on that beach with my 8-month-old son and the man that I love.  The first time one person I love felt sand between his toes, and the last time the other person I loved felt that same feeling.

This is also the last picture he ever took.

and I love it.

(even if I am hunched over like Quasimodo).


Life was perfect.

We were happy.

This was bliss.

Sometimes I try to blend in with the crowd.
Slinking in, trying to be someone unknown. 
Like one of those people on television shows who just mouth the words in the background. 

Sometimes I just want to be that person.

and it's mostly because I don't want you to see me like this. 


Sometimes I like to be the center of attention.
Sometimes I like it when you are around - just there.
Sometimes I like to put on a sumo wrestler outfit and do a dance routine.
Kind of like the ones we did in grade six. In my basement.  To "I Think We're Alone Now" by Tiffany.

and now for some reason this whole post reminds me of Saved by the Bell.

Sometimes I miss him a lot.  
Especially when his nephew graduates and he wears a little suit and tie and when he sees me he gives me a great big hug, even though his friends are all around.
The same kid that told his uncle to break up with me because I wouldn't buy him a Etch-A-Sketch.
I think of how much R. would have wanted to be there.
I complained of how much I really hated graduations and the hot rooms and the stupid speeches
but I was really just protecting my heart from hurting.

It also made me realize that I never really loved him enough while he was alive.
I didn't love him as openly as I do now that he is gone.

My advice - love now.  Don't wait.

R -

A bite of a tuna sandwich.  That was the last thing you ate. The strangest memories find me sometimes.  That would be the most recent.  Your sandwich, that you ate a bite of sometime in the middle of the night.  You ate a tuna sandwich and then a few hours later you died.  I hate tuna sandwiches anyway.

Five years later, and I'm thinking about a sandwich that you didn't even like enough to finish eating it. Out of five years, this was the first year I didn't count down to this day.       This makes me happy.  This also makes me feel guilty.


Death works in mysterious ways I guess.

On the day you died, I woke up and you were already unresponsive.  I figured you were tired, your mother said there was something wrong.  I was a stubborn 22-year-old, and I was wrong.  Your mother called the nurse to come to the house to check on you, and I took our son to daycare, preparing for another day of nurses and PSWs, just like any other day.

I told myself on the way home that if the nurses car was still in the driveway when I got home then something was wrong.  I remember holding my breath as I came around the corner, and my heart skipped three beats because the red car was there.

The rest of the day was a blur.  I remember my apologies to you.  I'm not sure if this is a tradition when someone is dying or what, but I was told to apologize to you.  So I did.  I held your unresponsive hand and I cried and simply said "I'm sorry".  I assume you understand I was actually apologizing for a lot of things.  Like the time I almost burnt down the kitchen and you burnt your hand putting out the fire, for not being able to stay up all night with you, for blaming you and for not fighting hard enough.

Two days before you died, I wanted nothing more than to leave.  I wanted to take our son and get out.  One day before you died I was in laying in your bed, our fingers intertwined, talking about our future and laughing. I had hope, I think you did too.  Life is cruel.

.


This was the first year I didn't put everything on hold to rush to the cemetery.  The place that used to bring me comfort, now just feels like another chore.  Wondering who left you flowers, wondering if anyone left you flowers, fall clean-up, spring clean-up.  I gave up on that place, because that is not you.

Today I went back for the first time in a long time.  It was raining and as I got out of the car, the rain came down harder.  Armed with flowers picked from my garden, well my old garden, tied together with string I found on the ground somewhere, I tried to find your spot.

I wandered around at first casually but I soon realized I couldn't find your stone.  The first thing I thought was that there was some sort of bill I didn't pay so they took it away.  Then I thought they might remove them after so many years.  I was just about to call your mother, when I saw your spot, you I guess, and everything was okay.  I realized I don't have to be there and things will still be okay. 

Our son didn't want to have anything to do with the cemetery, and I can't blame him.  For his age, I think this is a very common reaction.  After I found you and I set down your flowers, I looked up and see that M. had left the car and was standing in front of me.  He said he knew that you were fishing because your grave stone had a fish jumping out of water on it.  He is starting to understand that you are never coming back, but he is having a hard time understanding the little details.

I miss your voice.
I miss your hats.
I miss your hair.
I miss your annoying ideas.
I miss your Garth Brooks impressions.
I miss the mornings with you.
I miss you trying to quit smoking.
I miss your crappy taste in music.
I even miss your stupid dog sometimes.

I miss you.

-n.

Do you ever hear a song on the radio and you just stop what you're doing and your mind drifts off into a memory.  Sometimes it's a good memory, sometimes bad.

You hear about it all the time.  Couples are in a heated argument and their wedding song comes on the radio and they stop arguing immediately or you hear your dead grandmother's favourite song and it brings back good memories of homemade fudge at her kitchen table.

Today I heard a song.

It wasn't *the* song, but it was a song.  The song does have some good memories, like the time R. got up and sang karaoke with his *crazy* friend.  R. sang the woman's part.  Something he normally would never do, but he did and it was hilarious.

and then he died and his mother suggested we play that song at his funeral.

but I couldn't have that song playing.  It just didn't seem like the right one, although it reminded us of a happy time, the lyrics were just awful, and I had one in mind that just wouldn't rest.

I mean there we were sitting in the exact room that he died in, the following morning.  I was making frantic phone calls to get the hospital bed out of my house.  I wanted it gone that day.  Immediately.  That never happened, in fact it took a couple days.  Which I never understood.  I remember leaning against the wall watching them disassemble the thing and take it out piece by piece.  I don't even know why that is significant but it's one of those things I can never forget.

In case you were wondering what the offending song was, it was Picture by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow. In case you are not familiar with that song, I will post the lyrics below:"



I mostly thought about what my grandmother would think listening to a song like that at a funeral.  She probably would have fallen off of her little wheely car thingy holding her chest (she's very dramatic). 

I didn't care about flowers, I didn't care about the casket, I didn't care about what clothes he wore, but I just couldn't let this one go.  I had to pick the song.

and I chose this song:

Watch The Dance - Garth Brooks in Music  |  View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

and you're probably thinking how perfect the song is and how fitting the lyrics are.   Truth is, this was just picked from one of my favourite memories.  R. loved this song, me not so much, until now of course.  Back then it was just another one of those country songs like "my dog stole my Chevy truck and took off with my wife" kinds of songs.  Even though the song was not my cup of tea, when I was feeling down about something or angry about something, R. would put this song on and sing it to me in my face.  Literally two inches from my nose.  Close enough that I could probably count each hair in his goatee.  

He used to sing it with his fake country voice and sometimes even threw air guitar in.  Eventually I would end up laughing, and sometimes I hit him in the face because he was bugging me.  


I never realized at the time that those moments would affect me so much, or that the song would become one song that I wish to avoid for the rest of my life.  

yet I can't bring myself to delete it from my iPod. 


So that was the song I chose.  Him singing that song, waving his air guitar around my kitchen is a memory that will always make me smile and I really thought I could use that kind of thing at the funeral.  

The funeral that I don't remember other than sitting there emotionless while my 15 month old ran up and down the aisle (is that what they're called in a funeral home?).  Someone speaking, another person speaking, people crying, why wasn't I crying? Someone taking my baby.  Someone grabbing my hand, someone who sat beside me that I don't remember who it was.  


I do remember this song being played on the crackly old speakers though. 

It didn't make me smile, not that time. 

Then playing it over and over again, hoping to get that memory back.  Instead I just cried.  I tortured myself with that song for a long time.  Until I decided to take it out of my playlist (but keep it on the iPod in case I ever needed it).  

and I haven't.  


*Happy 35th Birthday.  Today you would have been really old and I would have made fun of you.  We would have had cake which you probably would have shoved in my face so hard it would go all the way up my nostrils and I would be smelling cake for a week and then you would laugh at me, the same laugh your son has only older.  Hard to believe...you would have been old.

We all have to deal with unpleasant situations. The moments that stress us out for a little while, make us bite our nails off, pull out hair or eat like a monster (if that's how you deal with that sort of thing). When your moment comes, you get the task done with sweaty palms and nervous giggles, and then it's over and you wonder what you were so worried about. That has to be the best feeling in the world. Closure.

For me, some of the most unpleasant situations I can remember is speech time. I remember my grade 6 speech had me completely frazzled. I had no idea what to talk about. I was (and still am) horribly shy and kind of the weirdo (only like not Screech weird). So the speech was the next day and I didn't have a word written down on my 3x5 cue card - not. a. word. So I cried, and my mom decided that she was going to help.

So she went and got our newest issue of Time magazine. Why we were subscribers of Time magazine, I will never know. All I know is that we had every single issue of that magazine littering our bathroom (I know....) and I don't think a single soul read the thing. It's not even like we were just subscribed for a year to get the fundraising kids selling magazines off our porch, we had that magazine every single year.

Mom went to work feverishly, writing my 6 minute speech on none other than David Koresh. So while everybody else wrote about bubblegum and fairies and sports, I stood in front of that class for 6 minutes and spoke about a criminal who killed 74 people, all so recently (or at least within that Time magazine issue time span). It didn't go very well. Not only did I not write a word of it, but neither did my mom, turns out she copied the article from the magazine (thanks mom!), changing the sentences ever so slightly so not to seem so plagiarized.

I think my grade 7 speech was about running shoes. Seemed like a safer subject.

So if you haven't guessed, I have been dealing with my own personal unpleasant situation as of late. Mason just started kindergarten for those who are just joining in on this crazy adventure. With a new school, comes having to explain that he doesn't have a father, which is never an easy task to do. I figured I had some time before they started talking about families before my little 5-year-old raised his hands and started talking about his dead father and how heaven has good food. I really wanted to save this poor teacher the awkward situation of having to hear the shocking news from the mouth of a 5 year old who has no trouble blurting it out anywhere at any time, and also with a comment on the food situation up in heaven. It can be a little awkward, especially in front of a group of 5 year olds.

I tried to tell the teacher (whom my son lovingly refers to by her last name only -sans Mrs, which I adore) when I met her the first time, but I chickened out completely. Not an easy thing to bring up when you're talking about school stuff.

Then I thought about writing a note and leaving it in his message bag for the teacher, but I remembered what happened the last time I broke that kind of news in a note and it didn't really work for me.

Mason had been in daycare for a couple months, we had put him in daycare while R. was sick. We were having a hard time coping with the nurses, PSWs and all the appointments at the cancer clinic without daycare, not to mention things were not the greatest at the house when it came to entertaining a 1 year old, and even though I didn't agree at first, it seemed like the right thing to do in the end.

The night after R. had died things became a whirlwind. Normally I would have kept Mason home with me, but there was so much to do, funeral arrangements, flowers, clothes to be buried in, stuff I never even thought of before he had died. I meant to tell the daycare teachers when I dropped him off, but I was having a hard time talking to people without bursting into tears, which I hate doing (obviously) so I wrote on Mason's sign in sheet that his father had died the night before under "Special Information" and left. Of course they called when they saw what I had wrote and I burst into tears over the phone, but it saved the awkwardness of crying in front of 10 babies and 3 teachers who I really hadn't known that long.

So writing a note just seemed a little too impersonal this time. I'm not at any risk of bursting into tears anymore, I think I'm past that stage (finally). So my plan was to tell her at the parent/teacher BBQ.

I was a nervous wreck all day long. Thinking of how I would bring up such a sensitive subject. I looked around the BBQ but couldn't find her, which made me even more nervous because if she wasn't there I would either have to write the dreaded note or set-up an interview, and fast because I just know my little blabbermouth wouldn't be able to keep that juicy tidbit of info in for long.

When we finally did see her, she greeted us with small chat. I chickened out. Again. I couldn't say it! So I decided to turn around and go in for another round. I found her again and brought up something stupid, I can't even remember now, I think it was a fact about the school or something. I almost chickened out again. In fact, she had her back turned and was walking away....and then I had a Ralphie moment.

You know, in A Christmas Story when he goes to see Santa at the department store and chickens out and can't ask for what he really wants (Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle) so he ends up agreeing to a football. When Santa's elf pushes him down the slide he crawls back up and asks for what he really wants....and that was me. I climbed back up that slide and dropped the bomb on the poor old teacher.

"Umm...I just wanted you to know that his dad died.....uhhh, you know just so you're prepared if he happens to mention that because he does and it can be awkward sometimes because he is very blunt about it but don't worry he's okay with it...."

and she looked shocked. I don't know what she thought before I told her that. I mean she must know what kids in her class are single-parent kids. I'm the only one that signs the forms. The cheques for the book orders are in my name only. I've been there 3 times, by myself. That had to of meant something.

So it did end up being a little awkward, especially when she wanted to talk about it a little more by asking if it was hard and how old he was when his dad died, and I kept my answers cold and professional, because that is how I deal with it. If I start getting mushy and soft then there would be tears, but if I just state matter-of-factly what happened, it's all okay. I guess that is just how I deal.

Maybe Mason deals with it by attributing good food to heaven. I've just become numb and that's what works for us, although it can get a little awkward at times.