Just to let you all know, this blog may be exceptionally quiet for the next week or so. I know, that’s quite alarming, but it’s a product of my slower-than-dial-up Internet access that I’m running here. Hopefully my broadband will up by next Friday at the latest. Stick with me- I have so much to say, so little 3G reception with which to say it….
All bets are off.
The further I am, psychically, from the place this happened, the more perspective I get.
Wow, this is fucked up.
All of it.
From beginning to right now.
Someone has hacked my husband’s FaceBook page, and changed his relationship status to “It’s complicated.”
Totally true. But fucking creepy, none the less.
My head stretches and twists and shakes itself. It struggles to cope with the reality of events. With the ache of missing my best friend.
With the sense of impending doom, and sweet, selfish relief, that comes with knowing you’re Different.
Because I am- we are, my children and I, different now. Not only ‘different’, changed from the Purple people we were before, but Different in every aspect.
Now, forgive me if this sounds arrogant, self-centered and childish, but I can’t help but feeling that we are outside the normal stratosphere of rules, regulations and expectations.
All bets are off. We have had to deal with this- let the rest of our lives be simple and sunshine and filled with the smell of fresh cut grass and cakes cooking. We deserve that, please.
We deserve comfort and love and pleasure in small things. And it’s difficult for the world to give that sometimes, there never seems to be enough of it. So I will be selfish, and I will make sure we have those things, those little mercies that make surviving this pain easier.
It angers me intolerably when people try to embarrass or shame my three year old son about still having a dummy (pacifier) or not yet being toilet trained. Yes, perhaps three is too old for a dummy, but the Chop is no longer a normal three year old.
He’s a three year old who is grieving deeply for his father, his best mate… and probably his place in the Purple Life too. And if a dummy is what it takes to quell his anxieties, to make this transition a little easier, then so be it. Leave the poor kid alone.
Everyone was so concerned about the violence and ferocity of the chop’s tantrums, in the weeks after Tony died. I was blamed for them, for not being there with him.
The tantrums continue- kicking, screaming fits of fury.
I sit near him, and wait, then I hold my arms open and talk softly to him as the screams become sobs.
What else can I do, what else would I do, when I feel like throwing myself on the ground and screaming just as much as he does?
I’ve been accused of acting like a six year old, of being an irresponsible parent, because I do drop my kids if I get the chance. If I’ve had them, alone, all week, and dealt with the tantrums, the requests, the crying…. The discussions of where Daddy is, and when he’s coming home… then I do run off the first chance I get, as soon as they are settled and comfortable with a responsible relative.
Why the hell wouldn’t I? Why would I want to be an adult, when I have half the chance not to be? Being an adult, dealing with all this- it’s some scary shit.
And, yeah, I know, welcome to the world of being a parent.
Making excuses? You bet your arse I am. I don’t plan to use this as an excuse, or let my kids use it an excuse, for whatever happens, whatever goes wrong in the future.
But right now, while the grief is so fresh, while it’s all still so difficult… I’ll take all I can get. I’ll make life as easy, as sweet, as rich as possible, for myself and my two kidlets, for as long as it takes- until life is a new kind of normal, until the hurt starts to recede again.
If that’s what it takes to cushion the fall.