Friday, October 19, 2012

Where have you been?

It's been a while since I've been here adding words. I've opened this page to see what other mamas I read are doing. I've thought about writing again, but then I think of all that has happened in the month plus since I last wrote and there are so many things I should have said.

I should have told you about Kathleen's first day of school and about the day I watched her through the secret window and saw her standing hands in pockets not doing anything, not talking to anyone and my belly lurched and my heart ached as I begged her silently not to be shy, feeling years of my own fears and struggle welling up. And I could tell you that she seems to be settling in and that I need to relax and trust her to make her way.

I could have told you about having coffee with one of the preschool moms and not realizing she didn't know about Henry and about telling her and how it wasn't as awful as it has been as I dread it being.

I should have told you about how I finally signed up for and started a writing class and how I love this time that I carve out for me and the energy I haven't felt in so long that wells up in me as I get words out. And that makes me think I should share some of those words with you and maybe I will, but not today.

I should have told you how my mother-in-law died almost two weeks ago and how I heard her and my sister-in-law laughing as if somebody left a window to the next world open. And how I felt Henry's energy zooming around with them.

I should have told you that Brian and I celebrated our seventh anniversary, despite all those dire warnings about divorce rates when we had a baby born with health issues, and the equally dire warnings after he died. And too that my mother-in-law died on that anniversary, but that Brian still got me a card and flowers.

I could have told you that because of the funeral, we missed the Buddy Walk, a walk we've done since the year after Henry died. And how my sister emailed the organizer and asked her to give each team a red heart balloon so Henry could be represented, and they did.

I could tell you the three trees that we had taken down this week by our barn and how different our yard feels. I could tell you that I'm having as much fun as Kathleen walking and balancing on the cut trunks, jumping from stump to downed limb for now, until we cut it up for fire wood.

I could tell you that I'm settling in for fall and thinking about the fires that will make the house cozy this winter. How everything but the mums and asters have died down in Henry's garden.

And underlying all of it my own wondering what I'm doing here, what I want this space to be, how much I want to tell you about Kathleen and Elizabeth. And I don't have answers to that. But here I am, and since I'm here I'll tell you too that I was visiting a friend and with her reminder, her son brought out the heart shaped stone he found on the Cape this summer. It's a lovely, tiny one and its up on my Henry shelf with the last little flowers from the garden and my mizuko jizo from Angie and my cardinal stone from Erika and the cardinal from Tricia and it made me smile on this gray and rainy rainy day.


  1. Hmmm I often have a similar internal debate with myself. What precisely am I doing here and is it fair to write about my living children as they are getting older? I just don't know. I wish I had taken more steps to remain anonymous but I did not have any foresight.

    I felt like I was standing right next to you, watching Kathleen, willing her on. I went through periods of being intensely shy as a child and it has plagued my adult life too. I'm glad that she is settling in and I hope that she will make her own unique little way along in the world. It's hard to let them go. I'm really struggling with J being in school (although if there is one child that I don't have to worry about being in the slightest bit shy like her mother it is Ms. J!)

    I still haven't told any of the other mothers about the twins. It just seems too sad and unexpected and I can't get the words out. So I just them let them wonder about J.

    I'm so very sorry to read that your mother in law passed away. But that glimpse, of the laughter and Henry zooming about, that filled my heart up to bursting point. I hope it is so.

    I would love to read any writing that you care to share x

  2. Catherine, it's hard to have foresight when you're grieving. I sure didn't have any. I've always been somewhat guarded about my girls, though I sometimes wish I had been more so and sometimes wish I didn't worry so much. I have a false sense of anonymity.