Reset

The last couple of weeks have been rough. After Michael’s accident we had family members flying all over the place, which my anxiety really didn’t like (especially when it involved putting my 72-year-old father on a plane for a 24-hour trip to Australia). He got there all right, but then Michael passed away and we started an overwhelming game of Should We or Shouldn’t We Go to Australia for the Funeral.

We didn’t go.

It was agonizing. I couldn’t imagine not going, and yet I couldn’t quite figure out how we’d make it work either. I’ve been so sick so far this pregnancy that a 24-hour trip seemed like the World’s Worst Idea. I could have gone, of course, and would have, but we also didn’t want to totally overwhelm everyone by showing up a day before the funeral with a three-year-old in tow.

In the end, we decided we will be the second wave of support and go down in a few weeks (with my other sister) when things have calmed down and my sister and brother-in-law are trying to adjust to their new normal. In the meantime, we’ve sent texts and messages—by the hundreds, it seems—and if waves of love can reach that far they’ll have had an ocean’s worth.

Now the funeral is done. Friends and family have spoken words of love and Michael’s school mates formed an honour guard for him as he left the cemetery. Those of us here have had our own moment to remember him and we now exist in that space between blessed closure and enduring disbelief. We continue to ask why, but an answer never comes.

Until today, half of my family was in Australia (more than half, actually). My brother also went for a quick down-and-back to help my dad and youngest sister travel comfortably home. (Working for an airline has its benefits.) Much to everyone’s relief, they’re just arriving home after another 24-hour trip in a very short span of time.

There is no pause button in this life. And try as I might, I haven’t been able to find any sort of rewind button either. So for the moment, I have chosen to hit reset. Instead of being in perpetual limbo—waiting for what?—I declared Easter weekend a weekend to go out of town. We got out of the house, where we’ve been sitting waiting for the phone to ring or the next text message to wing its way across the world, and spent some time in the mountains.

More on that later, but in the meantime I’ll say this: It helped.

Canadian-Rockies

Recruited to Sluiter Nation

I’ve been recruited!

One of the first women I came across who blog about PPD is Katie Sluiter from Sluiter Nation. Katie just had her second baby (and she’s doing great) and I’m happy to help her fill a slot in her blog calendar with a guest post today.

While you’re there, take some time to browse around and read Katie’s words, which are lovely, and see her boys, who are adorable.

Come on over!

 

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Mom, we need to have a talk

I got a talking-to the other day.

Connor was picking up the cards from his memory game when we heard a noise from the kitchen where my husband was making dinner. A barking spider, or at least that’s what it sounded like.

I was playing around on the computer at the time and mindlessly remarked, “Uh oh.” (An appropriate response when someone farts, I’d argue.)

Connor got very serious. He came over and told me we needed to have a talk as soon as he was finished picking up his cards. I knew I was in for it.

When he was done, he came right over.

“Mom,” he said as he sat down and gave a big sigh.

“Yes?” I answered, looking quite as serious as the occasion warranted.

“When Daddy farts, don’t say ‘uh oh.’ That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘Say “excuse me.”‘ Because if you say ‘uh oh’ that’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

I glanced over and saw my husband eavesdropping. Right at that moment he turned away to hide his laughter. I remained composed, listening attentively to my son’s earnest correction.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m so glad we had this talk.”

He gave me one last serious look and walked away.

What do you know? Apparently he does sometimes listen after all.

Minus One

Rest in peace, Michael. You are so, so loved.

 

Thank you, friends, for all your kind words of support.

On Life, Loss and the Universe’s Math

My nephew Michael was born a little while after my Nana passed away in the early 90s. I remember at the time thinking it was an odd minus-one, plus-one situation. Some sort of weird cosmic math where one is taken away to make room for another.

When I was pregnant with Connor, my cousin took her own life. It was shocking. Horrifying. But, maybe because of the overlap (I was already pregnant), that time I didn’t think about the math.

Yesterday, Michael was in a serious car accident and he’s now in a coma. He and his family—my sister—live in Australia and they feel so very far away. They are so very, very far away. And I sit here, three months pregnant, feeling helpless and wondering why the universe seems to require things to be just so perfectly balanced.

Michael is young, having just finished high school. He’s smart, athletic, and cute. He’s also a really, really nice kid. Why does he have to have his life threatened when others are allowed to live on and contribute nothing to the world except pain and anguish? Why does that perfectly balanced math have to come from within my own family?

It just makes me think. Connor climbed into bed with me early this morning, curving his small body into mine. He was restless, though, as was I after a night of lying awake and wondering about things bigger than I that I don’t understand. My small boy pressed his cool cheek against mine and rubbed my wrist. I felt his soft hair and his little fingers and the in-and-out of his quiet breathing.

I kept him with me there in the quiet darkness of a day not yet begun and wondered how I can keep him safe. But I can’t. Ultimately—ironically, unfairly—none of us can do that for our children.

We just have to hope the universe isn’t quite so picky with the math.

footprints_beach