I took the boys to get their hair cut tonight. Of course, the last time they got haircuts you were alive. You weren't with us, but you were alive.
I don't like these kind of milestones, and they happen every day. First haircut after Neil, first time we eat at Bandana's after Neil (we still haven't).
Tonight as the boys and I were going to bed, I glanced at your desk in our room. Your blue checkered shirt, still dirty from the last time you wore it that week, still laying on the desk with the other piles of clothes. I should really wash it, put those clothes away in your closet.
I'm just not ready to do that yet.
Those shirts, almost all blue. Almost all checkered of some kind. They are so you I can barely stand it. That last month, you put away your own clothes for the first time since I'd met you. That last week, you brought your clean clothes up and laid them on the desk.
As I lay down with the boys, I felt a pressure around my head. My body, kind of pressing in on itself.
It's called panic. It was rising in me tonight.
If I have a goddamned nervous breakdown I am going to blame it on you, Neil.
You don't know me, but I wanted to let you know that I'm here, thinking about you, and hoping to help you avert that panic.
ReplyDeleteI have no words of wisdom, but how about a compliment?
You are a magnificently brave, strong, woman, mother, and human being. You will get through this, you know that. It's the getting through that sucks.
Know that people care about you, even perfect strangers.
Amen, Lisa.
ReplyDelete