Swimming

I’m not a good swimmer.  You were the swimmer in the family.  You could put on a snorkel mask and disappear under the floating houseboat down at the lake for what seemed like hours, it scared me to death. 

I was on a plane to Dallas tonight and I saw a beautiful picture of two ladies snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef.  My mind jumped to when the boys are older.

I can take them on a snorkeling vacation.

And then my brain, she turned. She suddenly imagined a disaster, the three of us out snorkeling alone with no help, C struggling to swim or G needing help and it just being me. Trying to keep them calm, trying to get us all to shore.

I have to teach them how to swim, Neil. I know that. I just don’t want to. I want you to be doing that.

As I was leaving the house I thought maybe I should warn my mom that the bedroom is going to be very bright tomorrow morning. 

On account of me climbing the walls during a night terror last night, and tearing the drapes and brackets out of the wall.  I think I was trying to escape the house? I don’t remember, that’s the worst part about night terrors.  It’s the first one I’ve had since you died. 

Yes, I took my sleeping pill.  But I can’t take Ambien, I have to be able to wake up and function if the kids need me. So I take a little Lunesta, just to fall asleep.  I guess it wasn’t enough.

Tonight I’ll be in a hotel. I hope I don’t tear the drapes off their windows and try to escape.

I’m glad I stopped at the drapes.  That’s when I woke up.  You used to wake me, or rather when I woke you you’d yell at me to go back to sleep.

I never had night terrors before I met you. I never had them until I started struggling with your demons, or you started struggling with them. When are they going to go away?

So yeah, it’s been a shitty weekend.