October 31, 2009

UNPREPARED

"Mommy, why did Sophia's Dad die?"  Sophia is Scout's friend at preschool who lost her dad to suicide at the age of three. I could see and feel myself drop to my knees in my minds eye. The sensation that ran through me was foreign.  I hadn't planned on answering questions relating to death, not to a three year old. Not now.  I opened my mouth... and it all came pouring out. "Honey, Sophia's Dad was really sick. He died because he was really sick" I tried to explain.  "But why he died" Scout asked again. Bob chimed in; "honey, Sophia's Daddy was very, very sick. He died because he was so sick."  Scout still pondered.  Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over.  "But why he died?" She was being persistent.

I let it go... fast and furious it poured out of my mouth. "Honey, we ALL die. It is just part of life. We ALL die." I could HEAR Bob's eyes burning through me.  And I kept going.  "Sophia's Daddy died... but you are so very lucky to have YOUR Daddy."

Scout was sucking her binky and her eyes so very tired.  It was edging upon 10:00 p.m. far past her bedtime.
"Why we ALL die?" She continued.  I backpedaled.   "It's okay honey, you are so lucky to have your Daddy! Sophia is sad, isn't she? She misses her Daddy, and we all just have to be thankful."

What  in the hell am I doing?  I am telling a 3 year old that WE ALL DIE!  I hate myself for this.  She doesn't need to know this yet.  My reasoning was this:  I want to be honest and upfront with her about life. I swore I would.  But not about this. Not now.

"But where did he go"  Scout asked.

Now how do I explain this?

"He went up to heaven honey, he is in the sky.  People go to heaven when they die."  I hate myself for saying this. I don't believe this nor does it have any meaning to a 3 year old.  "He floated up to the sky!" I said with reverence! The hole I was digging was just getting deeper.

And that was it.  Tears were streaming down my face.  "Why you crying Mommy" Scout asked concerned.  Why am I crying? I am kicking myself inside.  I'm losing control of this conversation and I know Bob is upset with me for blurting out "We ALL die."  I'm upset with me to.

"It's okay honey, I'm just sad for Sophia not having a Daddy.  But Sophia is so lucky to have you as a friend Scout! And you are so lucky to have a Mommy and Daddy and we both love you so much!"

And as fast and furious as the conversation started, it was over. I felt broken. How, on earth do we tell our babies about death and sickness, pain and suffering?  Or do we?  How much are we supposed to protect them from the difficult realities of life?  Part of my comittment to telling my children 'straight up' is that my parents were SO brilliant at keeping my brother and I "protected."  It was magical how they protected us. did a left us; and it left us unprepared for *real life.*  I don't resent it. I just imagined I would do it a bit different.

And now, I can't take it back.

We all DIE... this is true.  That reality alone makes me choke up.  And I am angry with myself that I couldn't be more clever and discerning with Scout. More prepared. More sensitive.

This conversation happened on my 36th birthday - right as I had been thinking about my own mortality and not being around for my children. The worst, very worst possible thought of missing them, growing and changing and navigating through this life.  

We have no guarantees... this I know. But I am hanging on as tight a I can, trying to soak up every minute, good, bad and indifferent. Because... this is ALL we get. This ONE life. Because we ALL DIE... and every minute counts.  And my children taught me this.

October 12, 2009

MASSIVE


The world that has opened up as a result of my children is extreme in every way. It feels as if I have unlocked a door that has never been opened; I see colors that I have never seen.

The pitch of their screams pricks my ears up and registers a heartbeat that could literally bounce from my chest.  When they laugh, I am elevated. When they hurt, I feel their pain in places I didn't know existed. When they learn I sometimes feel as though I see their beautiful wings spreading and I want to explode from joy and sadness at the same time.

The parenthood experience is massive. 


Scout is like a miniature teenager girl.  She knows what she wants. She is bitchy. She is darling and wild. She slams doors. She pouts.  She isn't confident in her ability to tell people what she needs. She is hilarious and sweet.  And this is all before 8:00 a.m.  She challenges every part of my being every single day.  She forces my sweeter side out and brings Daddy's tougher side up.  How can one, little girl do this? She is amazing.



Sawyer is talking with no words and smiling out loud.  His dimples make my heart sing.  He is still an innocent baby.  Sure to grow into his own and challenge us in ways we have yet to see.  His innocence is part of what I adore about babies. They are not from this world.  He has just hit the mark where he is becoming more demanding and vocal. He wants to do things now.  He has expectations.

When I say 'Bending Through Motherhood' I mean it.  I have to duck, rise, bend, form, gel, stretch, blend, grow.  I am so glad for this.

Without this parenthood experience I wonder what kind of person I would be now? I am so thankful for the challenges and the yoga that has to be performed in order to be Scout and Sawyer's mom.  Stretching oneself, I hear is a good thing.

I am stretching.... reaching.... and with them I do see the *stars* and the so-called-fairy tales are alive.