Monday, June 28, 2010

2 am

It is 2 am and my daughter has a fever of 104. I am freaking out, exhausted and freaking out some more. I know there are people out there I can call and won’t hate me at 2 am, like my mother, my sister and a handful of friends. It isn’t the same. I am holding back tears because I wish you were here to help me – or at the very least, here to tell me there is nothing to worry about. But you aren’t here and it makes the moment ten times worse – at least in my frazzled sleep deprived worrisome mind.

I give her more Tylenol and then get a cold compress to wash her down. She is in great spirits for such a high fever. She is talking and babbling away, about who knows what. I am just smiling and focusing on getting her fever down. I am not sure what she is saying until she says – “Mommy are you going to die before me or after me?” Really I am thinking - I can’t even begin to figure out how to answer this question – and did I mention it was now 2:30 am and I just want to cry.

I look at her and say I am not going to die for a very long time and you don’t need to worry about that right now – would you like some juice? If she were older I may not have gotten away with not really answering her question – but thank goodness she is only four and juice is golden.

Saturday I took the kids into the city to take your eldest son out to lunch at the diner. He is leaving soon and I don’t know how many times we will see him. I took him to the one place where we always went with you. It was nice. I didn’t feel like I could take him anywhere else and wasn’t really worried about you not being there. The kids love spending time with him and there is always so much chaos in a small diner. To be honest I didn’t get the chance to feel sad that you weren’t there. It may have been the nicest Saturday ever so far.

I sat across from all your children eating the meal you would have ordered and I just looked at our children. I am amazed at how much they have grown and changed since you have died. I wonder if you would even recognize them now. They are such different people from nine months ago. Partly worse, partly better but still quite different.

Our daughter still has a fever. It is going on day four. I am taking care of her all on my own. I am worrying about her and watching her and still you haven’t come through the door to help. Today at some point I stared at the coffee pot and was just stunned by your death – yet again. Somehow it still feels like it didn’t happen. Like this is all just some mistake. There are just moments that I really have a hard time really believing you actually took your own life.

I went to the supermarket with our sick child as we all still need groceries and to get more Tylenol. The deli lady saw me and came right over. Are you dating yet? she asked me. I laughed at her and said no. I truly find it funny that people expect me to bounce right back into what? – A normal life again. I am still thinking you are coming home to me – some how some way. The very idea of me dating just sounds like a bad joke.

People are still very kind to me and the children – generous, understanding and helpful. I am letting friends and family help me more – though it is hard. I have come to the conclusion that I really can’t do everything all by myself. I hate this and am frustrated by the concept of needing others. When once you and I were able to never have to ask for help. Maybe that was our problem – you and I should have asked for help sooner – maybe you would still be alive if you had just asked me.

I am hoping to not see the clock at 2 am today. I am hoping the fever goes away soon. Summer vacation starts today and you are not here to revel in the new chaos that is beginning.

But every day is a new adventure in our lives – some bad some pretty good. I am trying to rid myself of the guilt I feel when something makes me happy. Quite possibly I owe it to you to feel happy again – to feel that which you cannot. At the very least, I truly owe it our children.

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