Barking Mad

What Is Bliss?

Real

Genuine

Bliss

Looks

Like

This...

Bliss is getting to see my daughter for the first time in almost two years, and getting to meet my granddaughter for the first time ever!

That right there is bliss.

And happiness.

And joy!

 

 

The Devil is in the Details!

Keeping Meg's upcoming visit a complete and total secret from Gaby has been damned near impossible!  We're still working out the details but as of this point in time, here's the basic scenario.  Meg's flight arrives in Boston late Wednesday night.  I go, pick her up, and hide her until Thursday morning after Gaby has already left for school.  I bring Meg and Kennedy back to the house Thursday morning and Meg dresses in her Air Force ABU's and we head to the school at noon while Gaby is in a combined (there are two or three other classes with her when she takes gym) gym class, and where one of her gym teachers is a Air National Guard Sgt.    Meg will walk in and surprise Gaby.   It's a given that once that cat is out of the bag, there's no way Gaby will be able to spend the rest of the day at school.    I can guarantee she will not want to let her big sister or her niece, who she's meeting for the first time ever (as am I - but I'll have an 18 hour jump start on her!), out of her sight. 

As far as trying to keep Gaby in complete darkness about all of this plotting, scheming, and suprirsing,  we're finding that to be extrememly difficult!  Gareth and I (or is it "me"?  I think it's "me" but it sounds really off. Now is not the time for my ADD-riddled brain to go off on a tangent of "I" vs. "me") find ourselves saying something about her and Kennedy's (squeeeeeee! And my brand new lens came just in time!) trip back home to the states, IN FRONT OF GABY, and stopping mid-sentence and having to make something up, pull something out of thin air before we let the proverbial cat out of the bag! 

For instance, Gareth was standing in the kitchen drying dishes and I was sitting on the sofa folding freshly laundered clothing and I said, "It's going to be a miracle if I can get all this laundry done before The Queen of England and that gorgeous itty bitty cutie pie come to stay with us."

Gaby, who was sitting at the coffee table doing lines writing "I will not talk back to mommy and daddy." 25 times, piped up and said, "The QUEEN OF ENGLAND IS COMING TO VISIT US? Daddy, that's your Queen of England?  She's gonna be in OUR house?  HERE?  To see US?  And our cats?"

That's pretty much how some of our conversations have been going lately.   Another, potentially amusing "for instance" goes something like this:

"Gareth, I'm running out to the store to pick up some diapers, baby formula and organic baby food.  Be back in a few!"  Meg's flight gets in pretty late on Wednesday night and I don't want to have to stop so she can pick those things up, on the way home.    Having them on hand will hopefully make things easier on her.

Of course, the small child known as Gaby comes running to the door as I'm about to leave and exclaims, "Diapers!  Baby food! Why are you getting those?   Who are they for?"  

I looked at her, picked my jaw up off of the floor and said, "Well you know, I might be asked to babysit and it would be a good idea to have those things on hand just in case."   

Gaby's fairly intelligent and she continues her inquisition, "Mommy, who has a baby that you're going to babysit?  There are no babies around here!"   

I thought about it for a moment, and thankfully remembered that there is in fact a 6-month old who is the little sister of someone that Gaby cheers with.   I grinned at Gaby and said, "You never know when Miss Cassandra might need to run an errand and ask me to watch Eva for her.  So, I'll have this stuff on hand in case!"   

Gaby's little brain immediately went into overdrive and she took things a step further.  She started jumping up and down and in a singsong voice exclaimed,  "Yayyyy that means Kiera Kiera Kiera is gonna come over for a playdate playdate playdate and we're going to demolish my bedroom play with Barbies and Legos in my bedroom and dance and practice our routines routines routines!"  

Um, Cassandra, you wanna plan that playdate we've been talking about forever? 

**********

Planning all the details of Meg's visit, dealing with the devil in those same details, fighting yet another round of the barfs, getting myself back on track physically and emotionally (more to come in the Emotional Fat series.  It never ceases to surprise me that this is a battle I'll be waging the rest of my life!), Gaby having two back-to-back competitions in the last two weeks, and trying to get the house ready for My daughter and gra...gran...the spawn of my spawn (People, cut me some slack!  Do I even look like I am old enough to have a granddaughter? Yes I am vain! ), I've had no time to write.  Not only that, but I sort of look at the blog like something yummy that I can't have until I get everything else done.  I feel really guilty if I sit down to write (and that includes two book outlines and a couple of freelance projects that aren't due until April!) if there's anything else that is not taken care of around the house.  

It's a sickness I tell you!

I'll be back out here Thursday (maybe before if I can manage to make the house look like hoarders haven't taken over! Whoever said, "Having a tiny house is so much easier to keep tidy!" was a lying liar who lies!) with loads of pictures of the most adorable grandspawn you've ever seen!    Until then, here's a cute picture of my very own little spawn, holding the 2nd place trophy that her team won at one of the recent competitions.   Poor Gaby still isn't used to that make-up and is always looking under her eyelids!  

 

By the way, Gaby has asked me to tell all of my blog readers, all three of you, that all she wants for Valentine's Day is her two front teeth . . . and the missing one on the bottom!   I'm assuming she'll take her teeth in place of all that chocolate she was looking forward to.  Or not.

The Red Sleeper

22 years. 

It will be 22 years in August since Joshua was killed. 

That seems like such a long number.   22 years is the average age that a person graduates college.   22 years is a good long time to be married - still married, by today's standards.   22 years is two decades plus two years.  TWO DECADES.    When I say it that way it seems foolish that the pain I'm in today is as fresh as it was 22 years ago when the neurosurgeons, in their slate blue gowns, masks lowered around their chins, and with what I can only assume were spatterings of Joshua's blood on their gowns, let us know that he didn't survive surgery.  They were unable to stop the bleeding.

I started today  with the best of intentions. I wanted to "Christmastize" our home.  Gaby spent another day recovering from pink eye (and checking my eyes intermittently to make sure I didn't have it!) and I thought it would be great to pal around with her, decorate, bake cookies and watch holiday videos.    It wasn't until I pulled some clothing out of my chest of drawers,  that my hands brushed against a little sleeper of Joshua's that I still have, and will forever keep near to me until I close my eyes one last time . . .

My former husband "M", Joshua's father, has two older sisters who are twins.  Lisa and Lori.   They bought the sleeper for Joshua for his first Christmas (as well as so much other stuff!  They doted and loved on that baby boy.  They really adored him.) and then adorned it with cute puff fabric paint.   I can't tell you how many times I washed it after he destroyed it - or so I thought, with baby food and spit-up, and it still looks - nearly 24 years later, great!   It's a beautiful little piece of Joshua, and I treasure it. 

All it took was for my hand to brush against the fabric and to see the bright color so reminiscent of Christmas itself to send me slumping to the floor in a heap of salty tears.  I felt like my heart was breaking into a million tiny shards of glass, all over again.   Blessedly, Gaby was not yet awake and I had some time to just lay on the floor, clutching that tiny sleeper close to my heart and breathing deep - hoping maybe it still retained a bit of the smell of him.

Like many parents who have lost a child, the holidays and birthdays can be difficult.  Some years are harder than others.   While I don't remember last year being especially bad, for some reason this year the grief has come anew in waves of Hell that washed over me again and again today.   I thought about Joshua being an awesome Uncle to little Kennedy and Aiden and it made the tears sting just a bit more.    He's missing out on so much right now.     I picture him coming through the door for the holidays, maybe bringing a special someone with him, teasing his younger brothers, Skyping with his little sister as she serves her country overseas with the USAF (I know he'd be so incredibly proud of Meg!), and doting on that beautiful little girl of hers from afar.    I imagine him wrapping his big, strong, arms around me in a huge bear hug, winking his beautiful brown eyes at me as I tousle his blonde curly hair, and then he'd lean down and grab his "baby" sister Gaby, tease her about her own blonde  curly locks and then remind her that brown eyes are surely the most beautiful in the world. 

I daydream about Joshua being a great uncle to not only Kennedy, but to Zach's little boy, Aiden.   He'd try to make sure Zach was following a safer path in life and then shoot the breeze with both of his little brothers about whatever was going on in their lives.    Then he'd come back into the kitchen, survey all of the holiday baking and merry making, steal a few cookies and then grab his brothers for a game of football in the back yard.

I opened my eyes and sat up, and instead of watching my boys playing football in the back yard, I stared down at the empty red sleeper . . . the one that used to hold the little boy who was supposed to grow into a strapping young man, who should have been out in the backyard, eating cookies, and tossing a football with his brothers.

Gaby began to stir and I could hear her sing to one of her bedtime lovies and I knew I needed to pull it together lest she see me crumpled on the floor, a heap of despair and pain.    I rubbed the soft material of the sleeper against my face, folded it ever so gently, and then placed it back in the drawer.    I started to close the drawer and my breath caught and another painful lump formed in my throat.   A gruesome image formed in my head- of an act - one that I could never bring myself to physically do (although my former husband did it several times before Joshua was interred in the cold hard ground...something that still upsets me to this day) - the act of closing the coffin one last time.    I felt like I was closing the drawer on Joshua forever.   

Between Joshua's (closed coffin) visitation and his final burial, my former husband kept opening the coffin to look at him, and touch him.   I could never bring myself to do that.  I saw him one time in the mortuary, in his coffin, before the funeral.  It was after the mortician had done what he could with my poor baby's broken body.   I tucked his favorite blanket around him, and his beloved Mickey Mouse inside the crook of his arm, and brushed my hand across his cheek.    It didn't feel like him.  I hate that I am actually putting these thoughts to physical words, but the act of touching him scared me.   There was something horrible and awful about touching that precious little boy and I have forever hated myself for feeling that way.  

"M" opened the coffin a couple of times and he'd describe to me the state of Joshua's body.   I hated him for that.   While the image of him lying in his soft blue satin and oak coffin in not what's remained with me all these years, the words "M" used to describe him, have.    He went into such detail about closing the coffin that one last time that it made me physically ill.    Closing the drawer on that little red sleeper this morning felt like the same thing . . .closing the coffin forever.

I wanted this holiday season to be so different.   I challenged myself to not complain once during the month of December, to always keep a positive attitude, and then today hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.   I don't know why I can go seemingly months, or even years without this pain being so excruciating, and then out of nowhere it feels like it might consume me.

It's been almost 22 years since he died, but today?  Today it feels like day 1.

I miss what was.   I miss what could have been but never will be.

Most of all?   I simply miss Joshua.