Last night I put the child to bed.
He got up again, as is his way at the moment, and wanted to talk to me about Richard. He always calls him Richard, always has from as soon as he could say it. For a long time it was "Richit" and I miss those days of small family.
Anyway, he wanted to talk about Rich, and so he snuggled onto my lap. He said he'd been thinking. He'd been thinking about all the great things we did. We talked, and he remembered....
going to Landrover shows
walking in town.
"You smell the most."
Rich holding him upside down by his feet and playing
the swimming pool
playing World of Warcraft.
There were others, but just for those moments, there was less pain in our remembering, and more joy and love. I suppose every journey, whether real or metaphysical, starts with a small step like this.
I spoke to AB afterwards, and we talked about the day. How beautiful this moment had been, and how much I'd needed that after the day of someone bringing their new nad beautiful twins in to school, (one boy, one girl) and how one of the TA's had told me that at nearly 35 my child-rearing days were probably over. I cried. In school. Because truth hurts.
No-one saw me. It was ok. Kinda. And she didn't mean it nastily, she was just thinking on the outside. I know how that feels, I've done it so many times.
I had flowers today as well, from Mandy at school. They had a note on the outside. "For Sunday. Because it's still shit."
She's right. But it's small steps towards a less bad existence. He won't be coming back. I saw his body, and the second time he didn't really look like him, not his whole face. It was his nose, his mouth, his eyes, his ears, but altogether, not his face. I can't explain it really. But it wasn't. That helped.
The weekend looms, and it should be quite nice.
Dinner out tonight, then back and gaming tomorrow, and church on Sunday, and sewing and prep all afternoon.
It will all be fine.
I won't have it any other way.