Tuesday, January 17, 2012

From Where You Are

It's a typical morning for me.

I wake up next to a head of black hair- but it's not yours.  It's your daughter's.  She's been terrified of sleeping alone lately and every night is a battle.  Because she has such a hard time going to sleep, she sleeps late and I have to wake her up for preschool.  "Wake up honey."  Even without remembering them specifically, I know I've been dreaming of you and of us all night long.  I am tired from it and it leaves a bitter taste behind.

Quick breakfast, getting hair, teeth brushed.  In the car.  In the school parking lot, a friend of Audrey's runs to her and gives her a hug, unfortunately knocking her down on the wet pavement.  Her pants are soaked through.  Inside the school room, I go to get her spare pants and change them.  Before I leave, she insists I talk to her teacher about her fear of fairy tales.  I do and her teacher tells me that she knows what it's in reference to specifically and that some of the kids play "monster" and Audrey bursts into tears.  I tell Audrey they won't be playing that today, give her a kiss, and head out.

Today I head to the local Starbucks since I only have a couple of hours before she's through and we don't live that close by.  I bring my computer, my notebook with all of my to-do lists and a big binder of ideas for things to do with Audrey.  I keep my coat on.  It's drafty at my table by the window.

My emails consist of writing back and forth to the realtor who is helping me find a home.  Emailing my parents to see if they can babysit.  Emailing between a medical center here and my contact at the US Embassy in Switzerland- still a year and a half later and a ton of back and forth and obtaining letters and certificates and faxes,  trying to secure your "tissue" that they've held there for further genetic testing.  Still wondering what the f--k happened and doing so at the recommendation of the pediatric cardiologist Audrey saw at her pediatrician's recommendation to rule out any genetic heart defect- since- we really don't know what happened to you my sweet husband.

After that putting up a few things on Craigs List that I've finally taken proper photos of.  Audrey's old crib mattress- her stroller - her booster seat.  These haven't been used for a while and are leaning up on walls in my room or in a stuffed closet in our one bedroom apartment.  In the posting, "used by one child for about two years."  One child.  I take a long look at the photo of the stroller- the stroller I can see you pushing Audrey in- see us walking together along the river path...back when we were just a young family.

Three listings done on Craigs List- I have a lot more to do.

My parking meter will run out in a few minutes- time to go get our daughter.

Life feels hard and every thing I do infused with this sadness and tragedy.  I miss you tremendously.  Mostly, I miss you simply being alive- but I realize lately- I really miss your love and support as well- in this, what I hope is the most challenging time of my life.  If you can, send me some help from where you are.   I love you.

2 comments:

  1. I wonder about that with matt's son too - because I don't know what actually happened to cause the actual drowning, if it was heart attack or stroke or something not medical.
    What a bizarre bizarre world this is that we have need of these kinds of thoughts and questions.

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  2. I believe he will send you some help. I believe I have received the guidance I needed when I asked for it, so I'm hoping for you too that you get what you need.

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