It's weird - I don't consider myself obsessed with my husband's death, but maybe I am. Or maybe this is something that other people do, too.
When I hear a song on the radio, I often think, "This came out before/after Brad died." Memories of the kids when they were toddlers - was he there or wasn't he? What did he see and what did he miss?
There are a million different things that make me think of him, whether he was there for them or not.
It usually doesn't make me sad - it's like a reflex. It just pops into my head.
2007 is some sort of dividing line, like B.C. and A.D.
Did people back then think, "Oh, yeah. This hymn came out after Christ died"?
I don't know.
Sadness is a funny thing, especially when you don't know what you're sad about.
I've had that issue the last few days with my son. He's turning 12 this week and has admitted to being a little weepy and doesn't know why. Last night he came to my room, his eyes blinking at a rapid pace trying to keep the tears at bay, telling me he was sad and he didn't know why.
I knew why. He was exhausted from spending every weekend away from home taking snowboarding lessons. And as much fun as that is...it hasn't allowed for a lot of down time.
And no Mom/son time. Which we both desperately needed.
Dear Middle School,
I'm sorry when I only told you a half-truth this morning when I said my son wasn't feeling well. He wasn't himself, but it wasn't physical. He and I just needed a day.
It's the eve of his birthday and he wanted a shrimp po' boy (check) and to walk around Best Buy to look at stuff (check and cha-ching). And at the end of the day he looked much better.
I, on the other hand, started to feel sad.
It's always around the kids' birthdays that I start missing their dad; he's missing another important milestone. As we left Best Buy today, I started thinking out loud about all of the technology that has changed since Michael's dad has been gone.
"Your dad would have loved all of this," I said. "Smart phones, internet wherever you go...so many gadgets have changed since he's been gone."
My son, your student, smiled at me indulgently.
"I think the two of you would have us in some major debt right now," I said, smiling at him. "Or you two would be refurbishing stuff in our basement and we'd be millionaires. Either way, we would be in a tiny house with a five car garage for all of your projects."
He didn't say much. Maybe I was wrong to voice what I was thinking. I hope not. All I know is that now he looks 100% better and I'm the one fighting tears.
Is there anyone in your office who can excuse me from parenting? I think I need a day.