The house is quiet. It’s Monday morning, 8:30 a.m., and I have way too much to accomplish today. I really shouldn’t be sitting with my feet propped up, drinking this second cup of coffee. But I’ve been putting off writing, and since this is intended to be a means to chronicle our journey through this grief for my boys, I’m taking time to blog. This season of grief for me is much more introspective, which makes it more difficult to put down in writing. There’s so many emotions running through me, I can’t put my finger on any one of them long enough to write. But I’ll try…
It’s been a busy week. I am continually amazed at how much work there is to be done around the house. There’s always something that needs fixing, feeding, mowing, or cleaning. My arrangement with Mark (he tends the outside perimeter of the house, I tend the inside) was really a pretty sweet deal for us both. I got very very good at my tasks, he was proficient at his. With him gone, I’m fumbling around at best with many of his chores.
Since last blog, I’ve had the grim news that his riding lawn mower is irreparable. No great surprise, given its age and the proximity to the woodpile, where rats scurried through it for a few months before I took them out. But that’s just yet another issue to deal with. As Roseanne Rosanna Danna so succinctly put it on SNL, “It’s al-ways something!” A new one will need to be purchased. Researching whether to buy new or used, zero turn or regular, Briggs & Stratton engine or Kohler—it’s maddening! I’d much rather stick to research involving Dillard’s shoe sales or buying the latest Vera Bradley on clearance.
The boys are doing okay. Ben is dealing with enormous grief, and it’s difficult for him most days at school. I’ve told him not to keep his feelings stuck inside, and that it’s okay to cry. Unfortunately, crying during class has brought teasing from a couple of boys. The vice-principal had a very long talk with them last week–maybe that will stop.
AJ? Well his baseball team just won the mid-season Little League tournament yesterday, we spent alot of time at the ballpark this weekend. He seems to be doing well, he tells me that his dad is with him on the field, urging him on, giving him advice. I tell him I have no doubt that would be where Mark would want to be. Even as lovely as heaven must be, being with his sons would be a very high priority, I’m sure of it. He pitched a complete game on Saturday. If I can get the boy bulked up a little, he’ll be able to put some speed behind his throws. He is a natural, and baseball, his game.
I have a half-marathon to run next week. In tip-top shape last year at this time, I’m struggling this year. Guess I have a good excuse, given the circumstances of the past nine months. I will be able to complete it, but not in the time I did last year. And that’s okay. For this year’s finishing will be symbolic. It will be so much more than just crossing a finish line and receiving a medal. It will be proof that life has gone on. Is it better? No way. I’d go back to the way things were in a heartbeat, if I could. Life is just different. I feel like a survivor. The boys and I have gone through a firestorm, of sorts, and we’re still here.
I catch myself looking ahead to our future, wondering what will happen, where will we go, where will we live, who will be in our lives……and a still small voice says, “Stop it! Enjoy today. Let Me worry about tomorrow.” And laughter fills my car as two boys tease one another during the drive to school; I take a deep breath, fight back the tears, and join in.
The possibilities of today are limitless. I’ll try my best to enjoy it.