I closed the door of the van and the
sobs just burst out of me. It was irrational. I knew that. I was sobbing
because I had needed to ask for help and I received it—with smiles and quick
assurances that it was fine. But the fact that I needed it had brought the
grief in new waves.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Heck, this week is one of those weeks. Tonight Jarod has play practice from
3:40 until 6:30. Lucy gets home at 2:50. At 3:10, Ryan is due home. Kati,
however, has dance club practice at school from 3:10 until 4:15. At 3:30 I
needed to head to work to record radio show for the next three days and get
home before 5 so that I could get Kati, Lucy, and Ryan back to the middle
school for Family Night and to view the Science Fair Kati was so proud to show
off. It gets done at 6:30, in time to go get Jarod.
That left Lucy, age 5, as a wild
card after school. Ryan, the only one who will be home and my child with
autism, cannot babysit his sister. They aren’t comfortable around each other.
Neither seems to know what to do with the other in more than small, structured
doses. So Kati, 11, volunteered to keep Lucy with her at dance club practice
since the high school girls were coming to teach them the moves today.
I felt somehow ashamed to have to
call the gym teacher, her adviser for this club, and ask if this was an
acceptable solution. Lucy had jumped on the idea. My first instinct was to take
her to work. But that really is no fun for her and would prolong what I had to
do if my focus was split. Mrs. Jackson was so kind when she said Lucy was more
than welcome to come watch. She’d had other families need to do this before. It
seemed all worked out.
After school, Lucy gathered her
crayon tote and a few snacks. She excitedly bounded to the van. As we drove up
to the school, she asked if their phones worked the same as ours. Since I would
be leaving her in the office for Kati to retrieve, she wanted to help answer
phones. It was adorable. The secretaries thought so too. They were so happy to
see smiling Lucy and told me there was no need for me to wait with her—they had
this. Kati would be called to retrieve her in about 10 minutes. In the
meantime, they would enjoy Lucy. “Tell your mom she can go,” they whispered to
Lucy, with a smile aimed at me.
As I walked to the van, the feeling
just rolled over me, startling in it's intensity. It was anger and humility and
sorrow all rolled up in one. I was mad that I had to ask for this help. I felt
like I was somehow failing that I could not figure this out on my own. I was
angry that my husband wasn’t here to help with all this. And I missed my
partner all over again. As soon as the door closed, I buried my hands in my
gloves and sobbed.
But only for a moment.
Wallowing is not allowed when you
are grieving with children who need to be cared for and shuttled about. When
you have to go pick up a kid and keep this chaos moving. I felt like the
character Tris in the popular book “Divergent” allowing herself to be
terrified, to let fear consume her, but only to the count of five. I let myself
sob.
1 – Feel the sorrow and let that be ok.
2 –Cry, uncaring who might see in the school parking lot.
3- Be angry that I have to figure this out without Kraig.
4 – Wipe your eyes.
5 – Take a deep breath.
Count my blessings. My child was welcomed
because we are loved at this school. My extra help was gladly given with smiles
by people who care about me, about my kids. I have seen the payoff of years of developing relationships in a school
full of hard stories.
This is how I grieve when the kids
need me to keep moving forward.
I’m so tired of grief. It is
exhausting and sometimes sleep eludes me which doesn’t help. But I know I can’t
rush through this. I don’t want to because I know if I did, I might have to go
through it again. I will let the feelings come. I will let the tears and sobs
choke out when they need to—but only for a moment. Moms do not have the luxury
of stopping moving entirely.
Today I had the blessing of support
from a gracious teacher and kind school secretaries. And even though it sucked
that I need it, I am wise enough to ask for it and humble enough to accept it.
I am smart enough to know that this was offered in love and in an effort to
assist me.
One more day of dealing with grief done. One more night of
figuring out how to parent alone done. Here’s hoping for a good night’s sleep
tonight. Tomorrow is a new, chaotic day.
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