It's been nearly two weeks now of this heart-pain that wells up in grocery store aisles,
during breakfasts and upon walking around every corner of our home...
two weeks of wondering if I can speak his name without tears (nope)
or tell the story without having to pause for composure (not yet)...
12 days of intimate monologues spoken at God where I shake my fist and apologize and profess gratitude at what gifts we have and then cook and bake furiously to nourish our family
back to smiling...
I shake my fist
I talk to girlfriends and boyfriends
My hands turn into bear paws around 8:00 PM
My husband organizes our list of items needed for baby adorably
We talk about a five year plan
I try to return emails and nap instead...
I've been awake since 4:30, Orion having decided that modern dance training was best done on a schedule that shows he's dedicated to his art, New York-style....
he's up in my ribcage and it's amazing the amount of sensation it creates
but I will say this is the first time he's woken me up from deep slumber
practically belting, "Gottaaaaa Daaaaaaance!!!" like a Broadway star...
I love him.
I cradle him now, wrapping my arms around the beach ball bonanza that is my stomach,
belly button out and proud.
I shouldn't be writing this tired, but I am because it helps.
It is company.
The sky is still dark and I cannot call my Mom without waking up my Schmill
and perhaps I will erase this all tomorrow after I catch the three hours more slumber I require to be rested....but for right now I see this medium as a
childhood-paper-cup-telephone of sorts to the women
I adore around the world
many of whom have have been woken up by errant baby limbs at 4:30 AM
or have lost a soul they loved...
I wanted to share a moment of levity with you,
a laugh that surely saved our sanity in the midst of chin-wobbling grief.
We went last night to pick up the ashes of our Jones
from the Emergency Clinic where he passed away like a whisp inside the warmth
of Anthony's arms
of course the tears, goodness the tears
and a hold-on hug in the car
and a too-tight grip on the little cedar box in my lap as we drove
and then I ask Anthony,
"Wasn't the company that made Jones fit in this box called Babbling Brook Something?"
And Anthony says,
"Yes, that or Mossy Meadow or Peaceful Pine Grove..."
and we chuckled a bit
because who the fuck comes up with these horrible misnomers?
and then I wondered aloud why they weren't more forthcoming in their business name
about the macabre nature of their business
and Anthony says, "Maybe because 'Crazy Eddie's Pet Incineration and Carpet Cleaning' doesn't have the same sort of ring to it that the others do..."
and we belly laughed
like you can only do with swollen eyes
and a broken heart.
It was the first indication we've had that there is a way out of this
dim place, that this world is ridiculous enough to be funny
even when you hold one of the loves of your life on your lap
in a box he himself would have knocked off the kitchen table to wake your ass
up at 5:00 A.M simply because he wanted a headbutt and a chin scratch.
Life is bananas.