Day 189
Two weeks until Christmas. .. I am trudging through the
season. Monday I finished up my
shopping. Tomorrow I attack my baking
with a vengeance. Next Tuesday my friend
Jenny will come over to wrap gifts with me.
It’s not a moment too soon. My kids
have been looking mournfully under the tree for several days now .
I assure them that there will be gifts but I don’t think they are going
to quite believe me until they see them for themselves! Jenny actually did the bulk of my shopping
for the kids this year, bless her heart.
She knew it would be a struggle for me this year.
I’m getting through the season.
But there is still a part of me that stubbornly hopes we can do more
than just survive Christmas this first year, that somehow and in some way, the
beauty of the holiday will be even more evident to us this sad year. But I’m
not sure how that works when one’s heart feels so pulverized.
I hit the 6 month mark last Thursday night/Friday. I was in bed, drifting off to sleep when I
suddenly knew. I looked at the
clock and it was 11:41 pm . It was somewhere right
around that time that Paul began to seize.
I don’t know his exact time of death.
I’m fairly certain he actually died on the 5th, rather than
the 6th, when it was called.
But I laid there in my bed, six months to minute after I had lost
Paul. A bleak sense of desolation washed
over me, although I didn’t cry this time.
But almost immediately, a picture formed in my mind and it was God,
holding me to His breast. I was reminded
of the hours I spent walking my baby boys when they were tiny and their little
bodies would ball up. Hoping to soothe
them, I would walk around, supporting their bodies with one hand and patting
their backs over and over with the other – a routine nearly as old as time
itself and known by all mothers everywhere.
That night, alone in my bed, remembering, I was being carried by my loving
Father. I cried, “Hold me!” and He did,
all night long. About a day later I got
a very kind Facebook message from an old friend. In it, she shared the verse, Isaiah 66:13, “As
one whom His mother comforted, so I comfort you” – doesn’t get much more
perfect than that, does it?
The day of the 6th wasn’t too terrible. I didn’t remind the boys of the significance
of the date. About mid-day it finally
dawned on Will and he commented that he’s just not as date-oriented as I am. That’s ok. I doubt there are too many other people on the
planet who have as big of a fixation on dates as I do! I put a picture on Facebook of Paul’s grave
decorated for Christmas and, as a result, received many, many kind messages
from my friends. I also got some private
messages, some emails, a phone call, and a card in the mail. Now, as one of my friends commented, there
are 6 more months of “firsts” to get through.
The day of the 6th we got up the Christmas
decorations. I dragged my feet for as
long as I could, but the kids were insistent.
Well, David and the Littles were.
And I guess Ben was anxious, too, because his teacher emailed me that day
and commented that Ben had excitedly told them we were decorating this
weekend! David did the bulk of the work,
even haphazardly nailing lighted candy canes to the top of the porch. But you know, I found myself enjoying it a
bit and actually entering into the fun of the season as we decorated. Paul never did much in the way of decorating,
so maybe that’s why. If he did anything,
it was to string lights outside some years.
But ever since he started working for Loziers, December was always a
really busy month for him, coupled with the excitement and work of deer
season. So, the rest of us usually took
care of Christmas. But he was always really
good at getting really special gifts for me.
I’ll miss that.
When I was shopping Monday I passed by the place in the mall where
Santa sits on his throne and parents pay to have a picture taken of their kids
with him. I’ve never done that,
ever. I’m not anti-Santa, although I’ve
never lied to my kids about him (boy, was Lizzie shocked last year when her new
brothers informed her about the truth of Santa!). But I am too cheap to pay for pictures of my
kids sitting on his lap, which is why I’ve never done it. However, as I passed this area in the mall
the crazy thought leaped into my mind
that what I wanted to do was sit on Santa’s lap and ask for my husband back for
Christmas…I didn’t, but I took a certain amount of sad pleasure from the
thought of doing it.
I have decided, though, that we are definitely getting a new tree
before we celebrate another Christmas.
I’m trying to remember when we bought this one. I am pretty sure it was 14 or 15 years ago,
perhaps David’s first Christmas, maybe?
Anyway, the gaps and missing branches tell me it’s time to find
something new.
I ran across a Christmas quote the other day while hunting for
something appropriate to put on the city sign (short, meaningful, non religious
and non-offensive to any and all persons in town – as much effort as I put into
this, I somehow manage to offend someone every time I put up something new!). It said, “At Christmas, everything is twice
as sad.” Isn’t that the truth? The world (or at least Iowa
Along those same thought lines: this week I received a post card
from our state association advertising the upcoming couple’s retreat in Feb…just
like a dagger through the heart, it was.
Ok, onto lighter fare!
Ellie has turned into a chatter box in recent weeks. She’s talking in almost complete sentences
and using three syllable words. Just a
few months ago I still had people asking me, “Does she ever talk?” and
now it’s like a switch has been flipped.
One sweet thing is that when I tuck her into her crib at night, she has
started calling out, “Wub you, Mom!” She
says it repeatedly until I am all the way down the steps and I can no longer
hear her…sweetness…
I smashed my finger Saturday.
I guess that doesn’t exactly qualify as more cheerful conversation! But wow, that hurt and it still hurts! I am slowly getting the basement painted as
time allows. While working around the
pantry shelves, a jar of spaghetti sauce tumbled from its precarious positioning
and nailed my finger to the shelf. My
nail is a funny shade of blue now, but the ripped part of the finger has nearly
healed. To make matters worse, the
spaghetti sauce then continued its descent to the concrete floor. What a mess to clean up with a throbbing
finger. I thought about making one of
the kids do it, but decided I wasn’t in that bad of a mood (and
considering they’ll be picking out my nursing home someday, it’s probably best
I score points while I can). The up side
is that my basement smelled like an Italian restaurant for a couple of
days. There could be worse things!
Ellie has decided that she is big enough to dress herself. She doesn’t want any help at all, even if it
means she wears her pants backwards and only one arm makes it into a
sleeve. If anyone tries to assist, she
declares, “I do it my-telf!” And so it
begins…I have decided that potty training needs to resume after the first of
the year. A child this smart is more
than ready to learn bowel and bladder control!
I hired a support broker today for Ben – one more thing checked
off my Big List. Most handicapped
persons in the state are on what is called a “waiver” which is the conduit
through which state monies are funneled to pay for their care services. Ben uses his for SCL (supported community
living – learning life skills) and respite services and to pay for transportation
in the summer to Genesis, as well as for the program itself. I start talking about this stuff and most
people look at me quizzically like I’ve just started spouting Greek. There is a lot of extra “stuff” that comes
with raising a child with disabilities and I sometimes forget that most people
are totally unaware of all the behind-the-scenes stuff that has to happen in
order to make his life enjoyable, endurable, and to equip him for a time when I’m
not around to care for him. So, anyway,
hiring this support broker will enable me to pay his workers more than what
they currently earn and it gives me more control over his services. Of course, it requires me to be a little bit
more involved and accountable, but I figure one more piece of paperwork or two
isn’t going to complicate my life that much more.
Tonight I will be getting together with my fellow moms of special
needs kids. We’re driving up to an
orchard north of the Des Moines
I was leafing through one of the scads of sale catalogs that
arrived the other day. I found a couple
of t-shirts that have me seriously scheming as to how I can justify purchasing
one or both of them. One read, “Grammar
Police – to correct and serve.” The
other said, “Keep clam and Proofread.” I
saw those about 11 pm while reading in the bathtub and just shook and shook with
laughter. Those are SO me! I know Paul would just roll his eyes and say,
“You think so, huh?” I doubt he’d even grasp what I found so humorous. But that’s
ok.
I do. And I’m still
laughing!
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