Fighting, crying and me stepping away from it all for just a moment marks a difficult end to a difficult week. Or is it two? It is hard to keep track when everything seems to be falling apart and even garden weeds bring me to tears.
Everything seems to be falling apart and I need to pick up the pieces. But I don’t want to pick up the pieces. I’m exhausted. I want to retreat. I want to give up.
I. Am. Done.
Everything seems to be falling apart and I don’t even know how to pick up the pieces.
“You guys, why don’t you pick a book. We can go downstairs and I’ll read to you.”
I choose to escape. To put the whirlwind behind us and just cuddle and read until smiles replace the tears and sleep replaces the hurt.
But my eldest hands me Tear Soup and my heart catches in my throat. She doesn’t talk much about what happened. It took a month before she even said his name.
["He would have liked this."]
["You know . . . the one who died."]
Almost five months later and those words still haunt my thoughts. Handing me that book was about as close as she has ever come to saying, “Mom, we need to talk.”
But I want to retreat.
“Why don’t you guys go get your pajamas on.”
And for the next few minutes, I just try to breathe. Then I open the book.
“There once was an old and somewhat wise woman whom everyone called Grandy. She just suffered a big loss in her life . . .”
And so begins a conversation on loss and suffering, anger and sorrow, tears and grace. We talk about all the horrible feelings we have and remember for a moment that all of us are struggling with strong feelings and deep hurts and we don’t always know how to deal with them.
And I tell them that sometimes when Daddy yells at little girls for accidentally breaking the screen on the brand new storm door and throws their picnic on the porch away, he isn’t really mad at them or about the door.
I tell them that whenever they hear Daddy yell, “Nothing in this house ever goes right . . .” he is really saying, “Losing Tiggy is more than I can bear.”
Then they pray for Daddy’s heart. And I retreat to my room where I scoop up my puppy, bury my head in his fur and cry out all the tears I have to give.
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