One Helluva Week

Hello, preciousss.   You've been calling me, haven't you.  I've been thinking of what to write to you in the night, at work,  in the car, while Dear Son played WOW hogging the computer. 

Today, dear Blog, you are more of a diary of my week than you are a method to deliver my musings to friends and family.  Voyeurs are welcome.

As of Monday the 19th, husband had been gone for a solid week.  An unexpected opportunity came up (a proposed theme park) in China and he hopped a plane.  Really.  Well, and cooled his heels in a luxury hotel in Hong Kong waiting for a visa, but then spent 5 days negotiating.  The 14 hour time difference meant once a day conversations, made halting by a weird 2 second delay. 

Tuesday, the 2oth, crashed over me in waves.  January 20th was the 8th anniversary of my father's unexpected fatal heart attack.  Over the years I've lived this day so many different ways.  I've been numb, fragile, weepy, optimistic, and hell, I even forgot it once, remembering and wallowing in guilt three days later.  This day began with tears.  As I drove home from Dear Son's school at 7:00 a.m., having dropped daughter off even earlier, the tears slid down my face in the gray dawn's light.  The tears are almost always for my mom, who is strong and who misses him still with urgency I can only imagine.  Today they were for me too.  Thanksgiving with my mom this year had been so satisfying and I grieved what Dad and I could have become too.

I got home that morning, and turned on the TV.  I cleaned the kitchen and listened to breathless reporters and commentators gush hopes and fears.  I watched the gathering millions shiver in the National Mall.  I searched the crowd shots for hand knits.  At 9 a.m., I called Bridgett's house.

Her mother-in-law answered the phone, which I hadn't expected.  I had hoped to leave a message asking Mike how Bridgett and baby were and leave it at that.  I kind of stuttered, and greeted MIL.  I had helped her shop for a Christmas present for Bridgett last year. 

"Bridgett had Baby Leo this morning," she told me.  "He's 9 lbs 1 oz and he's doing beautifully.  So is she."

This convergence hadn't occurred to me.  I think I compartmentalize my life too much.   I knew Bridgett's due date -- hadn't I been knitting toward this date for months?  And I knew the baby would be Edward Leo and that they would call him by his middle name.  But to hear it spoken on this day was surprising and, well, powerful.  My dad's name was Leo. 

More tears.  Jeez.

I settled in to watch Barak Obama take our highest office, his beautiful wife and children, and yes even his Mother-in-law, at his side.   With FriendAmanda on the phone, I cried some more at the sheer glory of our nation.  The simple, elegant transfer of power and the crowd that stretched shoulder to shoulder for miles was overwhelming, wasn't it?

The rest of the day I shopped, carpooled, cooked, and knitted, all in kind of a fog. 

Late Tuesday or early Wednesday, Friend Julie (she comments here periodically) lost her mother to cancer.  Mommie had been given a week once she began hospice care, and her passing, while not unexpected, is still devastating.  She attended our church, worked at the Fish Fries, and crocheted prayer shawls for my fledgling Prayer Shawl Ministry.  She was full of wit and determination and faith.   Her funeral is later this morning...

Today I'll attend this cold January funeral.  I'll remember my father's cold January funeral.  I'll remember the drip, drip from the tip of the corporal's nose, his face a mask of chivalry under the shiny black brim of his hat, as he snapped the flag which had been draped on Dad's casket into a crisp triangle and presented it to my mother, seated at my side.  I'll ponder Edward Leo in his newborn perfection and try to feel him in my arms (you know Bridgett will let me hold him as much as I want.)

Husband is home again, asleep in our bed.  My kids slumber in theirs as well.   The gray dawn peeks in through my kitchen windows.

Comments

[Fríða]

I sincerely sympathize with you and your dear ones for the death of your loved ones. I also share with you and most of the western world in the hopes for a better future. My only regret is that this big change in government had to happen in such bad times and not in a time of prosperity. At the same time my hopes for new and glorious times are a tiny bit muffled by my fears that our expectations may be set too high for one man to be able to fulfill them.
best wishes from Iceland
Frida

[Bridgett]

Oh my God, Ann. It does seem more than just mere coincidence, this life, sometimes, doesn't it?

[Cathy]

I started reading your brother's book last week. I've only gotten through the forward - so far it's wonderful.

[Pat K]

A very thoughtful post. And that's the way life is sometimes, isn't it? Thanks for sharing your thoughts and emotions.