Good Afternoon, KuKd Strong Mommas and Inquisitive Guests!
This post is a bit of a downer, actually. I'm sorry to wallow for a minute, especially with all the tizzy fit-inducing excitment of the 2008 eRection, but I'm in a wallowing sort of mood. So briefly indulge me, if you will, and then we'll get back to the good stuff.
There are times when I think really hard about my son. Those times get further and further apart as time goes by, as the event slips deeper into the fuzzy past. But every now an again, for no reason whatsoever, I'll suddenly remember with precise clarity what it felt like to clutch him awkwardly against my body, wrapped in a blanket from head to toe, just a limp jumble of arms and legs and torso and head. God, I wanted him to be alive. I was like Chuckie's dad - remember that movie? If someone told me I could say a witchcrafty chant of some sort and bring my child back, alive but with a slightly different (shall we say...murderous) temperament, I just might have really done it.
It happened, oddly, on my bus ride to school this morning. No, I didn't stand up and start babbling a witchcrafty chant (believe me, there are enough crazies on the 174 bus to do that for me). Rather, I felt kind of distracted and in a pissy mood, not sure why, and slipped into a deep daydreaming session about my son.
When I got to my office, I did what I do when I'm in these kinds of morose moods. I opened up Zachary's picture on my computer screen, and zoomed in really close, staring intently, trying to soak up every detail of his face, his fingers, each curve, his nose, mouth, forehead, dead skin splotches, hair, everything. The whole big kaboodle. It baffles me that he can be RIGHT THERE, right in front of my face, and yet not really there at all. And the desire to reach into the screen and touch him, pull him out of there and into my arms, is so incredibly strong that I practically have the urge to lick the computer screen. It's like that screen is a window into another world, some kind of Candyland. You are of me, from me, by me. Come back.
For the record, I don't actually lick the computer screen. That would be gross. But I did stare for a long, long time. It's all I have left of him, really. I do have a few other pieces of Zach - some locks of hair in a Zip-loc bag, a metal ID tag from cremation services, a blanket, some footprints. But those are all puzzle pieces, and the photograph is the only thing I have that prove he really existed as a whole.
What's odd is, this is such a compartmentalized thing, this occasional bout of pure yearning. Once my work day starts, poof - it's gone. Out of sight, out of mind, and it's like nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Like, even now, I feel totally fine.
Speaking of other compartments of the brain, here's a bright side to end this post on a more upbeat note: I'm happy to report that submissions and subscribers to Exhale are pouring in. I'm thrilled about this project - yet another glorious excuse to not grade my students' essays. Yes, right up there with Windexing the glass coffee table and googling "Teff recipes" (my new favorite grain that I don't really like, but want to).
More on "teff" later....