Tonight I played with James. We played catchand he has quite an arm on him. We then spent a few minutes on the trampoline. I basically laying on my back, staring up into the trees -like I used to with Leonard -while he jumped over me, back and forth. It's a bit unnerving, trusting a little boy not to crash into your ribcage. He managed. I jumped once or twice but RA keeps me from spending too much time on high impact exercise. And then there was the time that the impact made me pee... much to the delight and laughter of my husband (who had followed me into the house thinking that something was dreadfully wrong only to find me in the bathroom) who had no idea what it was like to have 2 children and then attempt to sneeze, cough, or, apparently, jump on a trampoline. James enjoyed himself while I swallowed the pain and grief of spending actual time in the backyard that I associate so much with my husband.
I am having so much difficulty trying to get the children to help out. I have begged, and pleaded and cried to get my daughter to clean the litter box, put a cereal bowl in the dishwasher etc. Things that would not have bothered me so much with him here to back me up are ripping me apart. Never would she have thought of leaving the litter box in the manner I found it today. And telling me that she is taking care of it. And the fights. Always the fighting and wrestling between them. I am trying to give them leeway to grieve but I cannot help but feel I am being taken advantage of. That grieving has become synonymous with sitting on the couch and watching television. I am finding out that they do so well together when they are out alone together, or over at my father's, or their aunts. I start thinking that I only make this situation worse for them. And yet, I am frightened of my illness finally catching up with me and leaving them alone. They wouldn't be totally alone, but my beloved little family that I cherished so very much would be nothing but a wisp of a memory of what could have been.
For three years Leonard and I had been planning, and buying life insurance, writing wills...all in the event that this might someday catch up to me. The last time in the hospital was enough to scare a sense of preparing into us. And now, I make/revise those plans alone. Who would replace us for James.? The other night I sat and wrote letters to my children. Revised letters to replace the ones that Leonard had helped me write to them when I first got sick, first realized that I was not immortal. Only I added one in for my father, my mother and my mother in-law... and it hurt. It hurt to realize that I cannot reassure my son that I will be around for a good long time, for decades. When all I can promise him is that, no matter what happens, is that I will live forever in his heart. That we were blessed to have 9 years (the total of his life) of almost perfection..that I will always take the best care of myself that I can. That I will do everything in my power to be with him in the physical sense as long as I can. It hurt to write to my daughter about regrets...about not having them, or any more of them. It just hurts. It hurts in so many ways that is amazing to think about. I am telling myself to just not think about it, but it pops up in all of my daily activities, in my silences, in my interactions with others. And I hate myself for not being able to be me. To be normal. To move on.
I hope the ones who try it enjoy the spinach dip. It is an ultimate comfort food. At least in my opinion. And I can con myself into thinking that it's actually good for me...if I concentrate on the vegetables and disregard the fact that I am also devouring mayo and tons of cheese.
...and it was good to see my son smile this evening. It almost made up for the evening blowout because everything was not just so in his room before bed. And that we are not taking off for Disney World next week. What was I thinking when I told him we'd do that someday soon?