Slipping Through My Fingers

I was already here today but I'm here again.  I have a lot that needs attention at home, but instead, I'm back here.  It smells of rubber and sweat.  My oldest son, the same boy who made me a mom, is pumping iron.  He alternates between lifting weights and running on the treadmill, and I sit here and try not to watch him, but it's difficult to pretend that I don't feel the things that I feel.  Yesterday, he came into this world.  The realization that I only have four years left with him under my wing is daunting to contemplate, so I try to think of something else. It's not working.

When I was growing up, I loved the start of school.  Maybe it's because I grew up in the throes of hell where it was hotter than hot and wetter than wet.  Living in the muggy south will make one long for cooler days and even though I loved what summer brought to the table, I was always ready for a change.  As I got older, I'd peruse my issue of "YM" or "Teen" magazine and do everything that the Committee of They recommended I do to get ready for school.  I got a perm.  I gave myself a manicure.  I laid out for a few extra hours each day to ensure I had that perfect sun-kissed glow.  My oldest daughter is already wearing mascara and eyeliner, and her sister isn't far behind.  I'm sure that one day, they'll peruse the magazines in the same way I did not so many years ago.

Ever since Garrett, the start of school is hard.  That first back-to-school happened just six weeks after he died and I did the best I could, but all I could think about was how empty the house was.  Devin was at preschool, and Garrett should have been starting that year as well.  Instead, he was in the ground.  The house was too quiet.  It's always quiet when the kids are in school and yet, I still think I'm supposed to have a little boy following me around like a shadow.  He's frozen as three in my mind, and there he will stay forever.  And so, I am trapped in a parallel universe that houses a three-year-old, but I'm forced to acknowledge a reality in which he does not exist anymore.  

Today I walked Lauren and Devin to school and I did my best to avert my eyes from the kids I knew were second graders.  I couldn't help seeing them, as they were all around me.  They were going to his class.  I know he's not there, but it doesn't negate my need for him to be there.  Each year that my children age, he does not.  Each time they progress into a new grade, he does not go in turn.  So the first day of school no longer holds the same appeal that it did back then, but I still try.  I try my damnedest to keep up with the traditions and I smile, even though so much of my heart is missing. 

Entering 9th and 7th, as opposed to 2nd and kindergarten in 2011.

Hailey and Ethan went off to junior high together.  I watched as they walked away, and I felt my heart crushing just a little beneath my ribs.  I watched as they walked beneath the trees that were nothing more than twigs when we moved in thirteen years ago.  Thirteen years!  Where have the years gone?  There's something about losing a child that opens your eyes to how fleeting life is, and how quickly things can change.  I hope they make it back from school safely.  I hope no one pulls a gun in their school...again.  I don't know if my heart can handle another shooting because the one from 2016 about stopped my heart.  I hope they make good choices and good friends.  I hope they feel included.  I hope kids are nice.  I hope they are nice.  I hope that their good days outweigh their bad days, and that both of them understand how incredible they are.  Oh, I hope so many things for them.

I went for a three mile run to distract myself.  It was a good run but when I stopped, I remembered.  I remembered that my oldest child is struggling so much and there's not a damn thing I can really do to help him.  I hope all we've done and this new course of action is a good one.  I hope that our meeting tomorrow serves a purpose and that we walk out of there with a plan.  But really?  I'm watching him right now and wishing so badly that I could take every care off his shoulders and carry it on mine.  I wish it worked like that.

I made cookies today.  It was a tradition I started with Ethan on his first day of kindergarten when I was big and pregnant with Devin.  I think I made cookies that day more so because I wanted cookies, but we ate them together when school ended as we talked about his day.  I've made oatmeal walnut chocolate chip cookies each year since, except the year when Garrett died.  That year I used store bought dough, but I think I deserve a gold star for even getting out of bed that day.  

Angus was sad today.  He barely moved from the spot in front of the window, and waited patiently for his pack to return.  And when they finally did?  It was time to wrestle.

It rained cats and dogs today, and I was glad.  There's a mysterious kind of catharsis to the weather matching my mood, and it happened today.  The kids came home soaking wet and cold, which is odd because it's been hotter than balls for two months.  I was glad for the chill in the air, and I only wish it would last longer.  Tomorrow it will be hot again, I'm certain.  The kids ate cookies at the table while I made bread and we chatted about the good and the bad things from the day.  Devin couldn't come up with a single bad thing, which is rare but great.  Lauren is sad because one of her best friends isn't in her class, and Hailey was upset that they missed the bus this morning.  Ugh, that's a story for another day.  But Ethan?  Ethan came home smiling, even though he was soaked from head to toe.  Maybe he'll be alright after all.  Maybe.

After their retell of the day, I was feeling better.  Lauren talked about Garrett in her class, because they had to mention four important things about themselves and she chose to tell them about her youngest brother, even though most of them already knew.  She was sitting at the table getting a jump start on an assignment that isn't due until next month, and I was making spaghetti for dinner.  And that's when it happened.  We were singing along to my "Mamma Mia" soundtrack when all of the sudden, a certain song came on and that familiar sting hit my nose and my eyes became glossy and I had to swallow the lump in my throat.

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning

Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile

I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness

And I have to sit down for a while

The feeling that I'm losing her forever

And without really entering her world

I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter

That funny little girl

Slipping through my fingers all the time

I try to capture every minute

The feeling in it

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Do I really see what's in her mind

Each time I think I'm close to knowing

She keeps on growing

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Sleep in our eyes,

her and me at the breakfast table

Barely awake, I let precious time go by

Then when she's gone,

there's that odd melancholy feeling

And a sense of guilt I can't deny

What happened to the wonderful adventures

The places I had planned for us to go

(Slipping through my fingers all the time)

Well, some of that we did but most we didn't

And why, I just don't know

Slipping through my fingers all the time

I try to capture every minute

The feeling in it

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Do I really see what's in her mind

Each time I think I'm close to knowing

She keeps on growing

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture

And save it from the funny tricks of time

Slipping through my fingers

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning

Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile

And so, the tears fell hard.  I couldn't hold back, and Lauren got up and wrapped her tiny arms around my waist and just hugged me.   

"I don't want to grow up," she said against me.  "I want to stay this age forever."

In my mind, she was six hours old and it was only the two of us in that room, and I was far too excited to sleep.  Like all of them, she's slipping right through my fingers and there's nothing I can do to stop it.  One day, I'll be making dinner for only her dad and me.  There will be no more back-to-school nights.  No more conferences.  No more science projects.  No more socks to match and grumble over when one of them disappears.  The days are flying by, and I am desperate to catch them before they're all gone.  Right now, I'm staring at a boy of whom I do not recognize.  Yesterday, he was born.  Today, he's getting scruff on his chin and he's thinking about girls.  Slow down, time.  At present, you are the enemy and I need you to be a bit kinder to my broken heart.