There goes that

Sure, it was cute, alright. But about five minutes after I posted this last night, the evening took a 180° nosedive in terms of R, and G and I went from beaming at the cuteness to reentering our all-too-familiar state of doubling over and retching in pain. Not literally. But it’s hard to tell the difference.

I’ve become a lot more circumspect with the things I share, especially online, when it comes to the specifics, partly because it’s too hard, partly because there are really no words, partly because it’s happened at least once that I shared too much and regretted it afterwards, but more than any of those things, I’m starting to feel like I might not have the right to share. She’s seven years old, which is of course a baby, but of course it isn’t a baby, and there comes a point when it’s her information more than mine. Especially when it comes to personality and behaviors rather than straightforward physiological matters. But oh dear God. Oh, dear God. Why did you have to do this to my child.

I’m not usually part of the Job (by which I mean, Book of Job, you know, bad things happening to people for no apparent reason) crowd. I don’t tend to look for answers to the why is this happening it’s so unfair question. I’m well aware of much, much worse things God has done, and I don’t expect life to appear just, or for anything to have a reason or for anything to make sense or happen as it “should.” So when I say why did you have to do this to my child, it’s not really a question, because I don’t actually think there’s an answer. It’s just words, I suppose. So I just let the words out while I double over and retch, or take out the pain and anger on other people, or tell my daughter RS, who is on vacation this week (AGAIN!!), that I need her to watch the Boy and the Nephew for a few minutes while I go upstairs to send an email to my client, and then instead of sending an email to my client, which is what I had fully intended to do, suddenly find myself here, writing this, while tears stream down my face and something hard and unmoving that has no name and no face clenches my insides so hard I can’t breathe. So that’s where we are right now, except I’d better stop crying and start breathing so I can get back downstairs and put the boys to bed and continue working with my daughter on sewing a mattress for her Barbie doll. Until next time, then.

Tags: Stroke