born alone, you die alone,
The rest is your’s to fill the gap,
world goes on without you here,
Adjust or just collapse." –
from Stranger than Fiction
by Five Finger Death Punch, The Way of The Fist
That time of year AGAIN.
The time of year where my children advance one grade in school and begin new life adventures. At this time last year, my oldest son was entering the fourth grade, his younger brother was entering kindergarten and my daughter was beginning her senior year of college.
As I always do, I worked hard at NOT thinking about her today. I wanted, again,for at least one day to be devoted to my sons and their firsts without the ever present emotional noise (even if only heard by me) of the loss of their sister.
However, I don’t think they noticed.
My soon to be eleven year old son bolted from me the instant we got into the school. I am apparently approaching uncool status even though I still retain "hot mom" status by son. No longer does he need me to walk him to his classroom, find his cubby, pay his lunch money. He is off and gone and smiling and waving at me as he walks.
My youngest son held my hand and looked down and shy and stuttered when people asked him his name and how his summer was. Now THIS personality I understand and can relate to.
I walked him to his room, did indeed show him where to hang his backpack, ran through the list of classmate names with him, gave a money envelope to his teacher, got introduced to Davan and his family, and finally, and most importantly, got a big hug and a kiss as my little soon to be six year old nervously walked into the classroom with a mixture of excitment and fear on his face.
I walked the busy halls of the magnet school and headed toward my car.
I was half way there when it hit me.
I wonder what my daughter is doing now?
Did she find a job yet? From the scraps of her life I gather via her flickr photos and her aim away messages it appears she is working at a coffee shop in NJ. Will I ever know? Will she write me again in December as I asked her to? It has been incredibly difficult not to write her, not to comment on her photos, her latest hair color, not to want to know how she is and what she is doing. As Kristy said recently, it is so tough to eat the scraps, the crumbs of their lives our lost children allow us to see and decide we are worthy of.
I cried for a few moments in my car and headed two miles to my office.