When the day is long

When E was a toddler, he had the curious habit of watching movies that were not appropriate to his age. Not to imply the Boy was sitting around in diapers watching porn, or even hard R movies. Nothing like that. There were just a handful of movies that would stop him in his tracks enough that he would sit and watch them. In fact, he would watch them for a long time, considering his age, and attention span. It was odd.

Fast forward to now, or what was now a few days ago. I have been trying to recall something that I felt, or sensed would help us help E with his grief. I felt this memory, which I couldn't quite grasp, would help us better understand what E was fighting against, when he got stuck in his moments. Lately, we've had a lot of moments.

On Halloween E got stuck in such a moment. It was bad. So much so that I thought he would not be trick-or-treating that night. Trying to save Halloween for him, I took him back to his room and tried to help him through the anger, the sadness, so he could go trick-or-treating with Wy Wy who was ready to hit the streets. In his room, with just us, E absolutely lost it, which, funnily enough, is where I found it. The memory.

Coincidentally (or would you call it fate?) one of the movies that the toddler version of E would sit and watch, again and again, was Four Weddings and a Funeral. The poem Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden that was read at the funeral was what I had been trying to remember.

That poem, for me, expresses a grief that he can't yet express. Hell, it expresses my grief too. But this isn't about me. It is about E, who is having a hard time reconciling in his mind how you can have fun, be happy, doing something like trick-or-treating when his Granny died. How can he play with toys, things that make him happy, things she gave him, because she died. How can you go to school, and have fun at recess, when everyone around you doesn't get your Granny died? How do make your way in a world where everyone isn't sad, or the same kind of sad as you, because your Granny died?

Who would have ever guessed that one of the hardest parts about Mom's death, would be watching the Boy(s) suffer through their grief? Hearing E crying in his room at night, trying to go to sleep. Knowing full well, that when we go to him, and ask, what is wrong, his answer will be Granny died. I usually lay with him after those times, in a vain attempt to make him feel better by my proximity. I'm sure it helps some, but truthfully, no matter how close I get, I can't get into his head. Into his heart. I can't take away the pain. Even if I could, I'm not sure that would be a wise choice. He needs to grieve. We all need to grieve. If only that knowledge made it easier. It doesn't. Nothing could ever prepare me for the pain I felt when I saw him take Mom's photo inside that sailboat frame and clutch it like a teddy bear as he turned over onto his side, and cried himself to sleep.

Until I BLOG again... and the night, the night is yours alone