I can hear my boys talking but the context washes over me as i concentrate on supper. I am used to them nattering constantly; usually either a complicated fantasy game or an negotiation of who wins first, or the right or wrong way to play a particular game.
Phrases might catch my attention, but it was the tone rather than the words themselves which make me tune in this time. i don't know if he meant for me to hear it, but he repeats himself. Without turning i know he is looking at me; perhaps he is waiting for me to confirm or join in.
"When mummy was ill."
He is explicit in the timeline to his brother, slightly shy as he is now aware of my silent back.
"Not this year, but the year before."
"When mummy was ill in the snow."
I have no idea why he is talking about me bleeding in the snow, not after all this time.
I am acutely aware of my empty belly, and that i don't count the passing months any more. I wonder what other memories and unasked questions he is storing up from the jumbled catastrophes of a disintegrating family.
7 comments:
"...bleeding in the son..."? I don't think you shared that little bit with us...
Hang in there!
Respectful silence. And a quiet long-distance hug.
I second Sulpicia's comment.
{{{HUG}}}
Big Hugs..
That must have been rather distressing for such a young man... isn't it funny how we want to try and shield our children from these things, and despite our best efforts, we can't.
(((Hugs))) to you and the boys.
My best wishes I'm sending your way...and BIG hugs for you too, sweetie.
Ciao babe.
There's a quiet sensitivity from the older boy, here. It speaks of good things. I'm wondering if you joined the conversation, as he delicately explained things to the younger one.
Also worth remembering: for all the polish and sheen of many of the people we cross paths with, it's not uncommon for us - young and old - to have experienced stuff that Mum or Dad would have not wanted us to witness or experience. We listen and we see, we understand and we don't understand, we live - there'll always be untidiness about the edges. The important thing is to stay in touch with that loving stuff in the middle.
In terms of your reference to disintegrating family, I want to appeal against that sentiment. From everything I've read and heard from you, whilst the old family unit has broken up, the family will remain in tact (it will) - maybe a bit like a jellyfish that turns into an octopus?
(I'm having a Friday of peculiar metaphors. Forgive me.)
Post a Comment