Lack of sleep is wearing on me. Reality is mixed with random images. I can't seem to see up from down in my memories anymore. It scares me because all I have is memories. I run through things in my mind over and over. Playing them with alternate endings. I am tourturing myself for no good reason. I have mastered the art of bullshit. Okay, let's be honest I had already done that but now it is getting worse. I have people so fooled by the tone of my voice it really is a gift. I can cry without tears. On the rare occasion the tears flow while there are witnesses, I am a jungle animal on the hunt for the nearest exit away from humanity. I have taken to planning my escape from the moment I enter a room.
I am trying to put together a book for the boys that will hopefully have no end. It will include all the notes from the funeral home and obituary. All of the cards and notions we received. The hardest part thus far has been the most important part. I am trying to write down every detail of who their dad was. His favorite food, his favorite t.v. shows, his cologne, the way he sat on the couch. The stories that everyone has shared with us. I want them to have a place they can remember him or learn about him without an audience. Something they can add their own memories or look back in 30 years and say that is where I get this from. It is just so fucking hard. It grates at my soul.
All of the boys have been nothing short of amazing. Kids are such interesting creatures. Things just seem to roll off of them until the slightest breeze stirs up the dust in their mind. The questions are the hardest. I detest having to be honest with myself let alone my babies but they seem to see through my facade each time. Being kids they are more than pleased to call bullshit when needed. So I give them real answers, I dont try to sugar-coat and I don't try to make a joke out of things. If they are comfortable enough to ask then I will give them the respect their dad would have given and give them the truth.
#1 is having a hard time not putting himself into the "man" of the house roll. I refuse to let him become that kid. Courtney would have never stood for it. He is such a good kid. I just see how hurt he is and how he is afraid to show the emotion of it all. My priority is to let him continue on as the child he is. For anyone who feels he should step it up, keep that opinion to yourself unless you want a seriously mentally fragile woman beating the shit out of you.
#2 is angry. Oh he is so angry. He cries and cries and then tries to overcompensate his manhood by lashing out. I figured this would be his way but it hurts to see him in pain. Right now is make or break with him. He is so headstrong, like his dad. If he makes his mind set on being angry at the world I dont know how to help him. His head is run by his heart and his heart is to big for his years.
#3 is just now starting to realize how real this situation is. I think even though he knew his dad was gone he thought somehow, some way he would find his way back to us. He seems to be at a peace within himself. He says if he needs to talk to dad he knows where to find him. I am not sure what that really means but I have a feeling they have had a few talks already.
#4 is doing things by leaps and bounds. All the things his daddy couldnt wait to see. It hurts. He will never have one single picture of his dad doing things with him in his mind. He will only have what we give him and that just isnt good enough. He still wakes up everynight at or around 4. And each Monday since it happened he has woken at exactly 4:09 the time that I woke up that morning. He is letting me put him to bed with much less of a fight. He sees pictures and says dadada. He loves to look at his pictures and smile.
As for me, I try my damndest to ignore the fact that he is gone. I am filling my days with my kids and any meanial task I can find. I am not getting worse but I am not getting better. It physically hurts. I am so tired of being in the middle of doing something and turning around to tell him about it and he's not there. Or the kids do something and I pick up the phone to call him. He was so much a part of me. There were so many plans we had, I want to do them all as a way to be close to him, to remember him but I dont know if I am strong enough. I just want him here to tell me what to do next.