dear one

dear one,

you are five. sleeping in your big bed. you are a yellow belt now. you are starting kindergarten in the fall, and are worried about it.

i stopped writing because i stopped knowing what to say. perhaps i am just tired. i don't know where it came from before, back when i knew how.

your daddy is doing well. i don't know what to say to him anymore either.

i do know what to say to you in real life. i've enjoyed playing with you and reading you harry potter and taking you to the museum and making mystery boxes for you and tiny books and all the other wonderful things.

love is only everything.

xo

thank you for your service

dear little big boy,

tonight you broke my heart. when you and i got back from m's poetry reading at l's house, you discovered that daddy wasn't going to be home before bedtime and you started to cry. "i miss my daddy!" you said. "i miss my daddy!" i hugged you and reminded you that you had time with him today and would see him in the morning, but you became more upset and shouted tearfully, "my daddy's the helpfulest daddy and the funniest daddy and the nicest daddy of all the daddies and i miss him!" i was trying to make us some dinner. it was late, approaching bedtime, and we hadn't eaten a proper meal--just snacks (you had 3 twizzlers, a chocolate covered strawberry and some crackers). you had been asking me to snuggle with you on the couch, which i said i would do as soon as the pizza was out of the oven. so while our pizza overbrowned, we called daddy and left a message on his voice mail asking him to call if he could between sets.

we sat down on the couch and i said, "i'd really like some strawberries. how bout you"? you said, "me too," and so we got our strawberries and overbrowned pizza from the kitchen and went back to the couch to distract ourselves with a disney movie for a few minutes until bedtime. daddy called and you became tearful again. "i didn't know you wouldn't be home until late!" you accused, "and i miss you!"

the disney movie turned out to be "the wild", and the part we saw was about a lion cub that got into some trouble. his dad went after him to save him. we watched just a few minutes and went up to your room to get ready for bed. on the way upstairs you told me, "i feel like my daddy is lost." you said it a couple of times. i asked you when you started to feel that way and you said today. "i don't know why i started to feel like daddy is lost," you said. but you also said the song at the end of kung fu panda made you sad--and you'd watched that movie with daddy in the afternoon.

i was pretty sure i knew what you meant about daddy being lost. i think you were feeling that your daddy is going to die, and that it's not fair because you love him so much. i'm not sure if you were thinking "die", but do i believe you were thinking that you would be separated from him forever. what i told you is that daddy drove over the bridge to san francisco, to a building with a club in it, and there he would play some songs along with some other singer-songwriters. at the end of the night, i said, he would get back into his car and drive back over the bridge to our house and sleep in his own bed. but before going to sleep in his bed, he would come into your room to give you a kiss and tell you that he loves you.

this seemed to make you feel better. i then told you that i do the same thing every night before bed. that i come into your room and kiss you and tell you that i love you. and if your blanket needs straightening i do that, too. i said, "daddy and i both do this every night because we love you so much." and you said, "and i don't even wake up!"

i laid down next to you to help you get to sleep. i thought it might take a while. and as you laid down next to me you threw your arm around me and said, "thank you for your service." i laughed and you laughed, and by the time i left your room you were sleeping quietly in your big bed, ready tomorrow for your first official day of "pre-k".

i want you to know that i am rooting for you and for daddy and for me, my sweet one. i am rooting for us all.

revelations

you: when i first came to live at your house i thought it would always be daytime.

me: you remember coming home the first time?

you: [nod and smile]

someday a grownup

dear love boy,

somehow, daddy is still going strong and seems to be very healthy. he finished his latest course of chemo in september--folfiri with avastin--and had one clean scan during chemo and one after. i'm sure he's due for another scan soon, and if i were the praying type i would be praying hard for more good news.

nana, on the other hand, is dying. last year, before our summer visit, she completed chemotherapy for lymphoma. she looked fantastic when we saw her, and you loved visiting with nana and playing in her "little room" in the basement, and you've asked to go back. now it appears that we'll be going back to pay a most-likely-last visit in the very near future.

a couple of months ago nana went for a pre-op appointment for some kind of orthopedic surgery and the doctors found a valve problem in her heart. the operation to fix the valve is risky, and at nana's age there was some disagreement in the family about whether it was a good idea for her to have it. then nana learned that the lymphoma is back, and decided not to take any more treatment for it. auntie m told t that nana has 6 months to 1 year; auntie e told k that she has 1-1.5 years. t told me she believes auntie m, thinking that autie e tends toward over-optimism, so i told daddy last night that we have to go see nana, soon. i want her to be feeling well enough for the two of you to be able to enjoy your visit together. it makes me sad to think that you might not remember her, just as i don't remember papa.

the concept of death won't be new to you. on thanksgiving, we talked about it for the first time. you brought home an art project from school--a turkey--and i said, "hey, why don't we put this in an envelope, put grandma b's address on it, and mail it to her?" to which you replied, "no, grandma s." my grandma, who died before you were born. you seem to have a thing about grandma s., and i don't know why. i haven't talked about her to you much at all--the only thing i can think of is that we have all those pictures of her as a little girl hanging along the staircase. but even when you were very, very little, you asked about her so often that i thought you might be her, reincarnated. once i asked you, "are you grandma s.?" and you said, "no, i'm just l." or course i felt silly, but there was a part of me that felt you had been coached in some way to give that answer...

anyway, i kept trying to steer your focus away from grandma s. and back to grandma b. but you became annoyed and said, "NO. GRANDMA S!" and so i told you that we couldn't write grandma s.' address on it because she doesn't have an address anymore. "why?" "because she died." and then i told you. "when somebody gets very, very old, their body stops working and they die. after that we don't get to see them anymore." "their body stops working?" "yes." "why?" "that's just how it works."

you didn't say anything else about dying that day, but the next day you said a few things were dead--just testing, or for shock value--and you asked if one of your school friends who stopped going to your school was dead. "because you don't see him anymore?" "yes." "no, he's just staying home with his daddy instead."

then yesterday, out of the blue, grandma b. had just called and you asked if it was grandma s. "no, it's grandma b." "grandma s. died?" "yes." "why?" "because when people get very, very old, their body stops working and they die." "are you going to die?" "yes, someday." "am i going to die?" "yes, but not for a long, long, long time. you have your whole life to live." "is daddy going to die?" "yes." "even m. and j.?" (your school friends.) you looked a little bit worried, so i tried to reassure you. "when you are very, very old, you will have had a full life and you will be tired. you will be ready, then." and i hoped that everything i said would turn out to be true. i hope you will live a long time and feel satisfied when it comes time to say goodbye.

i wish i could give you a sibling. i think you'd like a sister. daddy and i argued about it recently. i would jump over any obstacle i can think of if he were in it together with me, but he is not. you overheard us, and later you gave me your doll and said, "here, mommy, you can have this new baby."

tonight at bedtime, you told me that your bed is too small. "i wish it was as comfortable as your bed. i wish my bed had two places. then i'd have room for a girl." this was, of course, just after storytime. we'd read mrs. picasso's polliwog, and i read the note to you inscribed by my friend george, the author. he wrote that he hoped one day i'd be able to read the book to a little girl or boy of my own. you said, "but we don't have a girl." "no," i said,"but we do have a wonderful little boy to read it to." "maybe someday i'll read it to my little girl," you answered. "because someday i'm going to be a grownup." "yes." "and i'll be able to use the oven." "yes." "when i'm grown up we can all use the oven together." "that sounds like fun." "and one day the little girl will grow up and she'll be able to use the oven, too." "yes, she will."

i want this for you, my sweet thing. i hope you get your little girl. and i hope she grows all the way up for you and that the two of you cook things together in your oven--that you will still be living in that nice, sweet, storybook world.

conversations

dear lovey bear,

a few days ago you told me you wanted to put me in the trash. it was in the morning before school and work. you said it with a smile on your face, but you were a little upset with me about putting you to bed without a story the night before and this was your way of letting me know.

a conversation we had tonight...
you: i want to go to the moon.
me: what will you do when you get there?
you: turn on my lights and engines.
you meant in your spaceship.

hello oedipus!

dear love boy,

tonight i heard this conversation from the computer room:

you: that's his girlfriend.
dad: do you have a girlfriend?
you: yeah.
dad: really? who's your girlfriend?
you: mommy.
dad: uh-uh. mommy is MY girlfriend.
you: oh.

just so you know, i love being your girlfriend. and i love being daddy's, too.

no dogs

dear sweet boy,

a few nights ago we read harry the dirty dog before bedtime. on the page with the picture of people eating in a cafe, you asked me what the sign on the window said. "no dogs," i read.

tonight we read the book again. on the page with the cafe picture, you pointed to the sign and said, "that says, 'dogs cannot come in here.'"

"right, it says, 'no dogs,'" i said.

"but he can go in there," you said, pointing to harry. it was one of those statements that is more like a question.

"no. they won't let him go in because he is a dog."

you frowned. "but he's hungry."

the book had, indeed, just told us that.

"yes."

you frowned some more.

"dogs cannot go in there," you said.

i felt you coming up against the world around you, pressing your face against the glass and not approving.

this is so clear to you: when someone is hungry, shouldn't we let him come and eat, even if he is a dog?