"I was so sad I couldn't cry," he says flatly.
"I was crying on the inside, not on the outside." come the adult observations in his little 7-year-old mouth which...
begins to quiver.
"I didn't get to say goodbye to Daddy!" he sobs, regret and anger in his voice.
I say a mommy-stupid thing, something like,
"You said goodbye in your head."
Hoping that this mother guess is dead on.
Hoping to avoid a lifetime of regret that my adult self is sure he will feel....
because I do with so many things.
"No, I didn't. I didn't say it out loud and I didn't say it in my head."
And his tears flow.
The next sound is my own sob.
"You can say goodbye now if you'd like. We can write a letter, or say a prayer. Daddy is still right here (I touch him in his chest). He'll hear every word."
Ezra declines.
"I would kill to have him back," Pallas says later
"I would too," I say and then I stop.
No, I wouldn't.
I couldn't bear to put someone else through this.
Kim,
ReplyDeleteI've just spent over an hour reading your blog, going back through all the old posts, and I'm profoundly moved. I was told about it by another Webb Road neighbor (yes, the street where you grew up) and I'm so glad I took a look.
First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss. I'm not sure I met your husband Art, but his death seems a terrible loss.
I just had to tell you that I founded the Westport Writers' Workshop right here on Webb Rd,where I have worked with many, many people on their memoirs. (I had my own essay collection published last year.) But I have rarely come across as gifted a writer as you are. Not just your story, but the way you express yourself, and your generosity and candidness in sharing your feelings, are miraculous. I'm not sure there is much to comfort you these days, but I hope that very honest praise has meaning for you.
You are a beautiful writer and a courageous and wonderful mother. (I am so happy know your own very talented and special mom - we were neighbors for 10 years until her recent move.) Your story will give comfort and strength to a great many who are fortunate enough to one day read your work.
Sending you warmest wishes,
Jessica Bram (#32)