off (heavy)

I'd like a day off from this body.

Today was another one of those days, in spite of being in bed and asleep before 11:30 last night -- I got 8 solid hours last night and I am so exhausted even I don't believe it.

This morning I stepped on the cat. She was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor during the breakfast/getting ready for school bustle, which was pretty stupid (and unusual) of her, and I took a quick step to the side to let DD pass when "Meowrrrr!" I just got the edge of her paw, and I didn't put all my weight on her, but still. I weigh, oh, about 10x what she does... she doesn't seem any worse for the wear, but I still feel bad about it.

Still, it's not like I could just sit down and bawl in the middle of that (I did feel that badly), so I didn't, I just got everyone out the door as usual. Took DS2 to school, went and got my stitches out, went to Trader Joe's for bread, milk, etc, came home, got online for 45 minutes or so, went to pickup DS2.

Came home, made lunch for the peewees (DH picked up DD), crashed on the futon for 45 minutes, then took the peewees over to DS1's class poetry reading/snack time.

When I got there, his teacher told me he was all upset and saying nobody liked him, crying and the whole nine yards... I have seen this before. DS1 is a sensitive kid, but not unduly so, I knew that something either happened to him or occurred to him to freak him out.

I took him and the peewees into his classroom to talk to him, and the conversation went around and around... He didn't have any poems for his folder (true, but not a big deal). He hated poems (not true). He got sad (bingo!).

Here is the poem he learned, "Bubbles", by Carl Sandberg
Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves.
They flickered out saying:
"It was worth being a bubble just to have held that
rainbow thirty seconds."

So, after much questioning, he told me that he was sad and scared thinking about what it would be like if he didn't exist.

Now, excuse the expression: this is some heavy shit.

The absolute worst, worst part of this was that I just wanted to go home and pull the covers over my head and scream, "Go away!" But I didn't. I knew, first of all, exactly what he was talking about, because it was at about that same age that I began to be terrified of death. So I knew I had to give him something to hold onto, I had to show him my own very real faith. So I made him dry his tears and blow his nose and look at my eyes, and I told him:
That will never happen to you.
God made you, and he made your soul to last forever.
God doesn't make people to throw them away. He made you to be with Him forever.
You will never not exist.

DS1 knows I believe this. I don't know if he can believe it yet himself, but he knows I believe it. It was a thought he needed to have articulated to him, but he could feel the rightness of it. He relaxed visibly, as if he were thinking, "Of course. That makes perfect sense."

So we went out and he joined his class, although he didn't get to say the poem after all that. But we listened to all the other children do their short readings, had some cookies, and then came home.

I am about dead, now...

I'm not sure you can really understand how wrung out I feel, if you've never been faced with your own child's existential crisis. The fact that he is only SEVEN YEARS OLD and I am dealing with this makes it even more profound and difficult and amazing.

DH called shortly after I started talking privately with DS1, to tell me the surgeon's office had called. So when we got back home, I called the office, my surgery is scheduled for Thursday, October 21, have to be there at 6AM. Mom's coming Wednesday -- perfect timing! And DH has a "free" day off that week, because of his travel day Saturday, so I think Thursday works for that, too. Lord, I can't believe how hard I'm working to find the upsides for this surgery. It's going to suck, but I have to keep looking at the positive things, too.

And some people tell me, I need to get a life...