April 30th, 2008
Thank God for my kids, is all I can say. Sometimes they give you grief – and sometimes they take the grief away.
Yesterday was a wonderful example of the latter. We were in the car, all 3 of us, and we were late – surprise surprise – to gymnastics class. Punksin was yammering on and on about something, and I don’t really remember what it was because I was in my own little world of grief again. I’d had another moment of wanting to talk about something, to consult on a matter, only to realize that my “counselor” was gone. This had happened earlier in the day, and the grief was so fresh and so strong that I wanted to hear his voice one more time. So I called his cellphone.
And his message was gone. My last link, my last chance to hear his voice, gone.
As I rushed out of here to grab Punksin from school and deposit her in gymnastics, I felt lost. I went blindly and automatically through all the motions, all the hellos and how-are-yous to other moms, the exchanged kisses with Punksin when she saw me (always a delight), and then we got in the car.
I don’t know about you, but for me, there’s something about getting behind the wheel that is very conducive to thinking. Sometimes that is good.
Sometimes it is not so good.
I peeled away from the school, with 5 minutes to get her to a class that was, actually, only 5 minutes away, but that’s without traffic. And now here we were stuck at a light, with a little more time than I really needed to start thinking about Emmanuel again. And then I hear a voice like a little bell:
“Mommy, are we late?”
“Well, a little bit,” I answered absentmindedly.
“Well why are we sitting here?”
“Because there’s a red light, sweetie.” And then, “Now we have to wait for these people to cross the street before I can turn. But I’m going to try my best to drive fast and get you there soon, okay?”
“Does that mean you’re going to drive like an idiot?”
I love her.