My heart breaks and weeps for my poor, soft, sweet baby boy. Far too aware of what he has lost. His grief far too big for his tiny body.
I asked him today, after he slept, did he have a good sleep, dream nice dreams. Yes, he replies. He dreamt about Daddy.
I know how that is. I have those dreams too, I had one today as well. Dreams where Tony is not even there but here, alive in our present. Just today I argued with him, in my sleep, over months of unpaid child support, as if it were a divorce and not a death. (Was I thinking, as I drifted off, why didn’t he just leave, why couldn’t he just have walked away and not broken all our hearts like this….? He couldn’t, I know, didn’t want to walk away anymore than he really wanted to die.)
It’s all relative, is it not? Almost two years ago, on the eve of his sister’s birth, I remember telling my mother that I didn’t want to move my Chop out his bedroom, and to one down the hall.I didn’t want to disrupt him like that, when he loved his bedroom so much.
The irony. Not wanting to change my child’s room. And less than 18 months later his whole life was destroyed.
His life, as much as mine. He lost his friends, his playgroup, daycare and swimming lessons, all the security and stability and routine that had been so carefully built up for him over his three years.
That stings. Not nearly as much as knowing he lost his father, but it hurts. I built up such a strong, happy little world for my little boy.
When it was under my control, he was so secure… I wouldn’t have changed the tiniest aspect on his life, if I had any say in it.
If hearts can break in the afterlife…. I’m guessing this is breaking Tony’s heart too.
I stood in my sunny, small kitchen, after I woke from that dream today. My children are still sleeping.
And I sobbed.
Please, please, please come back. You were just here, I could smell you and see the ink etched into your skin, taste the salt of your shoulder under my lips….
Please, please… come back. Make it stop hurting.
Today is Father’s Day in Australia. I’m trying very hard to pretend it’s not happening.