Ruby--"Mommy I see an owl over there."
Me--" What is he doing?"
Ruby---" He's thinking about me. I'm going to be that owl's girlfriend."
as I was peeing she walked in the room yesterday.
"I pee rainbows and poop flowers mommy."
I have written about a native American tribe's concept of the "Death Parent"--the parent who must be strong enough to do what's right for the child even if it breaks your heart. This week has challenged that part of me to the core.
It began with a fever, one of the high ones that wakes your child ( and you) up every 30 minutes throughout the night. The next day, she had a blister in her mouth. At night, fevers and little sleep, daytime blisters spreading to the point where she couldn't eat or drink without screaming in pain.
Oddly, as lack of sleep and the helpless pain of watching your child suffer began to take it's toll on me, I reached out to my estranged husband and something clicked again. We were able to forgive each other( sort of) and move forward as a unit, making doctors appointments and sitting in the ER like a well trained Navy Seal unit of two.
They gave her Codeine at the ER, so one of our trio is hopped up on goofballs, riding the wave of prescription smack as she walks into doors and lolls her eyes at us from the couch.
"The ponies fly up into the sky MOMMY!while they are flying the butterflies are singing to the stars until the flowers tell them to stop because it is night night and then they don't stop so the flowers get into spaceships they say blast off and kill the stars and the ponies until they are dead." She giggles" I 'm fucking that up."
Where she got that I don't know, certainly not from me or Jeff.
If we let too much time pass between doses she becomes intolerable, whiny and screamy, washing our windshield without permission to get a dollar for her habit. It's charming, but not as bad as before she was doped.
She likes the medicine but not the administration of it. Every three hours we must hold her down and squirt medicine into her mouth, first Codeiene, then Motrin, the weird mothwash, as she screams "Im okay!! I'm okay! I don't need it!" And then she cries and screams with a hoarse little voice at the injury, the unfairness the unjust treatment. There is no way to make her understand why i have to hold her down and dope her up.
A child screaming in pain, when there is nothing you can do to stop it, is the worst experience I can imagine, besides the obvious-war, famine, death and my neighbor asking me if I like Bill OReilly as much as she does.
"He has a message I think you need to hear." she told Jeff.
Lady, I have a message you need to hear as well, but you are eighty four so I will just think it at you and pretend I am in the shower the next time you knock on my door because you are afraid of the black man the phone company sent out to fix your line. Ha.
I would say I am cautiously optimistic, even hopeful, about my marriage. Anyone whose been married knows that everyone is one day away from renewing their vows and walking out the door for cigarettes never to appear again-it just depends on the day you ask them. We had a pretty dramatic split, but there's a big love there, so maybe it can be repaired. Like an heirloom, or favorite crack pipe( I NEED him! I wept) it has been shattered but can perhaps be repaired, the line of glue always showing but precious nonetheless. Or so I hope.
I would say that the last two weeks ranks up there in the top ten bad weeks of my life, below the week I was trapped in Cancun with a batshit crazy Taiwanese drug lord who "held" my passport for me and above the week I almost dies because my hippie doctor made the wrong snip during my C section. But time passes, things change, you make room in your heart for forgiveness. At one of my secret meetings a woman stood up, someone who'd recently experienced a loss beyond my comprehension.
"I read this the other day." she said." It's only when it gets the darkest that we can really see the stars."
I love that, and I'm looking everywhere to see my stars. there are quite a few.