Wednesday, April 21, 2010

How the Time Does Fly

Tonight at dinner, the three of us were just sitting around talking, Sarah being entertaining and weird, and Tom and I marveling at the weirdness and the alchemical ability of ketchup to turned spurned food into the Most! Delicious! Thing! Ever! to the four year old palate.

So, Sarah's gabbing away, and I notice her eyes aren't as blue as they used to be. In fact, on leaning in closely, I decide they're looking pretty grey. Making me super jealous; I've wanted grey eyes since I was a kid and read about a character in a book (I think it must have been one of Lloyd Alexander's books) described as having them. And like a shot to the gut, all I could think about were Jane's brown eyes. Her funny, wise, warm brown eyes so much like my dad's. And I missed her horribly.

I looked around our table, with its three empty seats. She should have been there. She'd be nine months old tomorrow. Her adjusted age would have been six months. She would have been trying out solid foods. She should have been strapped into Sarah's old high chair, sitting at the table with us at dinner, laughing at Sarah's funny faces and smearing pureed sweet potatoes all over everything except her mouth. And it would have been awesome and normal and a pain in the ass and just perfect.

Goddamn it.


Erica Houskeeper said...

What a painful moment that must have been at the dinner table. I know you miss Jane so much, and this must all feel so terribly cruel at times. I am thinking of you.

Sending you hugs.


Anonymous said...

Every milestone, every thought of child development will certainly make you think of would haves, should haves, and damn it--not haves. Life has dealt you a cruel blow....and I wish it wasn't that way. No one can feel what you are feeling, but can only imagine...and yet be grateful not to have to deal with that cruel blow for themselves. A dear friend of mine who lost a child (at age 9) told me that losing a child was like losing an arm or a leg. The wound and pain will heal with a deep scar, but the arm or leg will always be gone, just like their child. I wish you only good things. You will somehow be able to come to some special place in your hearts for your brown-eyed girl.
Kind regards, Judy (Tom's cousin)

mommatosena said...

I had been missing your posts to your blog and when I saw there was a new one I was happy. Reading reminded me of how painful this whole process is and how the unexpected rears it's ugly head at times like these. The totally normal family times when you are reminded of the missing member and deeply missing her. I am sorry that the pain is once again so fresh and I wish there was a way around it but instead the only way is through it; hoping that today is a better day. Hugs! prayers as always for healing and strength and peace as this journey continues.

Tasha said...

I am bringing Jane with me as I participate in the March for Babies this weekend. She is always in my heart. And you all are in our continued prayers.

Anonymous said...

Hugs XXX

Cindy said...

Hugs, prayers and love to you.... for all you have, and for all you'll miss.

I'm sorry. I really am.

Rowena said...