Monday, 7 April 2008
We were having a beautiful morning today, and I decided to take the boys for a quick trip to the shopping centre to get some more play doh for Alexander.
We were not more than 3 steps into the centre when I stopped dead, and my heart started racing.
There, in front of me, was a stand, with products raising money for families living with Motor Neurone Disease. My heart was in my throat as we approached, me unable to walk by.
The gentleman began to talk to me "Motor Neurone is a terrible degenerative disease", he starts. "Yes" was all I could manage. I know my eyes were glistening with the tears I tried so hard not to shed. I know he looked worried as I failed, one of them spilling over onto my hot cheeks.
"My mother. She had - died of MND. I was her carer".
"So you know" he whispered.
Alexander was looking up at me, clearly confused. He loved the little teddy, and asked if he and Sam could have one each. I stood there, dumbly, just staring at the cornflower. I fingered the teddy, so soft and bought two for the boys. One each.
"These are your very special teddies, Xander. These are your Nana teddies. They're your teddies for your nanna".
"Wow. Nanna teddy. Thank you so much".
It didn't matter how I worded it, it sounded foolish in my eyes. I know he doesn't understand death, and he doesn't really know about her (he can't grasp the concept, I've tried). But I wanted him, needed him to understand that this was important to me, to us. I needed him to feel that this was special.
Somehow, he grasped something, because he lovingly carried it around the centre for the rest of the morning.
We bought our playdoh. We went to the fruit and veg market. We went to the pharmacy. We were silly together. We jumped. We kissed. We giggled. We bought Rum Balls for Daddy and a doghnut for Xander. But we kept walking past that stand. Over and over again, I'd find myself just staring.
It was set up near the entrance, and as we were leaving, I heard the volunteer talking to a woman. She looked harried and as aghast as I. I lingered, wondering if she knew too. If this was as special to her as it was to me. I wish I hadn't. She certainly did. Her 12 year old daughter has recently been diagnosed! I've never heard of a child with the disease. I didn't stay. My eyes burned once more with tears I was determined this time to contain.
I hurried back to the stand, buying 3 pens and giving him every last cent in my wallet. I went home with my children, and spoke about their Nana.
It's 3 hours later. I'm still shaking. The tears are still threatening. I can't stop thinking of her. I'm typing this, and at this exact moment, I'm lokoing at the photo I put on my desk of her and Dad (I put it there just last week, after posting it on here. It's the first time I've put a pic of her in a prominent place since she died). I'm lokoing at her eyes, and the tears, finally, are doign as they please, tracing their way down my face, so similar to hers.
I don't know how I'll stop. I dont' know if I want to stop. When will this get easier?
God I miss you.