Analyze this
Following a deep discussion on lingering fears about loss of loved ones, I hung up the phone and fell off to sleep.
I am in the ICU, sitting on the toilet of all places, when a code begins. Suddenly, I am in the midst of chaos — needles flying, and glass falling . I try to leave, when a needle stick occurs to my right ankle. I begin feeling woozy and the scene changes…
In the next scene, I am at the beach with YaYa enjoying the calm effect the ocean has on me. YaYa asks to go swimming and I agree, reminding him to not go out too far. On this day, he walks out very far — farther than he ever would — as if drawn by a greater force. From the shore, I call to him asking him to come back in towards shore. I hear a woman gasp behind me, calling out “Oh NO! Watch out!” A sheet of blackness falls like a curtain, leaving me in total blackness.
I can hear YaYa screaming for me. His voice comes from far out in the water and off to my right. He’s beginning to panic. “Mom! MOM! Where ARE you?” I call back, “YaYa!” and move toward his voice. I AM panicking too.
As YaYa’s voice falls silent, I am overwhelmed with fear. I hear a man’s voice assuring me, “I’ve got him.” Thank God, I think. Then, the curtain of blackness rises. I watch a man carries my son in his arms, completely UNDERWATER, and walking effortlessly toward the shore. The distance is endless — impossible for any human to survive. Yet, moments later, they emerge from the depths of the ocean, and YaYa is delivered to my arms. He opens his eyes immediately and gives me a big hug. He is completely fine. I cannot thank the man enough but his manner is one of no-big-deal, like it’s something he does everyday.
I woke from my dream to find YaYa sleeping peacefully beside me. The clock displayed the time; it was 1:08 am, only 20 minutes after I had hung up the phone with W.
Protected: Old Bachelor
The truth sometimes hurts
I’m sitting in bed listening to Lucky quietly snoring and enjoying a little peace and quiet. Last night, was very different from tonight. Last night, YaYa asked me about Santa in the most direct way possible. There was no way to get out of it gracefully without lying.
Before I answered, I warned him that he might be disappointed to loose this part of the Christmas magic. That should have been enough of an answer right there but he insisted that he wanted to know the truth. I stalled, making him ask one more time, which he did in with the same clarity.
At the moment he asked, he was so grown up. But the moment he received the answer, he was a little boy whose dreams had been destroyed. He cried. Then, as if to prove me wrong, he began challenging me with a whole other set of questions.
- Who ate the cookies?
- What about the carrots?
- Who put the chunks of crumbs in the milk?
- What about the tags on the presents?
- Tracking Santa online?
All of the elaborate measures that had grown over the years as BoBo and DD got more involved in creating the magic where on the line. YaYa was horrified to have it all be a lie.
I was horrified to have my son asking about Santa in the month of March — especially when my son gets so distraught that he is still awake at midnight. Before he finally fell off to sleep, YaYa asked if we could keep some of the traditions like baking the cookies just for the fun of it. Of course I agreed.
Scholastic Award?
The letter from Pop Warner arrived nearly a month ago. I had only read the first few lines before drawing conclusions. This served only to hinder any understanding of the 2 page letter and accompanying order form. Dinner would be served: $30+ / adult ticket and $18 / child ticket. I chalked it up as just another money making gimmick for football.
“Pop Warner Scholastic Awards Banquet” was clearly noted at the top of the letter, and the letter had said said that YaYa had been selected to receive an award. I nearly laughed, just like Tom and I laughed when we received the letter from the Gifted And Talented Education (GATE) program a few years ago. It had to be a mistake or some very sick joke.
I thought back to when I 1st registered YaYa for football. I was extremely upset that the league required each registrant to complete an application for scholastic achievement. It was to be submitted along with their report card.
I had so desperately wanted to leave that school year behind us. I’d moved YaYa to a new school where his repeating of 4th grade was to hopefully go unnoticed. His old school had promoted him to 5th grade as he had made huge strides to catch up after the wasted year following his father’s death. The report card alone failed to show the tremendous progress he had made both academically as well as emotionally. All that could be gleaned from it were sub-standard grades.
The form was no better. They didn’t want to know what sports he was in. They wanted to see how he was contributing to his community via volunteerism, and other accomplishments. I begged to be spared this humility. But the form was a requirement so I complied.
It is hard to describe how our whole life’s focus during that time period was dedicated to simply surviving. It was all we could do to get out of bed each morning and move forward with our lives. There wasn’t any time for achievements. We were simply trying to heal from the devastation left behind following my husband’s death.
I don’t recall exactly what I put on the form but I did try to convey the extent that YaYa’s life was impacted. I probably listed his support group, and perhaps I found a few other things to list. But for the life of me, I cannot comprehend how they could have picked him out of the 7,300 applications to honor. And I pray that however they present this award that it is done with sensitivity to all of the pain and suffering that we have tried to put behind us.