Tough questions today.
In the first couple of days after getting home, Alastair didn't ask much about where Amanda was. When I first told him that she was gone, he held me and told me to stop crying. He said, "It's ok daddy, you're all right. You don't need to cry." He had a good time, he played, and he got shuffled around a bit.
But then he started asking, and now at least once a day he asks when mommy will be home, when she'll be better, or when he can see her. I've held it together pretty well for this series of questions, answering that mommy's in Heaven with God because she was too sick to stay alive, and that God doesn't like to see us in pain.
To his question of when he can see her, I've told him that he can dream of her any time.
Today, for some reason, he seemed particularly confused and fascinated by all of this, asking at least 3 separate times about her. It's touching, really, to know that after days of silence he's interested in knowing, but it's also heartbreaking to be unable to explain it to him in terms that he can understand.
Maybe that explains why I started sobbing tonight over G&R's "Patience" on the radio ("Shed a tear 'cause I'm missin' you, I'm still alright to smile, Girl, I think about you every day now"). Again he came to me and asked why I was crying, only this time, in addition to the sweetest hug imaginable, he also sought out a tissue box, dug down into it (it was almost empty), and brought me a wad of tissues. He even went so far as to try to wipe away my tears. I love that boy.
But I'm worried about him, too. His sitters, his grandparents, and their friends have all remarked that his play is more aggressive than usual. I seem to recall him being like that before I left for Texas, but I can't be certain.
He pitched a huge fit over getting his hair cut today, and has been a nervous wreck about tomorrow's check-up. I'm not too surprised about that, as the doctors failed to keep mommy alive; he'll probably have an unhealthy fear of medicine for a while to come.
And as for me, I've made some strides around the house. My grandmother lost three husbands (why in the world would you open yourself up to that much potential pain?), and her secret to survival was to detach emotionally from the accumulated stuff and see it as just that: stuff. I've managed to prepare 4 grocery bags worth of donations, mostly in the form of jeans, socks, sports-wear, bras, and slippers.
I threw out all of her medications (except the prescription pain-killers and sleep-aids, 'cause who knows?), gave away her feminine hygiene products, and cleaned out most of her toiletries.
There's no emotional attachment to these things--much harder will be some of her shoes, t-shirts, coats, hats, and dresses. But what has helped was a long-standing problem: this house is completely full. Alastair's closet is half-filled with dresses she hadn't worn since starting Weight Watchers 5 years ago, and every nook and cranny in the house is similarly packed with old clothes, out-of-season clothes, threadbare clothes, and work clothes.
But I'm workin' on a plan to either keep all of her pink accessories or find some fitting way to honor them. There's really no way I can bequeath her pink laptop to my son: he'd get his ass kicked on the first day of school. I also can't part with her pink iPod Nano (with matching earbuds), as it's engraved. But pink running shoes, well that's another story. Maybe a pink time capsule for Alastair to look at years from now? I'm open to suggestions.