Sucker Punched
A sucker punch is defined as, "an unexpected punch of blow". That is exactly what happened to my family last night.
By all rights we had a great day. Just regular really. I worked out, and we all sort of chilled. We read, and played, did the things children and teachers should do in the summertime. And then……….
In the photo area, there are lots of big, bright, happy, perfect looking people on samples of t-shirts and bags, and photos on canvas or whatever. In one photo, the boy looked A LOT like my boy. My daughter pointed it out to me several times, and I tried to sort of play it cool, because the cute little happy David looking boy was riding on his dad's shoulders. Luckily at the time, my son was off drooling over a display of Pringles, and missed the exchange. It was sweet to Sarah, and it was a warm memory type feeling for her I could tell; picturing her daddy and her brother, but I wasn't sure David would see it quite the same way.
Things were progressing slowly, our order was finally ready, and we were almost out the door, and my boy turned around and looked back at the photo counter. "OH MY GOSH", he said, "that boy looks just like me". To which my daughter adds, "I KNOW RIGHT! It looks like you and daddy, don't you think?' And there it was. The sucker punch. The crappy part of the grief process that you don't see coming. The part that takes a nice, regular night and puts it into a complete tail spin. My son's face fell, his eyes glazed over, the smile he had been wearing all evening was gone. In its place…..pain, sadness, darkness.
I didn't even realize it at first. He was in the back seat on the ride home. But when we got home, he looked different. He face was physically changed. I have read that when you are grieving you face muscles loosen and your face actually sags some. Maybe that is what it was. He moped around the house for a while and I kept checking in with him until he finally let it out. Of course my daughter didn't mean to hurt him or make him sad. It's just that you never know. You never know when you will see someone, see something, smell a fragrance, or see a food that sends you back to that dark place.
We had a cry. A family hug. And then the doorbell rang. A friend was there. "Mom can I pleeeeaassee go play xbox?" he asked. It was done and he was smiling and he looked like my boy again. So, it took us down, but we got back up again. I guess that is the key. It happens, you breathe it in and out, and feel the hurt, and then you pick yourself back up and keep going.
And then we went to see How to Train Your Dragon 2. Oddly enough, I was the one who wanted to see it the most. The truth is I kind of begged them to go. I love the animation. I loved the first movie. It was a happy time. Everyone seemed upbeat. We went to the theater, like a normal day, and encountered a sweet autistic boy. My son befriended him over popcorn and icee's and I was feeling rather grand. The boy's mom even thanked David for being so kind to her son who didn't understand "personal space", and I thought to myself, I must be doing something right. And the world seemed good, and right, and I was so pleased with my kiddo.
The movie was great, as I expected it be. The kids didn't even bat an eyelash when the father died. Progress for sure, and relief on my part. I was thinking, wow, okay, we are doing so well. The movie ended, and we stopped at Walgreens to get our passport photos. Exciting, right? We are planning to go on a cruise in September. Good times. The kids were a little worked up, but we got our pictures taken, and then they proceeded to ask me for every form of snack food, candy, and junk food while we waited. They actually found Cokes that said "Share a coke with….." that had all of our names. It was fun. We were kind of merry. And then…….
In the photo area, there are lots of big, bright, happy, perfect looking people on samples of t-shirts and bags, and photos on canvas or whatever. In one photo, the boy looked A LOT like my boy. My daughter pointed it out to me several times, and I tried to sort of play it cool, because the cute little happy David looking boy was riding on his dad's shoulders. Luckily at the time, my son was off drooling over a display of Pringles, and missed the exchange. It was sweet to Sarah, and it was a warm memory type feeling for her I could tell; picturing her daddy and her brother, but I wasn't sure David would see it quite the same way.
Things were progressing slowly, our order was finally ready, and we were almost out the door, and my boy turned around and looked back at the photo counter. "OH MY GOSH", he said, "that boy looks just like me". To which my daughter adds, "I KNOW RIGHT! It looks like you and daddy, don't you think?' And there it was. The sucker punch. The crappy part of the grief process that you don't see coming. The part that takes a nice, regular night and puts it into a complete tail spin. My son's face fell, his eyes glazed over, the smile he had been wearing all evening was gone. In its place…..pain, sadness, darkness.
I didn't even realize it at first. He was in the back seat on the ride home. But when we got home, he looked different. He face was physically changed. I have read that when you are grieving you face muscles loosen and your face actually sags some. Maybe that is what it was. He moped around the house for a while and I kept checking in with him until he finally let it out. Of course my daughter didn't mean to hurt him or make him sad. It's just that you never know. You never know when you will see someone, see something, smell a fragrance, or see a food that sends you back to that dark place.
We had a cry. A family hug. And then the doorbell rang. A friend was there. "Mom can I pleeeeaassee go play xbox?" he asked. It was done and he was smiling and he looked like my boy again. So, it took us down, but we got back up again. I guess that is the key. It happens, you breathe it in and out, and feel the hurt, and then you pick yourself back up and keep going.
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