Monday morning right after his second bowl of Cheerios and only a half hour before he said he was starving again, Deaglan looked over at me and asked Mommy are you missing Uncle Matt?
Just like that.
Out of the clear blue sky.
I haven't told him that my brother is gone from here. Even writing that makes me ache. I don't see the point in telling a three year old what that means. I honestly don't know if he has the capacity to comprehend. It stressed me out though, this small earthly boy asking such a cosmic question.
All at once I felt like Atlas with that crushing globe on his shoulder. Burdened. Ever have one of those moments? Where you felt puny? Inadequate?
But I focused.
Didn't fall apart.
Didn't choke back tears.
Soberly I looked at my first born and said yes I do, I miss him all the time. And you know the blanket of comfort that three foot wonder wrapped me in? It's okay Mommy, we'll go visit his house and you'll feel better.
I left it
Then I pushed the door to my psyche open a crack and tossed this in with all the the other junk I'm not ready to deal with. Even still, I caught a glimpse of all that other stuff and I reeled a little.
I steadied myself on the smooth cool arm of the recliner.
Questions sliced through the spacey parts of my throat where the knot had formed. How I will ever convey all the things I want them to know? Carry with them.
Like my ocean-sized love for my brother. My heartache that he didn't meet my little Naveen. That I can't taste cold chardonnay or chocolate peanut butter balls without hearing his laugh.
I hugged him last Easter with my tiny boy growing snugly inside, burgeoning. I said I can't wait to get home and put on my comfy pants. And he laughed a light little laugh and cautiously patted my belly. I never saw him again.
The depth of such
an undertaking, to precisely depict Matthew, who he was to me,
a medley of pluck and slight,
threatened to swallow me.
So I left it
And I forgave myself, reasoning these could be matters for another day.
This is my entry for The Red Dress Club's prompt forgiveness.