Right Where I am: 4 years, 6 months, 13 days

 

The sun goes down/the stars come out/And all that counts is here and now/My universe will never be the same/I’m glad you came (The Wanted)

We left the city on the night of holiday Monday, Mr. Spit and I. We walked to gate 54 at the airport, and he got on the plane to Toronto. I walked down to gate 50, and an hour later got on a flight to Victoria. A week at separate ends of the country. This is my life now.

I listen to the people I work with, those who are road warriors, all of us thrown into this city and the company of each other, away from our homes, and they away from their children.

I hear them talk about how they miss their children, I see father’s who go back to hotel rooms to read bed time stories on Skype. I see the photo’s from weekends, missing teeth, a piano recital. I go with them to pick out souvenirs, and I wish just one of them would buy a little boy a slingshot.

I see them separate from their children, and I see how hard it truly is.

They don’t know about Gabriel, about the woman who said good bye. I doubt they could fathom me, almost dying in a hospital bed, the woman who sat on her kitchen floor weeping, unable to cope. I doubt they could imagine the ugly wracking sobs, the snot and the tears, the hair dirty and greasy from lack of washing, my breasts still leaking milk.

They see none of my grief, none of my sorrow. Perhaps they wonder why a woman who loves children has none. Perhaps they never stop to ask about the wistfulness in my eye.

They away from their children and me carrying my son in my heart. I do not tell them of the life I thought I would have. I do not tell them of the time he was with me because I do not care to tell them of how he is gone.

Still: 4 years, 6 months and 13 days later, I am glad he came.

***

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25 Responses to Right Where I am: 4 years, 6 months, 13 days

  1. a says:

    You don’t see how hard it truly is. You know how hard it truly is.

  2. Angela says:

    In the beginning I was desperate to share C with anyone and everyone who crossed my path. Now I hold her back some, I save her story for close friends, I no longer feel the need to share about her in the produce aisle of the local market. It is hard to live life without them, but we go on because we must. I related to this so much, thank you for sharing.

  3. Sara says:

    I’m glad he came too and wish he were here and honoring right where you are.

  4. curlsofred says:

    I hope to get to the point where I don’t feel the need to inform people of the life I thought I would have. You write this so well, and I have such a limited response…I’m still mulling your piece over in my head. Thank you for sharing.

  5. Kristin says:

    No words…just love heading your way.

  6. Reese says:

    In the end, as the journey continues on, you were better for knowing him/having him. And always, as I read this entry, I always wish it was for longer….

  7. Erica says:

    Oh, Mrs. Spit. There’s a quiet beauty in this post that strikes me deeply. I love the way you see the love in the others around you, the way you look back and forwards at the same time. And your last sentence – I had to just sit and stare at the screen for a while, taking in the power of it.

  8. Ya Chun says:

    Sounds like your coworkers are thoughtful to not ask – mostly I hope it stays that way

    Sorry you and the Mr are traversing the continent so much

  9. HereWeGoAJen says:

    I am glad he came too.

  10. Catherine W says:

    Erica has described it perfectly. Quiet beauty. Tender gladness.

    And, as a has already said, you know how hard it truly is.

  11. J. says:

    Just beautiful. Pure, honest.

    Your words will remain with me a long time.

  12. Angie says:

    This is so beautiful. You just captured this place perfectly, so articulately. And yes, as J says, so honestly. Thank you. With love, as always, xo

  13. Sally says:

    This is so incredibly beautiful. That’s just it, we don’t imagine how hard it is, we know it, we live with it every day.
    Our lost children are sometimes far too precious to share with the masses. Sometimes we just need to keep them close, even though they are so desperately far away.
    Sending you much love. I’m glad you took part in Angie’s amazing project.
    xo

  14. Jen says:

    I feel like I am newly attuned to the wistfulness in women’s eyes these days. I am constantly scanning playgrounds and grocery stores and coffee shops, wondering about other women’s stories and sorrows. I’m glad he came, too. I wish he could’ve stayed longer.

  15. loribeth says:

    I love this. You explain it so beautifully.

    For all the sadness, I am glad he (& she) came too.

  16. Via says:

    The wistfullness and the love shine clear.
    “.. wish just one of them would buy a little boy a slingshot.”
    Ahh, there, right there, all the love and grief and acceptance, and the impossibiltiy of accepting that your little boy will never be here; wrapped up in those words, that sentiment of wanting.
    Thankyou for your words.

  17. Jamie says:

    You have such a gift with words and the ability to convey difficult emotions. Sometimes I feel like I barely understand what I’m feeling much less able to write about it.

    Abiding with you and hugging your heart with mine.

  18. Merry says:

    Oh. You have knocked the breath from me. This is so dignified and graceful. Thank you. And… I’m sorry. I wish it had worked out differently for you. I hope that is not the wrong thing to say. Xxx

  19. Jessica M. says:

    Such beautiful words for such a sad journey… it amazes me how we all find ways to describe our feelings through this. There are moments and feelings we all share in some way and significant differences we may never fully understand. I am so very sorry for your loss…I pray Gabriel is watching over you, sending you peace while he plays with his sling shot and sees how much his mommy loves him… <3 (((hugs)))

  20. Arcadia says:

    Such a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing. I am so sorry about your Gabriel.

  21. Jeanette says:

    My goodness, this is beautiful. You had me at the very first line. My eldest daughter loves that band, she sings that song around the house often, but I admit I’ve never really considered the words before now…how stupid of me, they really are so much more than I’d assumed they were.x

  22. Amelia says:

    Oh this is so heartbreaking and beautiful. I’m speechless.

  23. Kelly says:

    This is beautiful. I have tears in my eyes. I hope to be in a place where I can be glad she came; I have been living in a place where I am only sad that she’s gone. Thank you for giving me a place to move towards.

  24. I agree with Erica – such gentle, quiet beauty in this post.

    The penultimate paragraph – I understand too. I feel the same about Emma.

  25. TracyOC says:

    It’s so hard to explain yet, somehow you’ve explained it. Best to you, Mrs. Spit.

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