Last night I looked deeply into Rocco's eyes as he fell asleep. It was one of the most intimate things I'd ever done in my life and I'll never forget it. His eyes fluttered, then closed. A few moments later they sprang open so wide I almost crapped my pants.
He then reached out his hand and patted me, over and over. And he really meant it, you know?
I want to thank every single person who commented on my last post. And emailed. I always read every comment I ever get, more than once. Thanks for patting me. My comment section yesterday single-handedly pulled me out of a hole. Like, blatantly. I don't care if that's not healthy. This past week has been really hard. (Understatement.) Still is. You made it not so hard .. and you made me feel embarrassed at the level of love and support that arrived. I needed it so badly, and I vow to pass it on when I can.
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Today is ANZAC Day. I stole some fresh rosemary from my garden and the smell of it makes me want to bury my head in my grandfathers neck. I used to wonder why his eyes welled up during the Ode of Remembrance but I never asked.
This morning I was laying on the couch, patting Max. (Patting makes the world go round.) I told him how big he was, how strong his bones were.
"Mum, you know my most favourite story of yours? When you were little and you learned that you had a skeleton so you started stabbing yourself with a pen because you wanted to see your bones."
We both laughed so hard .. he remembers everything I ever tell him.
That day in class when the teacher told us we all had a skeleton and a skull and bones ... blew my little mind. I grabbed my pen and started digging away at my leg. I had to SEE this thing! COOLEST NEWS EVER.
I stopped because it hurt, and I was hungry. But deep down in my five-year old heart, I just knew that I would never stop trying to see my bones.
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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell