I'm experiencing a creativity deficit of sorts. This week isn't helping. What started out as a week of possibilities with one solid week of vacation at the beach has been turning out rather odd.
I haven't been inspired to write, even by some of the antics of the 8 and 9 year old. I was hoping that within a few days of relaxation and just playing in general - that bug would come back - that some story that i thought was really funny a few days ago would pop into my brain and i would be inspired to jot it down, put an evil spin on it and spew it back to you so that we could laugh, together. But.I.got.nothin'.
I think a lot of it has to do with a significant loss in our community that i can't put explanation to or examine for reasoning and make any good out of it. My son's playmate and classmate, our neighbor and little leaugue coach died a few days ago, saving his son from drowning. There's no way to pretty that up.
And i keep replaying the conversation that my ex and i had when he called to tell me - the day we intended to start our vacation in earnest.
I am having a really difficult time with this.
We chose not to tell the boys until we are in the car on the way home. I want their vacation to be one where sadness doesn't affect their fun and being around water the entire time, i thought maybe we should hold on the news until we were away from the water so that my worry wart of a son didn't decide not to go swimming the entire time. But me, I think about it at least once an hour.
I think, how much horror that family had to live through on what was supposed to be their vacation, and how much the wife and boys will have to endure in the weeks and months to come, and it rips me apart. I think about the boys and their team sports that their dad was always involved in and i pray that they still will want to go back to the field. Boys need sports. But i know that when, if, they do go back, they will ache from the loss of not having their dad there. And i crumble inside a little bit just thinking about it.
My son will ask a million questions that i will not be able to answer. He will go home and pull up the Sentinel and search for his friend's last name until he finds the articles detailing the accident and arrangements. He will dwell. He gets that from me. He will probably get out of bed a million times for the next few weeks to make sure that his dad, or me, is still there, still in bed, still breathing.
I know life and death happens. I get it. I'm just never prepared for the death part.
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