I like going to Rob’s grave alone better. On this trip we only had a few minutes. Fernanda said a quick prayer, Aubrey laid a mournful hand on the tombstone (but I can never tell if she’s just being dramatic – especially with her headphones on), and Joey was trying to look sad but giggled instead, covering his mouth with his fingers. Like trying to pull the smile from his lips.
I took a couple pictures of them at his grave and we left. The closest I got to an honest emotion was reading off his footstone aloud to Joey.
“Sweet dreams,” I traced with my finger. Inside I said, I miss you. My throat swelled and I ignored the heat rising in my face to trace his name and date of birth for Joey and reminded him we light a candle and sing ‘happy birthday’ to him.
If I had been alone I would’ve had more time to talk to him and meditate on how I really feel right now. Every year (well, every chance I get actually) I like to check in and feel around and test for pain and/or healing. Like using your tongue as a probe to feel for the hole your excised molar left after the last trip to the oral surgeon.
Is the pain still there? Hmm. A bit. Some left over. Yes, that deeper patch way in back. I imagine it a black color like a deep cave cut into rock. It's smaller than last time. But is that because I’ve layered cheerleader happiness over it or because it’s really healing. And I probe some more. Noticing any tender spots.
Once a year Aubrey, Joey and I try to visit our East Coast family, and this time -- for the first time -- my children are staying on after I go home. Fernanda has asked me to do this every year since they were born. I deep saying, "When they're older, when they're older." Well, I guess they're older now. Gulp. They are staying with their grandmother for one month, which is good for them -- getting to see cousins and staying a part of Rob's family -- but feels terrible to me.
Fernanda has slipped twice this trip and called Joey ‘Bob’ -- her name for Rob. That’s never happened before. She must be seeing more of him in Joey lately, or it could be that we were talking about Rob as a child this afternoon.
In the middle of one reccollection, Fernanda’s voice gave a sad little gasp after the word, “I”. Like, maybe she wanted to say, “I miss him so much.” Or maybe it wasn’t “I” but “Aiy,” as in an exclamation of pain that is overwhelming sometimes.
I leave tomorrow. I hope the children are ready for their solo stay. On the drive home Joey asks me:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“When we get home can you do something with me?” He’s been feeling a little left out of life lately. Aubrey’s growing up and letting go of Joey and he’s just not ready for that. Especially without any other friends to galavant around with.
“Of course.”
“I’d really like it if you’d ... I’d really like it if you’d … give me a hug,” he said. I reached behind me and touched his shin right above his Spiderman sneaker. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. I wonder if the cemetery visit had more of an effect than I thought.
“Mom?”
“Yes, love?”
“Is pus an infection?” ??? Umm . Maybe not.
“Yes.”
“I hate pus.”
“Why? Do you have some right now?” You’d think I’d know. I see his body often enough and he always tells me of his owies right away in an attempt to receive a waiver from chores. (“Ooo, Mom. I can’t set the table. See? My bruise.” ) This usually involves elaborate limping that switches feet every other step.
“No. I just hate my school where I got it.” Now that I knew he was talking about a past boo-boo, I switched gears from pus to school angst. I perked my ears up again and sat straighter in my car seat. I couldn’t see his face as he was right behind me and if I turned, my head would pop and I’d puke in his lap. I'm cursed with carsickness. Sometimes it even happens when I drive.
I’ve been listening for school conversations that might hint at his emotional and mental state regarding school. He had a hard time last year and I want to know if I need to home-school him until his name rides up the waiting list for the Montessori school we want to try him in, or if he can swing it with this one a bit longer. Is it detrimental for him to be at that school? Or merely a struggle?
“I hate that school. It gave it to me.” Back to the pus, I see.
“Your school didn’t give it to you. Pus is just your body’s natural reaction to infection. It’s a good thing. Without it, infection would spread throughout your body.”
I sounded like a science lesson, or a commercial. So I stopped.
I wish I could’ve gone to the cemetery alone. Talking about imaginary pus isn’t what I’d had in mind. I wanted to meditate and miss Rob properly. The internal and external conversations weren’t jelling.
I don’t know though. Pus and Pain do have much in common. Maybe Joey was just probing his own psyche, as I was trying to do.
