Cold and quiet

The viewing was hard. I knew it would be, and had been psyching myself up for it from the time i woke up till the time we got there. There was no way to prepare for it though, as it was just.. so… real. He looked like he was sleeping, but different. There was a moment where I was certain he was going to reach out and grab my hand and say “gotcha” at which time I’d simply kill him, then die myself. He was holding his mickey shirt, his mickey wizzards hat, and looked for all the world as if he’d just fallen asleep.

Which, as we know, the only thing we know, is that he had done simply that.

I went in first with dad, and shook and cried and tried for all I could to hold it together, to be as strong as he said I was and wanted me to be. I asked mom to bring the kids, and when they were being gotten, I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair, brushed his cheek, and kissed my fingertips and pressed them to his lips. He was so cold, so… gone. But still so… real. It was the goodbye I needed, the solidification I had to have.

I stood strong, as strong as I could, when the kids came in. Jessi gasped, and then grabbed hold of me. Sean almost pulled me down as he struggled to stand. Mairiah clung to gramma before I pulled her into my hug as well. My arms were big enough to hold all of them, and I didn’t want to let go, I couldn’t let go. I let them have the time they needed, and then shepharded them out again, to let the others who attended see him.

I’m being as strong as I can. I’m holding up as tough as I can, because m,y kids need me to be so, and I need to be that to them. My sick sense of humor has brought laughter, Jessi, that child has cracked me up more then once. At the viewing, she casually mentioned as she was sniffling away the rest of her tears, that “for the first time ever, Daddy looks older then you, mom.” I… could only laugh, and say “…..uh…thanks… I think.” And kiss her and hold her as we all giggled a little. She also popped off with:

“Mom? Did they carry him in here?”
“Um….sorta, yes.”
“…they touched him?”
“Uh, yeah….”
“Oh. God, I sure hoped they washed their hands!”

At which time I started giggling again. She’s assimulating it the best she can, in ways that she can handle. Sometimes a lot like me. with laughter, and gallows humor. Othertimes by crying, or by just acting out. I accept them all, and just hug her all the tighter.

The boy, it’s hit him very very hard. Though he alternates between tears, and divying up all of dad’s cool toys. The girl is tears and artwork and flyby hugs. THey’ve a better idea on the finality of it all, as Sean’s first words after walking around the screen were “…it’s really real. He’s really gone.”

Last night, Jason, Kevin’s best friend, took the boy out for dinner and a movie, and generally connected and talked and were ‘manly men’ together. The girls went out for ice cream with Aunt JR and I remained at home gathering up my senses again, and talking with people as they came to visit.

Today, the kids all went to Homer with Aunt JR, while mom and I went around and took care of last minute things, picked up the ashes, made the Funeral Director laugh finally, and picked up the bag of clothing that they’d shipped Kevin out with. When I got home and sent them through the wash, I discovered his earring, the one piece of jewelry we had been missing. I cleaned it up, and repierced one of my ears with it. He lost his ring a year ago, I haven’t been wearing mine since i got to fat for it, and we were both going to get new ones in october. Ugh. So I wear his necklace, and I wear his earring. It keeps me connected, and it keeps me…

..ugh. yeah.

—

Tonight the girls and I curled up on the couch and watched Ice Princess together. The pup’s throat is pretty swollen and I think we’re looking at toncilitis again. I’m betting we have to get them puppies out soon.

—

Ugh. And then there’s that fucking CUNT of a birth mother. That bitch is sticking her nose way up too far into this business and I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking angry. She had the NERVE to demand she be put in the obit, and be given insurance information! HA. fuck you and your abusive husband and your self-serving bullshit spouting child beating ways, you soulless cunt.

I spent the last 14 years putting him back together and keeping him together. I REFUSE to allow her any rights at all. She can kiss my great white ass.

ARGH.

—
urg. anyway.

Tomorrow the memorial service. The Elks are handling the service for me, so i don’t have to do anything. The kids picked out some of their favorite pictures and made posterboards with me tonight to show at the memorial. Other family members are doing the same. We’ll have a table set up with all of that on it at the service.

As much as I’m doing I still feel like I’m not doing enough. That I should be planning these things more minute by minute, but I know that I can’t and that I don’t need to. It’s just there, that feeling that I should. But I refuse to control freak it. It will happen as it does. I can’t help but think as I sit on the phone with Social Security office, (which requires additional paperwork for the boy since he was born before we got married, proving Kevin as his father – but they’ll accept his school registration….written in my hand. heh. Whatever works. We WILL get bene’s though, which will certainly help.) – I keep thinking on occasion that I’m so glad it wasn’t me first, because I know he could not have done all of this. All the papers, all the calls, all the visits, all the charity and taking letting other people take care of us because not only do WE need it, but THEY need it too… He couldn’t have, so in a way I’m glad that it wasn’t me.

And then I try to sleep, my arms wrapped tight around his childhood stuffie, and I simply wonder….

why?