And Then It Sucks

February 27, 2008 | Category:

We got into a time machine this afternoon.

And with a press of a single button, entered my son's teen-aged years.

Riding home from Whole Foods, a rare treat we can no longer afford, CD was explaining that he was going to use some of the kitchen tiles to do a demonstrative speech for one of his classes (he goes to college in his spare time).

I sighed and complained that we just had enough tiles to finish the kitchen.

"I'll buy more," CD assured me. "Some are really cheap, hun."

"Why don't you do a demonstration on what it's like to take care of a sick person?" Bear asked from the back seat. "Like Mommy?"

I looked out the window and tried not to cry. Or scream.

"Uh, Mommy's a lot better these days," CD pointed out.

There was a bit of sarcasm to that first-grader's voice. He's sick of me being sick, and some days hates that it adds a burden to his life.

And Bear's anger is a long-fused thing. It comes out now, when the coast is clear.

And hour later, I realize that when we stopped at the other grocery store on the way home, I forgot to get the common things Bear will eat: ketchup & hamburger.

Over the past year as my disease has run rampant and our money struggles twisted us about, the tiny assortment of foods Bear will eat has shrunk.

Now it is to the point that he will not eat anything I make for him except hamburger. Everything on his diet is pre-made (like yogurt or cereal), restaurant-made (like Orange chicken from Panda Express) or from a box (like macaroni and cheese).

On Fridays, he takes his lunchbox off with him to his 1-day school. And brings it back empty except for anything I've prepared. Goldfish crackers and apple juice digested. Left are untouched sandwiches, uneaten fruit salads.

And tonight, I had no hamburger, and none of the other dinners from his tiny list.

"What's for supper?" he asked.

It was a pasta dish for CD and I. And for him? "A waffle," I said.

He swung around, furious. His voice getting louder and louder until he reached a crescendo: "...and all you have for ME is one lousy waffle?!"

He stormed off to his room and slammed the door.

And I collapsed at the table in tears.

CD didn't know what to do, and stood dumbfounded.

I went after our son and tried to explain the situation.

He threw a pillow at the wall and wouldn't look at me.

And I got so mad suddenly. It surprised me.

"You got a fruit smoothie at Whole Foods," I reminded him. "That cost as much as 2 pounds of hamburger. And picked out a loaf of bread and asked the lady at the counter to slice it! You have a bag of fresh carrots in the fridge and yogurt and applesauce and if that isn't enough, you can try the other meal I'm making tonight!"

Inside, my heart was a little broken. As I created flashcards for tomorrow's homeschool lesson, I stopped and asked my husband - "Should I put him in public school and go back to work full time? Does he need to be away from me and we need the money so much that it's time?"

My husband shrugged, still dumbfounded by the turn the evening had taken.

I know in my heart that Bear has come so far this year, so close to being a real reader and writer. So much more evolved and wonderful in new ways.

But on a night like tonight, man, all bets are off.

Later, we all warped back in time and he was 7 again and we had our peaceable dinner (Him: Mmmm, waffles!).

And as he slept, I crept to his side and perched on his bed. His freshly bathed self snoring and holding on to stuffed panda.

"I love you," I whispered, pushing the hair away from his face.

The fish in his tank raced in circles. I thought about the hole his absence will create some day, when he leaves us to go forge his own path in the world.

I thought about it a long time.

His still small hand grabbed mine, as he sensed I was there in his slumber.

My heart healed a bit. But still, I let go. I had to.

We can't hold on forever.

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