August 15, 2011

I’ve been back at work for almost a week, but the real challenge comes tomorrow when my students show up.  I have been thinking about this day and planning for it for weeks, but I feel wholly unprepared.  I don’t have copies made, I can’t keep my new schedule straight, and I am absolutely dreading the here’s-a-little-bit-about-me part.  I debated about whether to tell my students about Max, and when I decided that I needed to, then I contemplated how to tell them.  Do I tell them that I have two sons, but only one that lives here with us?  Do I tell them that one only lives in my heart?  To be honest, I don’t know where Max is other than in my heart and always on my mind, so I can’t tell them with conviction that he is in heaven.  I hate that I don’t feel 100% confident in that, but there is nothing like the death of your child to make you question every thing that you ever believed in.  Ultimately, Nicole and my counselor helped me to come to what I feel is the right approach:  honesty.  I have really mixed feelings about telling my students still.  I know that I have to and that it’s the right thing, but I hate that I have to ruin some of their days with such shocking, unnatural news.  I do feel blessed in a way that I taught mostly seniors last year so that I don’t have to see the faces every day that remind me of my happy pregnancy and the joy that they shared with me throughout the whole thing.  My students all felt like they knew Max, and that a little bit of him belonged to them.  They took guesses on whether he was a boy or a girl, they suggested names and smiled broadly at the suggestion that maybe I was pregnant with twins.  They bought Max gifts, made him cards, and threw a party for him on my last day of school.  They prodded my long-term substitute for information, pictures, and updates while I was gone.  They were a huge part of my pregnancy; I spent most of my awake time with them.  So, it would be very hard to see them walking the halls and either giving me sad, knowing smiles or naïve, unknowing ones.  In a way, it’s good that most of my students this year don’t know.  I have a fresh start with most of them.  In other ways, it’s bad.  I worry that they won’t understand how much I loved Max and how much I miss him.  I worry that they won’t be as forgiving as my old students when I have really tough days.  I’m just worried about a lot of things.  Nothing new, I guess.

            This weekend, Ethan turned six.  This weekend, our cat, Bonnie, also died.  I can’t say that it was a horrible weekend because of Ethan’s birthday, but I will say that it was hard.  We’ve had Bonnie for almost 8 years.  She disappeared for almost an entire year when we first moved to Kansas City, and then she magically reappeared and settled right back in.  Bonnie was a cat that Scott didn’t want at first, but she was also the cat that convinced Scott that cats were every bit as loving, fun, and rewarding to own as dogs.  He loved that cat, and the feeling was mutual.  Bonnie slept with Ethan nearly every night.  On nights when she didn’t, she slept with us.  She was the only cat that we gave that privilege to.  Bonnie was the cat that everyone loved; she was secretly and not so secretly everyone’s favorite.  I mentioned last week that we had gotten a dog.  His name was Benjie, and we were starting out just fostering him.  We hoped that he would become our pet, but we had a lot of things to work on with him.  On Friday night/Saturday morning, I walked into our bedroom to find Benjie mauling Bonnie.  I’ll spare everyone the details, but I will say that it was horrific, violent, and unforgettable in all the wrong ways.  Bonnie must have been hiding somewhere in our room because we never let Benjie loose in a room unless it was cat-free.  Scott was in the shower the whole time.  I’m sure that will haunt him for a long time.  We are so lucky that our friends Ellen and Paul were here.  They cleaned our bedroom, the dog, and me.  Thanks to Ellen, the dog was taken away immediately.  We buried Bonnie beside our house, and I think I’ll plant some zinnias to mark her spot.  She loved flowers—not looking at them, but eating them.  It always bothered me, but that didn’t stop her.  I think she would approve of the flowers.  And zinnias are my favorite.

            I do want people to know that we had Benjie cat tested before we allowed him in our home.  Supposedly he barked but displayed no aggressive behaviors toward the cat.  After what I saw on Friday night, I’m going to call BS on that.  I’ve never seen a dog act so viciously.  I’ve seen dogs bite people and fight with each other, but I have never seen such ferocity.  I had to use a lot of force to get him to even let go of Bonnie.  It mostly just makes me angry, and it makes me feel so sorry for Bonnie.  The next morning we got to wake Ethan up to tell him happy birthday.  We also had to tell him that his dog and cat were gone.  We’ve lost a child, a little brother, a dog, and a cat so far this summer.  I hope we don’t add anyone else to that list because I’m not sure that I’m strong enough for that.

            So, maybe tomorrow will be worse because of this weekend.  Maybe it won’t be as bad as I think.  I know that telling 170 teenagers about the death of my son will be hard, especially since I have to do it five times in one day.  I know that I’ll be exhausted tomorrow night, and I know that I will feel like a zombie at some points.  I’m just so sick of death and everything that comes along with it.  I’m sick of what life is like after someone dies.  It feels like a big waiting game.  I have no idea what I’m waiting for though.  Peace?  Another death?  Happiness?  I wish I knew.  Sorry this has turned into such a negative post.  It is very indicative of how I’m feeling now though, so I guess I’m really not sorry.  I’ll relax for a few hours tonight, and I’ll get through tomorrow as best as I can.  Maybe I’ll be in a better mood tomorrow night and I’ll post about something happy, like our last few trips to the fire station or some of the funny things that Ethan has been telling me about kindergarten.  You just never know what you’re going to get with me these days.