Jul
11
July 11, 2006
When Cat was missing I started thinking she might never come home, and how shitty I would feel about that. I told JB how frustrating it was not to have any idea what happened to her. “I’d rather just know,” I said, “even if it was bad news.”
“Really? Even if you knew she was dead?”
“Well. In that case. I guess not. Maybe. I don’t know. Yes?”
This inevitably led me to think about people whose children go missing. It’s unthinkable, but what would be worse: not knowing, ever? Or finding a body?
If you knew they were dead you’d have closure. But if you didn’t know, you’d have hope.
Sometimes I get weirdly focused on the various tragedies that can happen to children. It’s like having a permanent canker sore in my mouth and every now and then I can’t help poking it with my tongue; I read some horrible news story and think, what if that were my family? What if that were Riley? – and I have to physically wrench my thoughts in another direction because what good can come of it, what’s the point in trying to peer in the darkest shadows, in trying to imagine a living nightmare?
Last week JB’s brother, who is a funeral director, was talking about his experiences embalming and preparing bodies for viewing (I suppose it sounds like a creepy conversation, but I usually like hearing his stories) and he happened to mention that grieving mothers always want to change their baby’s diaper one last time. “Not 99 percent of the time, but 100 percent of the time,” he said.
“Sure,” I said. “I can see that. I’d want to. I’d feel like I needed to, one last time, to ready him…” and it was like my brain caught up with what my mouth was saying and my voice cracked and fell apart and I had to stop because I was suddenly clogged up and blinking hot and fast to hold back a flood of tears.
To ready him for a journey, is what I was going to say. To make sure he was clean and comfortable and my hands were the hands that went through the motions I could do in my sleep now, the same routine I’ve done so many times a day since his birth. Yes, I’d want to do that.
(Okay…that was a horrible thing to write. Excuse me while I just kind of sob into this wad of toilet paper, okay? Jesus.)
I know Joe didn’t say that with any idea that it would bother me, and I’m sure he regretted it as soon as he saw my reaction. I’ll tell you, I haven’t quite been able to forget about it. A last diaper change. It’s just one of those tiny details that makes the looming specter of death monstrously, horribly real.
I know it’s awful to talk about it. It’s awful to think about it. It’s the flipside to all of the miraculous doors Riley has opened for me; in doing so I find myself unprotected and raw; my world’s most precious fortune is vulnerable to all which life offers, the good and the bad. I mostly think of the good. But at times I’m fucking haunted by the possibility of the bad.
:::
In lighter news (whew!) Cat is so glad to be home she’s positively brimming over with affection. Right now Riley is sitting on the floor in our new home office (a Work In Progress, hence the boxes) and he’s actually pushing Cat away from him, so annoying is she with her head-rubs.
Jul
10
I thought I’d have a very sad entry to post this week:
But thank the gods, Cat appeared in our driveway today – raspy-voiced, slenderized, and full of atypical affection.
I don’t know exactly how long she had been missing; judging by her appearance and behavior she had a rough time while the rest of us were on vacation. We fed her tuna and petted her until her fur gave off sparks. Poor Cat.
I never knew how much I’d miss her. Now I do. She’s evil and obnoxious and loud and prone to stealth-barfing, but…god damn I’m glad she’s back.
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