I mind this new soup that I’m swimming in; don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful for the break from grief and the break from the relentless trying and recovering. It’s a relief to have at least one answer to one question, one why knocked off the list. But this new place is hot and humid and murky and I don’t know what is swimming in it alongside me. I don’t know if the water is safe, I don’t know if I dare to taste and enjoy it. I don’t know whether to lie back and enjoy the sensation of floating, or try to stay still lest the sharks bite me in half. Or even if the water is acid and is slowly peeling away my skin and I just don’t know it yet.
Odds, if you look them up, are frightening things. If you’ve already been a 1:100 and a 1:700 and 1:200, then finding out the thing you fear the most, at this late stage, is a 1:200 again now because of your age, feels like something that perhaps you should have seriously considered before hand. I’ve got so little energy for any more grief or choices. I am so very, very afraid. I’m always afraid of this particular bogey and we’ve never had so much as a scare, but now, older, wiser and infinitely more broken, it honestly feels like it might be the one last thing we have to live with making choices about. I’m so afraid. The next week or two, till I can get some information, feel horrifically long.
And I miss Freddie. Oh I miss him so much. He has retreated from me, he isn’t even present in his blanket. I miss him with an ache and yet I can’t even manage to wrap my mind around him any more. He feels so very gone. I look at his pictures and he seems a wistful memory. The moments when I cry for him are so remote from each other and sometimes I think I cry more at the horror of what happened to us than for him. I miss his little soul resting in my heart. I mind, I really mind, that his place is being squashed and that no matter what happens for good or bad, it will never only be about him now.
Last week I had a week of dreams that resurrected all sort of dead people from my life, even from the lives of people I love. One an old friend of mine, one the dear great grandpa of children I love – and Freddie. He was just there, on the way to a party, tucked in blankets, waiting for a bottle of milk. None of it seemed odd, not even the bottle. It didn’t even seem odd when I woke up. But it must have been my mind doing something. Wherever the current is pulling me, I must have needed those dreams I don’t know why.
I’m so ready to move on and not ready at all. I only really want him. Just him.