They Are Still in There

Today a friend shared a Kijiji posting on Facebook for a free cradle. 

It broke my heart. 

I just about left work and drove out to Carleton Place to get this fucking cradle out of this poor couple's house because I have been there and I know how painful it is to go down to the basement and see a box of broken hopes every time you want to run a load of laundry. 

In less than three minutes, I posted the ad on Facebook, I sent it to everyone I could think of, and I emailed the poster to let them know that I was sharing the ad and that I was thinking of them and that I have been where they are (maybe not on that same road, but dammit, I lived on that same small island for years). I was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to do SOMETHING. And I feel totally helpless. 

I'm just about in tears over this.  

I wasn't anticipating this kind of emotional reaction. And I'm trying to figure out where it is coming from. 

Is it because the memories of that time in my life are so painful?

Is it because I feel a kind of survivor guilt for having gotten through to the other side when so many couples don't? There but for the grace of something go I? 

Or is it just because I'm moved by this person's bravery for trying to reclaim some small space in their house and their broken heart? 

I think it's all three. 

This is about so much more than this person's cradle. And I didn't realize I still had all these feelings inside me. 

Edit -- I've shaken it off, but it was an unexpected and very intense wave of emotion for which I was unprepared. 

Dear Moe: Birthweek Bonanza

It finally happened. You turned four years old. 

We celebrated early and often. There was a family birthday dinner at Granny's with Grandma and Aunt Janine and Uncle Mark on the weekend prior to your birthday. There was your birthday proper, which you fêted at daycare with a very special gift. And on the weekend after your birthday (yesterday, in fact), we had your birthday party with friends at the Canada Agriculture and Food Museum.

Through it all, you have been awesome. You are truly a joy to be around, and I miss you when you're not with me.  

You are, for the most part, able to listen to reason, and to be reasonable in return. You are kind and loving and sweet. For your age, you are a fantastic listener. I love how you are getting better and better about expressing your needs and feelings. I love hearing about what is going on in your head.

You can be amazingly affectionate, and it's so wonderful. I treasure every pat, every hug and every snuggle. I'm glad we can be a safe place for you, but I never expected how safe I would also feel with you in my lap or with your arms around me. My heart sometimes hurts with how much I love you. You are just the most amazing creature. 

We've often expressed love to each other in terms of distance. (Thank you, Guess How Much I Love You.) From the moment you were born, I've told you that I love you to the moon and down again and around the stars and back again. This week, we introduced a new expression: I love you as far as a TARDIS can fly. 

And I do. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are crocuses in February and roses in December. You are warm butter melting on fresh baked bread. You are pure delight and immense wonder. 

When you were very small, I would play this song on repeat for hours while you slept in my arms, and I would sing along. Every word is still true. 

     
Happy birthday, my darling boy. Thank you for four incredible years.