Live Children

The worst times for me seem to be when I lie down to fall asleep and when I wake up between sleep cycles in the middle of the night. I just start thinking about Sarah and I start crying. I’m not even really sure what I’m thinking about. I’m so afraid that Sarah is becoming a concept rather than a person now. That we are not newly bereaved but are starting to accept her loss and adapt to it. I guess we are supposed to do that, but it feels wrong.

I don’t want to enshrine Sarah like some sort of perfectly wonderful child, some ray of sunshine that blessed our lives. I just want to hold on to her, to hold on to our family and our normal everyday lives a little bit. The other day I was shopping at Aldi and a little boy stopped and held the door for me although it was an automatic door and was open anyway. He was wearing a Pringles Potato Chip can on his arm like armor and I figured he was engaging in some fantasy play. “Thank you, Mr. Strong Arm Man,” I told him. It’s so fun to me to see kids engage in this stuff and really it was the best part of family life, Max and I being the producers, directors, and crew of Sarah’s fantasy play with her Minions, stuffies and other toys. I miss it so much.

I don’t want to become one of those creepy old ladies who goes around like a groomer interacting with kids in public and trying to talk to them. But I tell myself it’s okay to interact with children sometimes, that I’m not some pariah marked “Dead Child” (or Valhomah) who has to keep away from real live children. I’m not a danger to their lives, although I feel like I am. And it doesn’t dishonor Sarah’s memory if I have a little laugh about them.