I am writing this post from Hawaii. To be a little more exact, I am writing it from the bathtub in the condo in Hawaii, where I am hiding and trying to breathe. It’s one of those moments.
Sometimes it’s all a little too much and I couldn’t explain why if I tried. I don’t even know.
The trip has been beautiful and peaceful for the most part. We have swam and kayaked (Lisa paddled, I sat there), relaxed in the sun, drank wine, gone down a water slide and even swam in the ocean with dolphins. I have also enjoyed 100% Kona coffee. That’s a big deal for me.
All that beauty is not lost on me, and yet here I am hiding in the tub remembering Ben saying “I think I pulled a muscle” while I nurse my own extremely sore lower back and think about how Ben’s “pulled muscle” turned out. And cry.
Yes, I know, I know, most muscle aches do not turn out to be cancer. But apparently sometimes they do. If I could turn off the shitty thoughts I would. Sometimes I can. Occasionally I can’t. This seems to be one of those moments.
You know what I wish for more than anything at this moment? I wish that all of my kids be gifted the ability to live in the moment and not in the “what ifs.” I hope that when terrorists commit atrocities and innocent people are killed, and when men and women who protect our communities go to work one night but don’t come again because some asshole figured that they wore a uniform so they should die for that, and when another student or their mom’s aunt is given another sad cancer prognosis…..that they find a way to cope and understand that those are not their stories. I hope that they can understand that no one knows what life holds for them, but at that particular moment that is not their story. And that if it ever becomes their story in any way, they will cope.
I hope they emulate their Dad. I hope they don’t crawl into a bathtub to cry. Or, if they do, they only do it for ten minutes and then they remind themselves of all the beauty in the world, get up, towel off and move on.
How I miss Ben right now.
It’s time to get out of the tub.