27 June 12
This is so much harder than I first realised. Not only have I lost my baby boy — my precious son — but our girls have lost their brother AND their father.
The years loom in front of us, and well-meaning, kind people offer dire predictions unless I do things differently. I am told to be silent, I am told to retreat for the sake of my children. Examples are cited, with the inference made that our family will suffer the same fate. People are ruthless, I am told. They are mean. They lack compassion and and care little for the truth in the pursuit of drama.
And I say, “I must live on a different planet from you.
“On my planet, we pull up into a new town and the second person we talk to invites us home to their house where we live for a week with the option of staying permanently — rent-free — just because we have a special bond and relationship.
“On my planet, people are lovely and generous and good to each other — and this is what I seek to show our children in our travels.”
And then I remember, “Oh, yeah, that WAS the planet I inhabited.” It feels like I am stranded on one of those crater asteroids like The Little Prince. “What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well…”
We are whizzing about in the void of space and perhaps, one day, we will collide again with a planet where green things grow and people dance and sing. Until then, I will dig my own well in this dry, dead rock.