weeks into days

2 weeks ago i was going to write about my little dude and our recent preschool experience. i was going to share how amazing he is and all the progress he made this summer, how wonderfully altered my perception of him is, that i just see him. a boy. a happy boy.

this happy boy began a new preschool this fall and it was tougher than i'd anticipated. i could tell you of the sleepless nights, the endless crying and anxiety he went through. and how in a single moment, i no longer saw him. he was slipping into himself, making it harder to see the boy. the same way you turn a corner and suddenly have the sun shining directly in your eyes leaving you squinting and all you can make out are outlines of the whole image. my heart fell. after a year of healing, it quickly broke at the sight of what was becoming an outline. i'd forgotten what 4 and 5 year olds were like. the way they converse, join-in and move, really move. i adore who he is, advocate and celebrate him, yet it was clear that all he'd become would disappear in this school. our world moves fast, we've grown accustomed to speed, most have to force themselves to slow down. i'm fortunate to have this little soul who silently and wide-eyed slows me down, teaches me stillness, so i can hear and observe all he has to share.

they just couldn't slow down. many conversations with teachers followed. miraculously a new campus was built, and classrooms had openings. we said goodbye to an incredibly, talented, wonderful teacher, who wanted so desperately to connect with him, who also agreed that if the opportunity was there, he'd continue to flourish in a space that was created to move at a mellowed pace. and as he's done so many times before, he validated my instinct and washed away my guilt of undergoing yet another transition. on day one in the cheery, developmental preschool, he said hello to a kind, welcoming teacher who knew just how to connect with him. within minutes he dropped my hand and joined his peers around the sand table as they poured sand, with huge grins, into the water wheel, just to watch it spin. instinctively he knew this was the space for him. and without missing a beat, he is in full-swing again, growing, learning, and inspiring me every day.

1 week ago i was going to write about the death of my grandma. the way sadness and grief were intertwined with peace, contentment. i could not separate them. my heart was heavy for those of us she left behind. two daughters, two sons and the families they have. as we said our private goodbyes, my spirit felt lighter knowing she was finally free of the body that no longer could house her soul. she was a funny, spirited small woman, my baba. she was my friday night sleepover as a child. she was the quirky lady who turned her VW bug off to see if we could coast down the three different hills to her driveway. she was a chef of nanimo bars, the best garlic breadsticks, baba bread, and authentic pedahe. she was a girl on a farm in alberta, a wife and mother in edmonton, a grandmother in washington -- a grandmother to 19 grandchildren that now live in washington, alberta, vancouver bc, new york, california, switzerland, and australia. all of whom returned on a rainy saturday with personal notes and memories written to her, as we wished her safe passage on her journey. an incredible legacy of love reunited that night for a celebration of her life and we rejoiced in the squeals of a new little 5 month old life and the news of one on its way. all things grow. all things go.

5 days ago i was going to write of the universe and its mysterious ways...the way in my exhaustion over preschools and death i was careless while cleaning the floors and managed to get chemicals in my eye, and in my haste to drop my little dude off at school on time, i brushed it off, thinking it was a torn lens, or perhaps i just needed some saline in my eye...only to find that in less than an hour the pain was excruciating and i rushed to the doctor to learn i had a chemical burn in my eye that would take days to heal. seriously. i know...WTF. the pain in my eye was bad, but worse in my heart, for it did not do much for my mood and sadly, my little companion was stuck with a grumpy, mama who was not nearly as patient as he trusts me to be.

3 days ago i was going to write of an incredible, gorgeous fall day at the farm. a farm filled with acres of pumpkins and all the animals you'd hope to see (especially if you're 4). a special date with the little dude. the two of us. i planned to describe the way my heart burst causing me to smile all day as i watched him in the sunshine, pull yet another and another pumpkin from the vine. oh so many little green pumpkins. many more orange and the long pursuant hunt for our favorite ghost pumpkins. the way he still has those delicious spiels of pure laughter. as he joyfully watched the piglets play chase, his exuberant enthusiasm was contagious. i planned to write more of this wonderful day, except that night, as we donned our shoes for our ritual *spider-web* walk, i heard a CRASH and as i turned around i saw my broken little boy, crooked as he attempted to pull himself up as the intense cries escaped his body. screaming through the blood now spilling down his face onto the floor, how could there be so much blood i thought as i quickly and seemingly calm, scooped him in my arms to determine the source of his agony. two, no longer white towels help me to discover the deep split above his eye. oh thank god it is not his eye. i quickly solicit a ride to the ER. the receptionists are not nearly as moved as i am. despite the continuous bleeding, his spirit has returned. "where are the toys mama?" "does she know?" "are you asking mama?" "where are they, where are the toys here?" together we walk into the exam room. he quietly whimpers with his lip turned down, "it's scary mama".

the doctors are gentle with him and direct with me. "first we will numb the area, clean it thoroughly, then we need to stitch it up, it is quite deep, so most likely 6, maybe 8 stitches. NOOOO i hear the inside my head cry. as i swallow my tears back i ask (declare) that he get some sort of sedative, he has sensory processing challenges and this will put him over the top (not too mention his incredible memory that in this particular moment i am not grateful for). a bit of back and forth with the nurse, the resident. the doctor quickly agrees it might be best.

though they did all they could, it was not enough.

as they wrapped him up he looked so small, so fragile, yet intrigued, as if he was trying to determine the rules to this new game. he quickly caught on and immediately protested with every ounce of his spirit. my boy who rarely advocates for himself, was quite clear in his agonizing discontent. as four of us held down his thrashing body, his screams drown out my comforting persona as i made up stories of starfish, kitties and windmills. his eyes were wild under the light i referred to as la luna, lighting the way for the doctors to heal him. his sweet lustre, now white, his entire being seemed foreign to me. terror. it was an emotion i did not recognize in him. why isn't the sedative working? how many more stories can i tell? please let this be the one thing he forgets, sh*t lady enough with the bubbles, doctors singing the ABC's too loudly -- "STOP" i say (perhaps a bit too loudly) knowing it is having the opposite effect on him.

"do you think he can feel it?" i hear my voice weakly ask. he answers my question with screams at the doctor holding his legs - "let go of me, i want my arms out, get me OUT of the blanket, i don't like it!" he repeatedly begs the nurse holding his head as best she can, "stop covering my ears, mama don't let her cover my ears" mercifully she obeys his fear-invoked command. he painfully whines and pleas to the doctor as she sews him shut "you're hurting me, OUCH, stop it, i don't like it, stop it" and then at me, "mama get OFF of me, i want to get up, i want to get up now!". oh, me too baby, me too.

though i did all i could, it was not enough.

i could not prepare him for the chaos his precious mind experienced in the ER, the bright lights, the confusion of many different people around him. i could not protect him from the pain, the intense panic that had washed over him like a mighty wave rapidly returning out to sea, far away from me. and no matter how hard i wished, i could not trade places with him. once it was done he frantically demanded to pee. as i carried his wilted, sweat-drenched body to the bathroom he told me to put him down. once he was done, i went to pick him up, my sweet sweet boy, only to have him cry, "no, no mama i don't want you to carry me....i don't want to hold your hand." as i guided him back toward the room with the promise of a cherry popsicle, i realized that while my heart shattered on that table, his felt betrayed, let down by the one person he holds so true...mama.

as he finished his first popsicle, he curled his weary body in my lap. by the second popsicle, the familiar smile faintly returned as he sweetly offered to share with me (it may have been the sedative that finally took effect). immediately upon our arrival home, i placed a slightly intoxicated, resilient and incredibly courageous little boy in the stroller, called to our dog and went on our planned *spider-web* walk. despite the long distressing night, in the dark, under the hazy fall sky my sweet boy named off all his favorite webs as we strolled past.

that night i slept alongside the bravest being i know. and through my tears i revelled at how though i was holding him, he was the one holding me.