Harden My Heart

Christina and I sat down last night to watch the latest season of “American Gods.” A few minutes in, I turned to her and said “Look at us, watching a show that’s current!”

And, indeed, this is the first time in years Christina and I have watched anything that’s new. Most everything we’ve watched has been a season or two old, at least, as the time demands of my shift work, the exhaustion of parenting, technical problems, and then the nightmare of living through cancer have rarely left us with any energy to watch something as a couple. Still, the moment I said it, I wondered if this is how other people feel when they wonder if they’ve put their foot in their mouth around me. Because – Yay! – we’re watching a show with a glass of wine but the reality is that one of the reasons we have time to sit down and watch a show is because the older two kids have already sulked off to bed and because we don’t have a 7-year-old who requires multiple stories, kisses, hugs, etc before ever so slowly going to sleep. We had time during the day to take care of the laundry and the dishes because our child care responsibilities become less time-intensive with each passing month. Even though we’re all locked down together, hours can pass without seeing either Emma or Noah as they get engrossed in books or art projects. (And then there are the times you see them for what feels like hours on end because they’re monopolized the TV, but that still frees up a person to wash the dishes).

If it rankled, Christina didn’t say anything. But still…

Several people have asked how Colin’s 7th birthday went and, I have to say, it was mostly notable in how unremarkable it was. We went to his grave and spectacularly failed to light sparklers. Ricardo came over and we had dinner. But that was about it. For all the mental bracing, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It makes a person start to wonder if he has accepted his son’s death and, if so, what that means. Eighteen months (not even) and then one moves on. I don’t think so. I had to find a picture of him this week and that was a fraught process. So, it’s still there, but it’s not as sharp a pain any more. It’s like a wound I’ll just carry with me.

And then again, maybe moving on isn’t the worst thing. I called an old friend a week or so ago to catch up. He was with his little boy, so we had the best conversation one can have with a 3-year-old and all the attendant distractions in the background. And, after about the 12th interruption, it dawned on me that I kind of would like to meet the kid. There was not the usual “How dare you be alive” vibe I had towards other kids. I even found myself noting how advanced his speech capacities were compared to Colin at the same age … and that didn’t elicit more than a “huh” on my side. Yes, I feel disloyal to Colin a bit, but it’s still better meeting a kid (so to speak) and not wondering why he’s alive and your child isn’t.

So, we got through the birthday and then, on Friday, we watched Star Wars. And, since then, it’s been frigid here in Berlin with the snow, so we’re making the most of it. And again, it’s a blast having enough snow to make a snow monster that will impress and slightly creep our your neighbors. But you also remember while you’re making it that it would have been hard to do a project like this with a much smaller child.