Funeral Pants

Peanut -

Your Dadda might be the bravest man I know.  Yep.  He is.

Tonight he had a special event to attend.  He was pulling together his outfit - shirt, tie, dress pants, jacket - and sat down on the bench in our bedroom with a heavy sigh.

"Oh wow...what's that?" I asked.

He looked up at me, and sighed again, "I'm wearing The Pants.  The Funeral Pants."  <sigh>

I looked over at them, laid out on our bed.  They are beautiful, lightweight wool.  A deep black with nice lines.  In a normal world they would be well-worn by now.

But, these are Funeral Pants.

Much like the dress I bought for your service, Dadda put his entire outfit into the back of his closet after it was returned from the dry-cleaner.  He looked wonderful the day of your service, in these perfect pants.  These innocent pants, purchased after you died.  These pants that had no part in your death.  They did nothing wrong.  But, somehow they have acquired this curse.  This mystique.

Tonight, Dadda broke the spell.  And, I think it might have been one of the hardest things he's ever done. And, trust me, your Dadda has been through a lot of tough stuff.

The last few days have been rough, Peanut.  We've been hanging family photos around the house, with the vast majority being of you.  But...your photos end in January 2011.  And now, we have your little brother who is creating his own wall of memories.  Someday, he will surpass you.  How do I explain that to him?  How to explain that to my heart?

I miss your smile.  Your hugs.  Your, "Momma..."  Those deep, clear, blue eyes.  And, the mess of blonde curls.  The way you made my heart sing with just a glance.  And how you could make me forget my entire work day in less than 5 seconds.

I miss the promise of your future.  The hopes and dreams.  The funny voices your Dadda and I projected onto you.  The foods I thought you might grow to love.  The books I knew you would pour over.

Will I be brave enough to someday wear my Funeral Dress?  And the sparkly sweater I wore with it?  The sweater I purchased for the holidays, but wound up wearing for the worst event of my life?  Or, will they go into the special Peanut Trunk?

I don't know.

What I do know is each day is still its own journey through grief.  It is so individual.  So mercurial.  There is no guessing or predicting what is waiting around the corner.  No guarantee that tomorrow, next month or next year will be easier.  And, do I want it to be easier?  No.

Dadda looked snappy tonight.  The Funeral Pants might now just become Special Event Pants.  And, I would applaud Dadda for that.

Peanut, I did "Itsy Bitsy Spider" today with The Bean just for you.  And, later, I will read "Guess How Much I Love You."  To you.   I love you, sweetie.  To the moooooooooon and back.

- Momma