On A Big Mitten:

On A Big Mitten:

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago. Okay, my son was seven and my daughter was five. Anyway, I was trying to find something to use up a box of yarn leftovers. The kids were on the floor playing with a game of wooden pick up sticks.

I had made the kids some extra winter hats and mittens already. And asked them, “Okay what should I knit next?” Shining Son said, “Make me a mitten.” I said, “I did already.” He said, “No, a big one that I can climb into.” We all laughed. I said, “I don’t have any circular needles only these double pointed ones for people size hats and mittens.” Shining Son got down on the floor and scooped up the game and said, “Use these.”

And that is how it got started. I used those 17 colorful pickup sticks, size 8, double pointed knitting needled to make a big mitten from the scraps. Of course I didn’t have enough scrap to finish it that year. And times being tough back then, I had to wait until other people got around to giving me their leftover yarn. And Shining Son kept on growing.

I must admit that I didn’t think about it sometimes for years before I’d hear from him asking about the mitten. I’d get it out and knit some more. Finally I bought some miss matched clearance yarn, in keeping with the rest of it, and finished it off. He was over six feet by then. But I did good. When he slipped it over his head it covered him completely. I found it on his bed at his apartment as a bed spread after he died.

The thing is seven feet from cuff to tip. I laid a yard stick on it so you could get an idea about how large it is.

Yes, I know it is not true to size in the thumb. I started the thumb separately when it was going to be smaller. No, I have never thought about making another mitten to go with it. He asked me once if I would make another if he had kids some day. But he never got that far. So it stands alone. Or I should say sits alone in a box with some of his other things. And some of those the pick up stick knitting needles are still with my other knitting needles and I used them just last month. And every time I do I remember the ‘Big Mitten.’

On Death Day:

Today is Shining Son’s death day. I’ll go to the cemetery but it is not like my other pleasure trips. I’ll put new flowers on his grave. He is in a memorial park type of cemetery. He has a plaque with a vase in it. I was unable to give him the headstone I wanted to but what he has is nice just the same. It has a dragon and some woods on it. Things he liked.

Once upon a time Shining Son helped the homeless teens in the city where he lived. He helped them get back into school or tried to patch things up between them and their families when possible. Or got them into treatment facilities. I hope that someone else has taken his place.

I miss him still a lot. He was the child I had more in common with. We liked sci-fi TV and fantasy books, music, colonial re-enacting and had similar personalities. He lived closer to me then Princess Daughter. We had local connections. We talked on the phone every day.

He was funny and a geek, tall and teddy bearish, smart and wrote poetry. He wore glasses, patchouli, tie dye T-shirts and size 14 shoes. He had long hair in a pony tail down his back, a beard and mustache. His smile came easy but so did the tears.

On a hot July day some of his friends with a small car invited him to go swimming after work. On the way home they bought some ice-cream and shortly after getting back on the highway were hit head on by a van.

He was not the only one to die in that car, only the driver who had an air bag lived. In the back seat he still had his seat belt on but his scull was fractured to liquefy. He was dead. It took them hours to clear up the wreck and get around to notifying us. I couldn’t even donate his organs, it had been too long.

I didn’t think I would make it through the first day without him. I did get to say goodbye of sorts. The morning of the accident I was talking to him on the phone while he was at work. Before we hung up he told me “I Love You Mom. I Really love you.” I said, “I know that. I love you too.” He said, “No, You really need to know how much I love you.” By this time his friends in the break room were on the floor hooting and laughing at him saying I love you to his mommy. I could hear them in the background.

Up to that day he always would just say ‘ditto’ or ‘same here‘ after I said I love you to him when his friend were around. I thought about talking to him about going back to our original way of doing things when we talked later in the day. We never got a chance to talk again.

I Love You Shining Son. I hope to see you again someday. Until then I know that you are helping others wherever you are.

On Why I don’t Do the Fourth:

In the year that Shining Son died, the fourth was on a Sunday. I got up early because I was doing a morning reenactment at the Battle of Wyoming Monument in the town of Wyoming PA. (Being the original Wyoming Valley in Pennsylvania. Not the state. Which came later from some people that moved from said Wyoming the town to the other.) (Princess Daughter was working as a counselor at a sleep away camp so wasn‘t home.) But I digress.

I called Shining Son to let him know I needed him outside and ready when I came to pick him up. There was no answer. (He had stayed out late with some friends and slept at their place.) I left late and got to the monument without him. Almost ten years ago not everyone had cell phones like they do now. We had missed each others calls.

I phoned him again when I got home. (His place was in the other direction and I had to get the car back to Mountain Man.) Shining Son was at his apartment and apologized for just missing my ride. (He didn’t have a car living in the city. It was only inconvenient on Holidays when the buses weren’t running.) I couldn’t get him because Mountain Man had our car. Shining Son was without a ride. His few friends with cars had gone camping for the weekend.

We each spent the day alone playing solitaire and talking to each other on the phone. Silence. “Well I didn’t win that one. Not even close.” Shuffle noises. Silence. “I didn’t win mine either. More shuffle noises. “I wish I could find a red nine.”

It went like that for hours while I waited for Mountain Man to get back so I could pick up Shining Son to have our small family cookout. It got later and you know I can’t remember what had kept Mountain Man now. But Shining Son and I finally gave up waiting for Mountain Man. Shining Son met up with his friends later at the fireworks.

On Monday Shining Son had to work late so he couldn’t come for dinner. And on Tuesday it was sooo hot. He and some of his friends decided to go swimming after work. He never made it home.

I spend the Fourth of July each year feeling guilty for not trying harder to see my boy that day. Or at least not having a better conversation with him while we had the chance on the phone. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. The fun is all gone from that day for me. So I stay out of the way and try not to rain on others festivities. The rest of the time try not to let opportunities slip away again.

On Independence Day:

Here in the United States we are celebrating the birth of our nation. And just because I am in a self imposed misery doesn’t mean I wish others ill.

So have a great holiday everyone. Have fun. Be safe.

On Other Things:

I know I don’t talk about my daughter too much. Not that I don’t like to. I just know she doesn’t want me too. She has her own life and expresses herself well in her own way. I am proud of her accomplishments and goals in life. She does not need me to speak for her.

I do wish she lived closer. But she likes the big city mouse life and I’m a small country mouse. We agree to disagree on that point. Don’t get me wrong. I loved living by and going to the city when I was younger. It just isn’t where I’m at now. I am in tune with the rhythm of the growing cycle now.

I like the happiness she has found in life. Princess Daughter has friends and other family around her where she lives. Her pets are well cared for and happy too. She has a boyfriend in a long term relationship. I wish her nothing but happiness and success.

We talk a few times a week on the phone. She visits me regularly, three or four times a year. We are close.

I say this because I am not one of those mothers that in wallowing in the death of one child and forgets about the others. Yes, I have been wallowing this week. That is my way. On his birthday and the week of his death I let loose and howl. I don’t make appointments, I don’t involve myself in projects with others. I spend that time in letting out the grief that has been accumulating over the last year. And then I move on.

I’ll be back to my old self. I’ll talk about projects and stuff. But I have the luxury of this time to grieve now that I didn’t then. So bear with me. I’ll be back. If not before then on Monday.

On First Memories:

This morning even before my eyes were open I found myself counting ‘Firsts.’ The first time I saw my baby. The first time he smiled at me. The first time he rolled over. First step. First day of school. First lost tooth……

Oh no! I can’t remember him loosing his first tooth any more!

The gap gets bigger. The space between him and me.

Before he died when I would forget something, I’d feel bad for a few seconds and shrug it off. “It was making room for newer memories.” I’d say. But I can’t make new memories with him now. So it is just sad. Like the chipping away of a statue eventually it looses form. I gather things like pictures together to remember things better. I keep the pieces in case they can be glued back on.

Yes, I’m getting older and also have memory problems since the chemo. I expect to loose some memories. But I try hard to hold onto the ones of Shining Son. First scraped knee. First curse work. First fight. He was not an angel. He was just a baby, a child, a teen , a man.

Pictures help some. But we didn’t have a lot of money for pictures when the kids were young. And after that I just wasn’t in the habit of taking them. Most all my memories are only in my head.

I have the first rock, a pebble really, that he picked up on his first walk out of the carriage in the neighborhood as a toddler.

I don’t have as many things as I would like because the building that his apartment was in had a fire before we could get all his things out of there.

But none of these things can replace him. I don’t look at them much any more. Each night I hope he comes to me in a dream. But there he most often comes as a child. I’d rather talk to the man.

I put away the box of things. I say goodbye again. Nothing has changed except I now know that I can’t remember him as well as I thought I did yesterday.

On Sad July Days:

July has started and I am going into a blue funk. My son’s death day is coming up you see. I’ll cry easier, eat too much and I’m moody. Mountain Man doesn’t like it but he understands.

Everyone else around me is getting ready for Independence Day. Flags and fireworks are all around. These things now remind me of death. They probably always will.

I’ll try to keep myself busy. I’ll do my exercising, and clean my house but I’ll be thinking about other things. I’ll be in the past. It is the one of the only places I can visit with my first born anymore. I will be sad for a while. It’s okay. I’ll get over it all over again until next year. But this week I go back to my memories to be with him there.

I want to be all good with this, but I never get there. I may never get there but I try. How does one feel better about having to live without ones child.

I don’t cry all the time. I hardly cry at all the rest of the year. I laugh and know how to have fun. I have plans and a life. But I can no longer include my child.

This week you won’t find me at the fireworks, or the concerts in town. I won’t be carrying a flag or be at the parade. I won’t be at the ball games and all the other thing that would be part of a very Victorian Fourth of July. I won’t be around too many people at all. I’ll come out later to play. Next week maybe. For now I’ll sit in a ball and cry, and wait for the time to pass. I miss my boy.