My Daddy
I was putting my children to bed on Sunday night. Sometimes they ask me to tell them our story.
I used to write stories about being a stay at home mom when my babies were little. They were funny stories. It was a different life. Kind of. I had a husband.
My children love these stories, but sometimes these funny stories turns into mourning.
My littlest boy is 3 and a half.
He was 17 months old when his father killed himself.
"Who is this?"
"That is your daddy."
"My daddy?"
"Yes. You had a daddy."
"I had a daddy? That's my daddy?"
"Yes bubby."
"That's my daddy! I am a baby. That's my daddy."
"Yes. That is your daddy."
"He is my friend. I am having a party and all my friends are coming. My daddy is coming to my party! I so excited!"
I don't remember what I said. I remember crying.
The next day, almost the very first thing my son said to me is "I have a daddy."
Then he asked "where is he?"
"Your daddy died."
"My daddy died?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"He is not here, bubby. He is not coming back."
"Where is he?"
I think I said something about the sky.
I didn't know what to say.
The first thing my son did when he got to daycare was tell his teacher that his daddy died.
I had to explain that I had just told him about his daddy the night before.
His teacher gave me a hug. Then I left for work, crying.
This morning, my son told his brother that his daddy died.
His brother said, "yes, I know. Our daddy died."
"Daddy is coming back."
"No, when a person dies they don't come back."
My littlest came to me.
"My daddy doesn't like me."
"What?"
"My daddy doesn't like me."
"No, bubby. Your daddy loves you."
"I am a baby. You are the mommy. My daddy. Where is he?"
I think I said something about forever.
I didn't know what to say.
I used to write stories about being a stay at home mom when my babies were little. They were funny stories. It was a different life. Kind of. I had a husband.
My children love these stories, but sometimes these funny stories turns into mourning.
My littlest boy is 3 and a half.
He was 17 months old when his father killed himself.
"Who is this?"
"That is your daddy."
"My daddy?"
"Yes. You had a daddy."
"I had a daddy? That's my daddy?"
"Yes bubby."
"That's my daddy! I am a baby. That's my daddy."
"Yes. That is your daddy."
"He is my friend. I am having a party and all my friends are coming. My daddy is coming to my party! I so excited!"
I don't remember what I said. I remember crying.
The next day, almost the very first thing my son said to me is "I have a daddy."
Then he asked "where is he?"
"Your daddy died."
"My daddy died?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
"He is not here, bubby. He is not coming back."
"Where is he?"
I think I said something about the sky.
I didn't know what to say.
The first thing my son did when he got to daycare was tell his teacher that his daddy died.
I had to explain that I had just told him about his daddy the night before.
His teacher gave me a hug. Then I left for work, crying.
This morning, my son told his brother that his daddy died.
His brother said, "yes, I know. Our daddy died."
"Daddy is coming back."
"No, when a person dies they don't come back."
My littlest came to me.
"My daddy doesn't like me."
"What?"
"My daddy doesn't like me."
"No, bubby. Your daddy loves you."
"I am a baby. You are the mommy. My daddy. Where is he?"
I think I said something about forever.
I didn't know what to say.
It is sad to see and hear the trail of pain that is left behind when someone is gone.
ReplyDeleteYour little one will be strong one day because of the strength you show him.
So sad that you are left to try to explain to a toddler how much he is loved, in spite of his father's suicide.
ReplyDeleteI don't know if it would be any easier if he had died from any of the thousands of things other than suicide, but it has to reopen your wounds every time.
So glad to see you writing again. I was worried about you.
Your writing is inspirational. Like so many my heart goes out but more to the point it reaches people. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteMy heart goes out to you Dvora.
ReplyDeleteYou and I chatted on Twitter. And then we didn’t. I understand why now. I am banned from Twitter now. Because I upset a trump supporter. And apparently I use multiple accounts for abusive purposes. Not true but you can’t argue with them. You have no rights.
I read your All The Little Peaces blog and have always said you write so very beautifully. You really do. To the extent that it moves me. You choose the right words. And your sense of narrative is just perfect. There’s a rawness and nakedness that is just so visceral and powerful.
I hope this is cathartic for you. I find writing about life and putting it out there is really good therapy. If you can connect with one person and make a difference... who knows right?
I wish you well with all of my heart. Email me. We should talk.
Mark