An older gentleman, a friend of the family, leaned down and patted my ten-year-old son on the shoulder. ‘It’s up to you to take care of your mother now,’ he said. My son and I looked at each other- I shook my head slightly and gave him a little smile.
After my husband died, one of my best friends gave me a pair of Wonder Woman pajama pants. They were meant to be symbolic: it was time to put on my Wonder Woman pants and get the job done.
Shortly after my husband passed away, I could tell that our son was using distraction to cope with his grief. If he saw me crying or felt sadness at a memory of his dad, he immediately would turn his attention to his video game and focus completely on what was happening. He didn’t want to talk about his dad, or ask questions.
“Hi’dy, Hi’dy!” she’d call out as she came through the front door. We kids knew what that signal meant: Grandma was visiting! And we all came running to see what goodies she brought: Kudos, candy bars, Cheetos, or better yet, homemade cakes and cookies.