Breakdowns and Breakthroughs

I kind of don't like the title of this post. Mostly because I don't like the word breakthrough. I think it has this connotation with it that once you've had a breakthrough everything will be fine. Life will be unicorns and rainbows, like seeing the light or coming to Jesus. (small tangent, coming to Jesus does not mean your life will be perfect. Dan and I believe very much in Jesus and look what happened.) Having a breakthrough doesn't really mean anything, if perchance you saw the light it was only for one gleaming second, a glimpse, a small air hole in a gigantic tunnel, not the end of the tunnel.  Since I actual did think I saw said small air hole in my tunnel and it rhymes with breakdown, which we have all the bloody time over here, I'm gonna go with it.

Breakdown:

We live about a mile away from our old house. Our old house is off of a fairly busy street which we drive down regularly. We were driving home from Doughy Center (a support group for kids who have lost a parent, look them up they are incredible) and we drove past our old rd. Which we have done before a number of times.  This time however Baby Girl says "Hey momma, can we drive past our old house and see if any ones living in it yet?" Sure why not (spoiler, of course someone is living in it, it's been almost a year since we moved out.) We drive down there and indeed lights are on and cars are in the driveway. We pause for a minute in front of the house. Very quietly in a very sad almost whisper Baby Girl says, "That's my room...get out. That's my yard... get out. That's my garage...get out...That's my house... get out."  My heart was breaking again as tears rolled down her eyes, I can't make them get out Baby, I can't.  We drove down the road a little ways and turned around to leave. As we drove back past the house the sad whisper was gone and a load angry voice in the back seat yelled, "THATS MY ROOM...GET OUT. THATS MY YARD... GET OUT...THATS MY GARAGE...GET OUT...THATS MY HOUSE...GET OUT"  Then she burst into sobs. "I wanna go home, I wanna go home"  She wasn't talking about the new home a mile away or our home at grandma and grandpas. she wanted our old home, our old life, her old daddy.  There's nothing to say to that, you can't fix that. I just kept saying "I know, I know." over and over.  It was a long mile.

When we got to the house we live in now, she ran inside and slammed the door "THIS ISN'T OUR HOUSE, I WANNA GO HOME." She was pacing around the living room clenching her fists crying. After a few minutes she very astutely said "mommy I need to smash something" Uh ya you do. But what can we smash, think think think.  I know. We went out into the rain and I pulled a glass bottle out of the recycling. "Throw it back in the bucket and it will hit the other ones and smash, bang, it will be great" So she did.  It didn't smash, she did it again, it didn't smash. What is this glass bottle made out of geez. She threw it into the yard. It didn't smash. She did it again. Nothing. Standing in the rain, trying to smash things seemed to have helped a little and she was ready to go back inside. She threw herself on the couch and started to sob "this isn't my house, I wanna go home, mommy go to our house and tell those other people to get out and they will and then we can go home."  "O how I wish that would work Baby Girl."  I'm not sure what baby Girl thinks of when she thinks of that home but I know what I think of, her swinging from a rope swing in the middle of summer giggling wildly while daddy sprays her with the hose.  'working out' with daddy in the garage.  All three of us laying on our bed with our legs up in the air pretending we are riding bicycles upside down. The jingle of Dan's keys every day when he got home from work.  The three of us snuggling on the couch watching a movie.  That is our home.

Breakthrough: It's only an air hole.

Dan was a true writer. Story after story after story he could come up with. One of his dreams was to write children's chapter books. Dan was the greatest procrastinator I have ever seen. Story after story after story he never finished. Dan was a paper hoarder. Half written story after half written story he saved. He was gonna get to it someday after all.  I used to hate those papers cluttering up my house. Now I treasure them. Every thing he's written I have put into note books, in no particular order, college essays with fantasy stories, doesn't matter as long as I have his thoughts on paper.  I was unpacking these notebooks and Baby Girl grabbed one and started flipping through it.  A few minutes later she comes back in "Momma? Where's the rest of the story? what happens?" "I don't know but from the looks of it he wrote that when he was about your age." "Well what happens then" "I don't know, daddy never got that one finished, there were so many things daddy never got finished" I sigh. "But mommy I want to know the rest of the story, it's not fair" ain't that the truth. A friend was over and she suggested that Baby Girl finish the story, that she writes down what happens next.  Baby Girl thought this was an excellent idea (probably because I didn't suggest it someone else did.) she immediately got a paper and pencil and started writing.

'The wilderness gang' was a story about forest animals that Dan had made up when he was in fourth or fifth grade. I believe he has several stories about them. (Is that right grandma?)  This particular one is only about a page long and ends very abruptly. Clearly unfinished, he saved it till he could get back to it.  He never did.

Baby Girl comes back in, she has about half a paragraph done. "This is hard mommy, I don't know what to write, I don't know how the story goes. Why didn't daddy just finish it." I assured her that she had lots and lots of time to work on it. she could think about it for a few days, write a little bit and then think some more.

The next morning, instead of getting ready for school she was staring at Dan's story. "Whatcha doing" I casually ask. "I'm mad at daddy" uh er ahhh what, don't freak out, don't freak out, stay calm, she talks about daddy being dead all the time no big deal, right, right don't make it a big deal. (in case your new she virtually never talks about Dan in any way, hence the breakthrough) "o ya why?" "I want to know the rest of the story. It's not fair, I want him to finish it."  "It's not fair, I'm mad at daddy too for all the things he didn't get to finish." she walks off. A minute later she comes back carrying a folder. "Can I take daddy's story to school and work on it there" "Sure thats a good idea." She stuffs her paper and Dan's paper into her folder, she shuts the folder on the outside she has written "The wilderness gang by Daddy and Baby Girl"

I wrote a book about my grief, you can read it here: Carry on Castle