Hiding Isn't Always a Game

I want to hide today.  I want to hide from life.  I want to hide from responsibility and obligation and just the grind of things.  I want to hide from my kids.  I want to hide that I hate when they are sick.  I want to not be reminded by a silly little nose bleed of  "the silly little nose bleed" that nearly took Ian's life.  I want to forget the blood transfusions and the complications for transplant that came from a little nose bleed.  I want to forget the lecture I got about being able to deal with things that are as insignificant as a nose bleed.  I want to cling to the idea that Lucy's nose bleed is nothing, even though she's sick and she's never had one before in her life.

I want to hide.  I want to forget.  I want to forget remarks people make.  I want to forget that someone told me that they had replaced their buddy with a new one.  In my world buddy is capitalized because it's a name and it's Ian's name and he can't be replaced.  I want to hide that sometimes I wish Mikey felt like Ian so I could feel like I was holding him for a minute.  I want to block out things like even Ian's toes were distinctive.  Mikey took off his shoes and put his feet out the window in the car today and I looked at them and thought to myself--I even miss his toes.

I want to hide that I'm afraid.  I'm still afraid.  Afraid that I can't endure one more thing.  Not even a little thing.  Afraid that I will not be strong enough.  What if I turn that little corner and decide that there really isn't a plan for me and God really doesn't care.  It's not that big of leap.  I'm afraid of it happening to Lucy or to Keith.  He won't be bishop forever.  I'm afraid that when he doesn't have to be there, he might decide he doesn't want to be there. 

I want to hide that I'm angry and lonely and confused and weak.  My friend told me recently that my posts were getting less angry over time.  I think I'm just not letting it out as much.  I'm not writing as often and I'm not sitting here bawling for an hour on one post  (except for now.)   I'm not staying up until 1 or 2 in the morning anymore to write about how I am--cause really what good does it do?  Ian is still gone.  I'm going to be empty inside forever and writing about it isn't going to help so I want to hide instead. 

On Lucy's birthday I hid that I didn't want her to be 15.  I don't want to worry if she'll get to be 16, but worse than that I hid that I don't want her to get older than her older brother.  There's a catch 22 huh?   Of course I do want her to grow and learn and have experiences and be with me forever but. . .

I want to hide the feelings that come when I see my own child's name on a tomb stone.  My baby.  Or, the feelings of excitement when I hear a weird unexplained noise in the house and fantasize that he's here with me.  I just want to hide.