Fri 3 Aug 2007
If I could travel in time… forward or back, to anytime future or past, it would be easy for me to choose which time.
I would choose to relive one day in the summer when my boys were 3 and 4 years old. We would walk through the cemetary behind our house in Berry Hill… and I would get to listen to their sweet little voices. I can’t begin to express the bittersweet, fleeting precious time it was.
Writing about my boys is absolutely the hardest thing to write about. It is like walking naked and skinless down a busy city street.
I remember Hope having a similar sentiment about her 2 boys.
I wonder how many people have this feeling, too.
– Chad
August 5th, 2007 at 10:26 am
OMG, if you’ll notice, I have hardly written anything about my kids. It IS hard. Why is that? Is it the twinge of sorrow for something lost between 2 people who have children together, but are no longer together? Sometimes I think that’s why, but then I have to think back when I was still with my husband, and it was just as hard to write about my kids then as it is now. I always get choked up. I start to form thoughts of them to write down, and a flood of mixed emotions comes crashing into me, and I feel that it’s all too strong for me to control on paper. Thoughts of ME as a child in their place, and the simultaneous existence of me then, and them now. It’s too much. Too much attached to just a simple “walk in the cemetery with my kids when they were 3 and 4″… It’s not something I’ve become comfortable with… maybe in time I will be. Funny you should write about this because I was just talking about this very topic with my co-worker/friend/poet Cheyenne… I find it easier to tell the world I pissed in a plastic sack on a subway train while I was drunk than to describe a wonderful, peaceful, meaningful moment with my children. I feel the knot in my throat as I ponder this blog…