Those of us who have been single as full grown adults know that most in our age range have children, and at this stage of the game, a good portion of my peers have grandchildren. So, there is the inevitable “Do you have kids?” question that comes up almost immediately. As comfortable as I am answering that in almost every scenario and context in which I am asked, dating is different.
When dating and growing into a relationship there are stages and times that you navigate together. One of the most significant is when you meet each other’s children. I dread that time and the navigation of it because we do such a poor job as a society dealing with grief that it scares some away immediately. Although I am okay with that in the long run, in the short term, when you are sitting looking awkwardly at one another, it feels awful. When someone cannot tolerate the truth of loss it is hurtful and can feel personal even though it is not, it is about their inability to process such deep emotion.
Only twice have I gotten past that phase of “dating” and ventured into a relationship. Well, once really. Although, there were two men who I let into that sacred space where I love and grieve Kendall. Both were very respectful of my journey when I spoke openly of my feelings and experiences with carrying him, losing him and my life since. Only one was trustworthy enough to bring him into the darkest space of that grief. The place where we cry so hard we are unsure we can stop before it swallows us whole. The hollow in our chest so deep we are terrified we may not know how deep it goes, yet know we have touched a space others cannot imagine. He loved me safely enough to let him in there. Yet even he, who I trust and love in a sacred way, has yet to “meet” my son.
You see, all I have of Kendall is a treasure chest of memories that includes: cards, poems, artwork and symbols given to me at his memorial service, baby blue items, bunny cards and knickknacks (those I will explain next time), story books and drawings that convey that his life mattered, not only to me his Mom, but to many who loved me and would have been important to him.
The treasure chest, that used to be a baby blue box which I hand-painted, is now a dark brown hand-stained chest. I display this chest predominantly in my home. It’s so beautiful in its own merit that most never ask what it is or what is in it. The day I invited my person into my deepest grief and let him hold me through the pain of the would-have been birthday, I thought I was letting him all the way in. I wasn’t really ready for it. As I wept and he held me and asked some things and told me some things. I eyed the chest and knew I could not open it. I was not ready to let him “meet” my son. I have never trusted a man like I trust him. I won’t ever trust any other man more. That space where Kendall “lives” was hard enough to open to those who walked me through it, I am not sure when I will be able to make that introduction. It will be twenty years in April that Kendall came and went too soon. Many know of him, even speak of him, but “meeting” him is sacred and I am never sure when the time is right. At least now I know the person is right. The Universe will set the timing. It always does.
- Sharing My Truth - August 27, 2019
- Giving Back - April 1, 2019
- One Day, It Will Feel Safe To Begin To Peek Out & Explore - February 18, 2019