What is this?
Dateline: In my own little world...
Hmmm, is this a phase? Something you cycle in and out of? Normal, no doubt. What I am noticing is that I am saying Andy-This and Andy-That. He is inside of me every single minute and I have something to say on his behalf about almost everything.
"Andy was good at weeding."
"Andy loved Big Hits 100.9."
"Andy did NOT like the 'Life is Good' brand..."
"Andy would be here with us painting these boards... he loved a team project."
"Andy said BLACK coffee with the emphasis on the BLACK!"
"Andy took ibuprofen by the handful after snowboarding."
I'm a regular chatty cathy on the Andy channel. I don't look up at everyone to see if they are raising an eyebrow, catching each other's eye... It's just what it is: a mom who lost her boy about 4 months ago... still so new... let's let her be...
What I mean is: I wonder sometimes if people are sort of giving me a little extra space and permission to be a weirdo because they know I am going to do whatever I want. I am not deliberately 'using' this situation in a manipulative way but yes OK, if someone wants to know, I DO feel like I (and OK what the hell, everyone!) should do what they want to do with their day, their one precious day. Follow your heart. Carpe diem. If a thug jumped ME in an alley, he would have one strong mama to deal with, IYKWIM. I'd be like, are you kidding me? I went through all that, and you wanna WHAT? Don't make me laugh. So yeah, a little space around me is a good thing.
Now I am going to make some hot tea and settle down and try to get to sleep a bit earlier. I have been REALLY terrible about sleep the last week. OK the last 55 years. I am a night owl. Is there any hope? BTW ANDY was a major night owl too... he really got it bad from me... and we had such a great time staying up all night together. Last year when he moved in with me on Oct. 1, and we were scared ****less, neither one of us wanted to go to bed and just lie there with our hearts thumping. We would watch old movies, or Daria, or international soccer games, or scary movies, or ANYTHING, to just be together and not go into a dark bedroom where the panic would set in.
Here's yet another way that I was the right person with the right space for Andy when he needed it. Everyone else would get weary and go to bed. Andy and I would get our second (or third) winds, and stay up until 3 or 4. He'd go down in the basement to get high and sometimes I would join him. We had an agricultural project down there, growing weed, (totally legal! We had a letter from his oncologist!) and sometimes late at night we would work on the lights or the reflectors or the humidity settings.
I should note that I was paying the price for all this bonhamie: *I* Had to get up and go to work the next morning. Ow. I would come home at lunchtime and sometimes he would be up and sometimes he'd still be in bed. I would go into his hot room (he couldn't get warm enough) with the doggies (two beagly mutts) and we would all get on his bed and kiss him all over his face and ears. He was always SO nice to me in the mornings, from the time he was little... never a morning grouch. (Like most humans!) He would say Oh Mummy I love it when you wake me up... it's so much better than a horrible alarm clock or annoying radio.
When he was sitting at the dining room table rolling a joint (every few hours, October 1st to May 19th, thatsalotta cheeba!) and I was going by, I would stop and hug him from behind, and kiss his sideburns. He had pretty crazy Elvis sideburns pretty often... until he'd shave 'em off. I'm telling you, he was SO kissable. When he was a baby, I kissed him a thousand times a day. When he was little I said, "Andy you have a heart of gold." "No Mummy, silver, ok?"
I am missing Andy tonight. If he were here he might be driving me crazy with all his opinions and addictions and just plain chaos and mess... he might walk down to the pub and get bombed and stagger home and I would be anxious and have to text his friend to see if he was ok... but we also might be having a great time or just enjoying all the little things together. He'd put on some good music. (I haven't played his records since he died. The stereo is still on. I just realized that. It's blinking over there... in this very quiet room.)
So.... I'm thinking about Andy. Breathing Andy. Holding Andy. Talking about Andy. And saying his name, a lot. Andy. Gone. Andy. Here. I can close my eyes and remember the smell... the laugh... the times that were very bad and the times that were very good.
Hmmm, is this a phase? Something you cycle in and out of? Normal, no doubt. What I am noticing is that I am saying Andy-This and Andy-That. He is inside of me every single minute and I have something to say on his behalf about almost everything.
"Andy was good at weeding."
"Andy loved Big Hits 100.9."
"Andy did NOT like the 'Life is Good' brand..."
"Andy would be here with us painting these boards... he loved a team project."
"Andy said BLACK coffee with the emphasis on the BLACK!"
"Andy took ibuprofen by the handful after snowboarding."
I'm a regular chatty cathy on the Andy channel. I don't look up at everyone to see if they are raising an eyebrow, catching each other's eye... It's just what it is: a mom who lost her boy about 4 months ago... still so new... let's let her be...
What I mean is: I wonder sometimes if people are sort of giving me a little extra space and permission to be a weirdo because they know I am going to do whatever I want. I am not deliberately 'using' this situation in a manipulative way but yes OK, if someone wants to know, I DO feel like I (and OK what the hell, everyone!) should do what they want to do with their day, their one precious day. Follow your heart. Carpe diem. If a thug jumped ME in an alley, he would have one strong mama to deal with, IYKWIM. I'd be like, are you kidding me? I went through all that, and you wanna WHAT? Don't make me laugh. So yeah, a little space around me is a good thing.
Now I am going to make some hot tea and settle down and try to get to sleep a bit earlier. I have been REALLY terrible about sleep the last week. OK the last 55 years. I am a night owl. Is there any hope? BTW ANDY was a major night owl too... he really got it bad from me... and we had such a great time staying up all night together. Last year when he moved in with me on Oct. 1, and we were scared ****less, neither one of us wanted to go to bed and just lie there with our hearts thumping. We would watch old movies, or Daria, or international soccer games, or scary movies, or ANYTHING, to just be together and not go into a dark bedroom where the panic would set in.
Here's yet another way that I was the right person with the right space for Andy when he needed it. Everyone else would get weary and go to bed. Andy and I would get our second (or third) winds, and stay up until 3 or 4. He'd go down in the basement to get high and sometimes I would join him. We had an agricultural project down there, growing weed, (totally legal! We had a letter from his oncologist!) and sometimes late at night we would work on the lights or the reflectors or the humidity settings.
I should note that I was paying the price for all this bonhamie: *I* Had to get up and go to work the next morning. Ow. I would come home at lunchtime and sometimes he would be up and sometimes he'd still be in bed. I would go into his hot room (he couldn't get warm enough) with the doggies (two beagly mutts) and we would all get on his bed and kiss him all over his face and ears. He was always SO nice to me in the mornings, from the time he was little... never a morning grouch. (Like most humans!) He would say Oh Mummy I love it when you wake me up... it's so much better than a horrible alarm clock or annoying radio.
When he was sitting at the dining room table rolling a joint (every few hours, October 1st to May 19th, thatsalotta cheeba!) and I was going by, I would stop and hug him from behind, and kiss his sideburns. He had pretty crazy Elvis sideburns pretty often... until he'd shave 'em off. I'm telling you, he was SO kissable. When he was a baby, I kissed him a thousand times a day. When he was little I said, "Andy you have a heart of gold." "No Mummy, silver, ok?"
I am missing Andy tonight. If he were here he might be driving me crazy with all his opinions and addictions and just plain chaos and mess... he might walk down to the pub and get bombed and stagger home and I would be anxious and have to text his friend to see if he was ok... but we also might be having a great time or just enjoying all the little things together. He'd put on some good music. (I haven't played his records since he died. The stereo is still on. I just realized that. It's blinking over there... in this very quiet room.)
So.... I'm thinking about Andy. Breathing Andy. Holding Andy. Talking about Andy. And saying his name, a lot. Andy. Gone. Andy. Here. I can close my eyes and remember the smell... the laugh... the times that were very bad and the times that were very good.
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