Monetary values

I was volunteeringtoday, giving some free legal advice. I saw a man who didn't want to pay his back child support--not unusual. It was a pretty substantial amount of money. This guy, though, wanted to keep a relationship with his daughter. Long story short, it came down to what he was willing to pay to maintain his relationship with his daughter. He asked, "How can you put a price tag on that?"

Good question. 

I looked at the amount and thought that I'd willingly spend 10 times that amount for a 10 minute conversation on the phone with Katie. I'd beg, steal, and borrow that. 

30 times that for an hour holding her. 

A hundred times or more that amount to have her back. Even in a wheelchair. 

How can you put a price on something priceless?

Rocking my baby

The scent is strong today. I'm sitting in the rocking chair, thinking about rocking my baby. There is a little bit of baby powder in the scent today, and it lingers more. It's been about 20 minutes now, fading in and out. 

I'm weeping, but there is a teeny bit of happy in there. She's with me. 

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep. 

It smells heavenly

I smell things. I don't know how to say it otherwise. 

Sometimes when I'm sitting still I smell a lovely scent. It's not always the same scent. However, it's always fresh and sweet and a bit floral. 

At first I thought it was my perfume, but, while it has a hint of lavender, it's not all lavender. Then I thought it was my new laundry detergent, but it's more floral-y.  Then I started noticing that it's always similar, but it's not always the same. 

Sometimes I smell it when I'm around a candle, but most often I'm not close to a candle. I thought it was some new soap that I bought, but I smell it even when I've put the soaps away upstairs, and I'm downstairs. It makes no difference where I am in the house.  I smell it even when I'm not at home. 

It's familiar and comforting, and I want to bury my nose in it and sink into it. Sometimes it lasts for minutes. Usually it's just a passing breath. 

Katie loved lavender like I do. She had soap and deodorant and spray for her body and her pillows. 

She loved fruit and ate everything in season. 

It's not a scent that I associate with Katie as she was. 

I'm starting to wonder if it is the scent of Katie as she is now. 

Grief books

I've started reading grief books. It's hard as you might imagine. It's hard to read about grief when you're living grief and it reminds you of your grief. But id think there may be value. 

One of the things this last one says is that you are a different person than before.  To wit:  My relationship with Katie has changed. It's not the same as before. I have to accept this change and the change it causes in me to evolve into a new person. 

I ahould develop new routines and habits. I should expect my personality to change (ever hear the expression "get better or get bitter"? I'm hoping for personality improvement here).

I need to practice more love. 

I need to develop more patience. 

I need to give myself more fully. 

I need to prepare for more change, because it's coming whether I want it or not. 

I'll never be the same as I was before. Now what am I going to do about it?

What you miss when it is gone.

This past weekend I was with three of my Other Mothers at a house by Lake Michigan where we could just enjoy each other. All the kids were safe and with people that loved them; we were able to be together. 

At one point we were talking about the kids when they were young. Going to the grocery store. All the hats and mittens and boots. The judgemental old ladies.  There was agreement that they wouldn't go back. But I would. In a heartbeat. 

What a difference a few seconds makes. 

I'd take the Velcro baby who wailed when she was put in her seat so I could shower--the fastest shower in whole world. 

I'd take the five year old who embarrassed the cashier and me at Joann's when she explained what divorce was and how it affected her. 

I'd take the snarky teenager who was embarrassed to be seen with me in my gardening clothes even if we were just going to the garden center at Home Depot. 

Perspective. 

Think about this, friends, when you wish this age or stage was over. 

I hope I don't turn into that old lady at the grocery store who says that you'll miss this when it's gone as you try to put coats or mittens on screaming toddlers. 

If I do, you know why.