Celebrating Molly

Today could have been a dark day.  Josiah's caseworker finally called.  I'm glad that she called Justin's cell phone and not the house because I would have been a weepy mess if she would have talked to me.  She wanted to know where Josiah had gone to day care.  The answer: He's never been to day care.  (Look at his records, you goofy people!)  Justin said that she mentioned three times how well he was doing and how much he was loving playing with his brother.  That's just wonderful (I mutter under my breath.)  I guess I don't want to hear that he's not doing well.  I don't know why hearing that he was okay felt like a punch in the gut, but it did.  I want him to be happy.  I don't want him to miss me.  (Okay, maybe I do...just a little.)

A little side note...the mediation meeting that was supposed to happen the day before he left ended up getting postponed.  Surprise. Surprise.  Inefficiency strikes again.  Whatever.  

Justin is away at an overnight basketball tournament so the little miss and I are kicking it at home together, after deciding that an overnight trip in a hotel two weekends in a row was a little much for both of us.  I have a tendency to get a little bitter and jealous impatient and lonely at this point the the basketball season when Justin is away so much, and after he told me about the call this afternoon, I was afraid the night alone and the recent news would be the perfect combination for a teary-turned-weepy-turned-sobbing mess.  There was a little of that before Molly's bedtime when she wanted to read "Frog in the Kitchen Sink," a book that Josiah knew by heart and loved to recite.  I got about four pages into it before I turned into a puddle.  It was hard reading to her in her room, when I can still imagine Josiah being there.  I suppose it may be time to take his crib down soon.  I still can't manage to take the sheet off the bed that he slept on last though.

But the room isn't theirs anymore.  It's hers.  I've been having a lot of trouble with pronouns still.  Talking about toys and books and TV shows that they like instead of what she likes.  I can tell people are uncomfortable when I talk about them instead of just her.  I'm trying to make the adjustment.  Until then, people just have to deal.

Tonight when I was reading to Molly in their room, I felt the darkness creep up on me, and I could tell if I let it, it was going to swallow me whole.  So I did something brave.  It was a silly, tiny baby step, but for me, it required me to face a fear that I've had since knowing that their room would soon be her room.

My amazingly talented and thoughtful friend, Jen, made Molly a name banner for her room.  It's been hanging in my dining room window for the past two weeks since it came in a package in the mail. I was reluctant to put it up, because I felt like doing so would be admitting that the room belonged to her and no one else.

But tonight, I took a thumb tack, and I pinned it to the wall.  It was a small gesture, but I felt like doing it honored and celebrated my sweet girl.  

Then a funny thing happened.  One brave gesture gave me the courage to do something else I have been both dreading and looking forward to for months.  After I tucked Molly in, I had a date with my pencils. Oh, beautiful Prismacolors, how I love you and miss you so!  You may recall in a post I wrote in October when I talked about how much I wanted to draw my kids and how afraid I was to do it.  

But tonight...I did it! I drew her.  I'll save the mushy-gushy artist talk about the process of drawing her and what I learned for another post.  (I'm even going to make you wait to see the portrait until I can get it framed...aren't I mean?!?!)  This post is all about doing a little happy dance in the midst of grieving.  Tonight, I celebrated the fact that Molly is my daughter and I love her.  I can miss him and love her in the same breath and one doesn't take away from the other.  In fact, I think it adds more meaning to both.