Hannah's Birthday

From July 22:

Happy birthday to Hannah! In the 11 months since Willis died, we have been through all the major holidays and everybody else’s birthday. Today is Hannah’s birthday. This is the last of our firsts. This is the first birthday that Willis’s elder daughter (from his first marriage) will celebrate without her dad. She is now seven.

On the milestone days, our loss pierces more deeply. I ache for what Willis is missing and I berate him for not being here to share in our milestones. I so wish that he had been able beat back the dragon of his depression. I can feel him with us sometimes, and there is some comfort in that, but one last hug, one last visit with him, in the flesh, would be so wonderful....

Sigh.


From July 23:

My darling daughter, who had woken me up several times in the night, had been having a particularly Sydney-ish day. Nothing would go quite right for her. She needed to scream and yell a lot to express her dissatisfaction with life in general, and her mother in particular. She couldn’t possibly do it any way but her own way, and at her own pace. I am grateful that Cynthia was there to look after Sam and Hannah, so that Sam could at least have supervision and possibly some of his needs met while I was tearing my hair out over Sydney.

Sydney was obviously tired all weekend and since she barely ate, she was probably hungry. I imagine that’s why she needed to be up, but not that way, or down, but not over there, wearing shoes, but only the other shoes would do…. You know how they say that when you are at the end of your rope with your child, who has been crying non-stop for xxxx amount of time, you should just walk away, so that no-one comes to harm? Don’t do it where Madam X and Madam Y can catch you at it- the consequences may be ugly.

Episode one occurred after a steady 15 minutes of squalling, struggling unpleasantness, on a rainy walk from Cynthia’s condo to the local park. I had to tell Sam and Hannah repeatedly where not to cross the park to avoid being beaned by a baseball- it was a concept that seemed waaaay beyond them. Eventually, they understood, and went with Cynthia to the playground. Sydney was still struggling with shoes, walking, feet, etc. Having run out of patience, I walked ahead of her. Madam X, from the row of lawn chairs, said to no-one in particular, that the child needed to be moved or she would be hit by the ball. I snapped. "Who said that? Would you like to go and get her? I’m at the end of my rope." Deep breath. "Look, if anyone can offer any parenting advice here, I’d appreciate it. I have another child to watch who’s up ahead, and I no longer know how to deal with this one." A more sympathetic voice said, go and pick her up; just carry her, kicking and screaming. (she forgot to add hitting, pinching and biting… ;) ) I got Sydney carted over to the playground, where she spent 15 minutes on her own, under a fence, sulking, pouting, witching away. She eventually came for a cuddle and mookie and some shut-eye.

The walk back was also pretty disastrous. Once she stopped on the grass to have a pee, it was better, but before that, I came close to dropping her several times, as she squirmed with outrage at my "transgressions". I wish I could just walk away from her when she is so appallingly unco-operative, but it doesn’t seem to work for Jane Q Public, and it doesn’t make a big impression on Sydney, either. At one point, the others being well, well ahead, and I completely out of parenting ideas, walked away from Sydney and wept. My frustration was immense. My loss was enormous. I am Sydney’s only parent. Our whole trip was predicated on her father’s absence from our lives. Every time I look at Hannah, I feel the loss more keenly, and at that moment, in the rain, with a stubborn, screeching child, and no other parent to hand off to, I felt alone, abandoned and cheated. I hate solo-parenting.

Eventually, we made it back to the condo; it was apparent to the adults that it was time for us to head back. It took a while to collect ourselves and our things; eventually, we were underway. Our trip back on the ferry offered more of the same- her frustration and mine are soooo much bigger than ourselves at these times.

I will see if my counsellor has ideas on how to parent my beautiful, strong-willed, stubborn, spirited daughter, so that we can enjoy each other much more of the time.