I went to bed last night before nine o'clock. Yes. I did. I was completely bone tired, blood tired, exhausted, even though Mr. Moon helped me with the boys yesterday and thank god he did. I couldn't have done it without him. Gibson can do so big now, raising his hands up to grasp each other above his head and he is so happy with that. He loves the things he can do with his hands, wave hello and good-bye, clap them, eat popcorn, piece by piece. We played a game for a long time yesterday wherein put his hand in my mouth and grasped my lower jaw and made my head go up and down.
I was Gibson's puppet.
"He likes it, "Owen says. "See? He laughing."
And Owen. Oh god, that boy.
He did his hiding thing yesterday while I was giving Gibson a bottle and Boppy was in another room for a minute, a second. I hate that. Hate it. I fly through the house, calling his name, pleading with him to come out. This house has miles of rooms and halls and the upstairs and a billion doors to the outside and there he was, behind the door in the library and I cried when he came out. "Oh Owen! I thought we'd lost you!" and I was sore afraid.
Lily bathed them after supper and she put Owen in his pajamas and whirled him around on her shoulders like a helicopter and I got the giggling boy into his pajamas and we bundled them into their car seats and off they went into the night to home and I collapsed and went to bed. Done. Gone. Asleep. Probably before they were.
My head, my brain, my old tired body, the gray. There is this.
And there is this.
And this morning we're off to the wedding dress places, the places of veils and silks and chiffons and taffeta and the mirrors and did you know I have written at least half a novel about a woman who makes wedding gowns? I have. It has a wonderful beginning and at least fourteen middles and no ending.
Vergil just gave Jessie another Christmas present. A necklace of moonstones and it is beautiful and she is beautiful, the bride-to-be, she giggles like Gibson and I need to shower and put on clothes I can wear to town and let the dead firespike be and the laundry, leave it, leave it, and we'll have lunch. We'll be ladies who lunch, May and Lily and Jessie and Melissa and me.
Owen was not really lost, but merely, as he said, "peek-a-booing" and has no idea why we were so upset he was right there, right THERE, and so clever, we came and went through the library and never saw him and I told him that he has no idea how much I love him, NO IDEA, and he doesn't but someday, he will. It makes no sense, our fear of a loved one just disappearing, it is perhaps one of our deepest fears, it resides in the bones next to the exhaustion, next to the heart by our love and our pumping blood. When you have a child the blood pumps out a new message, never before heard or felt, which is keep the baby safe, keep the baby safe, keep the baby safe, and every breath we take after that is a whisper of that prayer, that command.
Don't let me lose anyone. Oh not today, not ever.
Good morning from Lloyd.