It's still dark out, but I'm up and wish the day would get going. The house is quiet. Everyone else is still asleep. Peace.
Last night was rough. The boys were all near tears or in tears throughout dinner and beyond. The fighting barely stopped. Ben ended up running off to sob into his pillow, leaving it tear-stained (he showed me) when he finally slowed down enough to talk to me.
The packing went fine except for those last few details. There's something traumatic about deciding what to take on the plane. One book? Two? Hardcover? Paperback? Two knitting projects? Three? Sweater? Jacket? (It's freezing in East, don't forget!) The technology alone is ridiculous. Between the three of us we have three laptops, two iPhones, one iPod, a camera, and a huge tangle of headphones, cables, and chargers. I packed two small bottles of hand sanitizer, a bag of face masks (yes, I'll have to take pictures of us in them), and a bag of anti-bacterial wipes for our tray tables, armrests and the bathroom door handles.
Transitions are so difficult. Harry expressed it something like this: "No offense, but I look forward to when you're finally gone." Meaning, I hope, that the waiting is beyond excruciating. For each of us. And as much as we are not looking forward to the surgery, enough with the anticipation!
Bedtime was a bit earlier than usual. 10:45pm. Toby and I shared the big bed upstairs last night. I read to him and then we snuggled until we both fell asleep. Ben refused to sleep with Mark at first ("He SNORES!") and understood that Toby needed me for our last night at home. But, in the middle of the night, I heard him pad up to the booknook to ask Daddy to join him, after all. Snoring aside, it's good to have bedtime company when you're anxious.
Monday I took Ben to get a massage from my friend Liz. It was his first one and he LOVED it. It felt right to give him this, knowing what he will be experiencing in just a week. Afterwards, when he'd gone out to the car to wait, I told her how glad I was that he'd had the chance for someone to touch his skin in such a healing and gentle way. I started to cry as I told her that the part of the surgery that's really getting to me right now is the fact of the cutting into his sweet, beautiful flesh. It hurt me to think of it. This is what she said: "Susie, a client of mine came in the other day. He has scoliosis and his body is twisted and distorted. He is in constant pain. Never doubt that you are doing the right thing for Ben."
And so we go. On with the show!