The Shame of my 11 Year Old Self and Possible Redemption...ummm-kinda?

Something I did when I was in fifth grade still haunts me to this day. So embarrassing, that just thinking about thinking about it, causes me to blush and feel sick to my stomach. I would call it the most horrible thing that I've ever done except that I feel like that's an invitation for my friends and family to point out the myriad of other terrible things I've done throughout my life-and I'm just not excited to open up that can of worms.

I try really, really hard to be kind and giving. Is this really just an attempt to make up for an utterly unkind, selfish act of my 5th grade self?

This is what happened. I was invited by my friend, Amy, to go see a play. I don't remember what the play was, but I remember what I wore (yes, I know-insert eye-roll here.) I wore my fabulous new Chinos and an adorable striped blazer over a white cotton shell. It is important to note that I was awkwardly trying to navigate prepubescent-hood and was grateful for the camouflage provided by my blazer. (I was completely confident in the fabulous-ness of my outfit and oblivious to the fact that it actually caused me to look more like a 10 year old boy, not less.)

Amy, her mom and I took our seats in the theater and were eagerly awaiting the commencement of the play when we heard a loud BOOM, followed by a scream and smoke wafting from behind the curtain. We were quickly evacuated from the theater and ushered into the lobby.

According to my parents, I have been terrified of fire since birth. I would cry at the strike of a match, my birthday candles remained unlit and I cut a wide berth around anything with a flame.I spent many sleepless nights waiting for our house to catch on fire- I was an exhausted, but well-prepared child. So, the explosion followed by the plume of smoke, sent me into a state of hyper-awareness enveloped in a bubble of distorted time and exaggerated emotion. I was completely appalled by the laissez faire attitude of the theater powers-that-be. Obviously the whole building was about to burst into flames, and they asked us to wait in the lobby? Seriously? A full evacuation was clearly in order.

I tried to convince Amy's mom that we should wait in the car. She tried to convince me to mind my own business (I'm just kidding-kinda)-obviously I needed another plan. As I was trying to plot the most expedient exit route (contemplating the application of emergency door rules in what seemed to me extenuating circumstances-on the one hand, there was an explosion-on the other hand, we had been told to wait in the lobby-curses to my rule-following self!) a woman rushed up to me and asked for my jacket.

 I said, "Pardon me?" (Actually, I probably said "huh?")

"Can I have your shirt?" she asked as she tugged on my jacket, "I need it. To wrap around Tony's burns."

Blank stare.

"Tony, the man who was burned! You have another shirt on."

I said, and here it is, my moment of shame, "Ummm, no."

She said, "WHAT!?!" (I swear her eyes popped out of her head-just like in a cartoon.)

I said, "I'm sorry, it's actually a jacket and it goes with this shirt." Before the words were out of my mouth, I knew how ridiculously selfish I sounded. The woman looked at me for a moment-I'm not sure if she was trying to digest what I had said or if she was contemplating punching me in the face. Either way, she pushed past me in search of a less-selfish, more caring, patron-someone more (at all) concerned with the medical well-being of another human being.

So between discovering I was the most selfish person on the planet and the trauma caused by the explosion, I was completely discombobulated. For the rest of the day I was in a fog of trauma, shame and fear. I do not remember the show (although I vaguely remember someone saying something like, "Sorry for all the excitement folks. We had a bit of a mishap with one of the special effects. Tony is on his way to the ER and they think he's going to be just fine-in spite of the selfish acts of one selfish girl who selfishly refused to give him her jacket," then shooting me the stink eye-okay I may have been imagining that last part, but maybe not.)

At random moments, I am reminded of this "incident" and get all inwardly embarrassed, turn outwardly red and try desperately to purge the thoughts from my mind. But recently, I was in NYC visiting Oldest Daughter, when this memory invaded my thoughts and I decided it was time to do something about it. So, since I can't undo the past, I was trying to figure out what I could do now that would feel like I was making ammends for not doing the right thing when I was 11. So, I set out to give away my coat. Walk. Walk. Walk. Look. Look. Look. I couldn't find anyone who was out without a coat. Initially I was disappointed, then I was happy, because it was cold and it was good that no one was out without a coat. So I got online and looked for a coat drive. I found this New York Cares Coat Drive and there was a drop-off place right around the corner! Serendipity!

NYPD 10th Precinct was a drop-off location (although the Desk Sargent seemed a little confused by the whole thing-I could sense he wasn't completely mesmerized from, "When I was 11," but I felt like I really lost him at "but, you see, it was actually a jacket, not a shirt at all.") So, I said, "Here," and thrust my coat at him. Then I decided that his disinterest was actually reverie and walked out feeling all warm and tingly.

PS If you walk into a police station, hand them something, walk out onto the street, turn and take a picture with your cell phone, they may watch you. For a long time. Until you're off their street. 

HARTbroken

This morning when I woke up, I was already crying. When I opened my eyes, thimbles worth of tears fell onto my pillow. Usually, there is the "honeymoon" period after I wake-up, that moment just before I remember, when all is right with the world, before feelings wash over me. Before emotion, like a wave when you're facing the shore, takes me completely off guard and envelopes me wholly. Not today. Today, I was feeling before I woke up. Mourning before the shackles of sleep began to loosen their grip.

Nine years ago today, Hart died. There are so many emotions-all flooding to the surface, competing for my attention.  Pain, emptiness, sadness and gratitude. Gratitude may seem like an odd emotion to feel in association with the loss of a child, but I am so grateful that I got to spend time and get to know my little boy. This is what I feel most strongly. Today, gratitude wins. Without gratitude, the other feelings would be irrelevant. I wouldn't ache for my child, my arms wouldn't feel empty, my heart wouldn't feel like a chunk of it is missing. It was the cost of admission to loving Hart and was such a small price to pay. And I would pay it all over again, plus everything I have and am to have one more day, hour, minute with him.

Yet, I remember, at the time, saying to God "I don't know how much longer I can do this." I couldn't continue to watch him die, it was excruciating. I was grateful that he died (relatively) quickly. That his suffering was short. I try not to feel guilty, especially now, when I am not emotionally empty and physically exhausted. When I am not completely depleted of everything that gives me life. But, at the time, I felt like I was on the verge of disintegrating, melting, imploding or just running full speed through the plate glass window.

I believe the passage of time is a beautiful gift. It allows the acute awareness of details fade, the sharp pain of hurt to dull. It enables us to polish memories, and to even completely rewrite history. Today I say that I would do anything to have one more minute-and I mean that, I would. But I know that it is my revisionist version and not how I felt at the time. I remember telling my husband, I truly cannot go on like this, and I know I meant it. I feel embarrassed and ashamed to admit that now, but I know that's how I felt and it wasn't until more than a year after he died that I felt differently.

My husband and I made a deal when Hart was born that we would live his life with no regrets. That whatever we did, we would know that we were doing the best we could, that there would be no second guessing. At the time, and for a long time after, that was easy to do, but as time passes, moments of "I wish we would have...," or "if only we...," creep into my being. More pictures (there were hundreds) less worry, more videos, less conversation, one more kiss...