Thursday, April 8, 2010


When people ask how we're doing, I usually say something like, "We're doing as well as we can. Usually when one of us is struggling with grief, the other two aren't, so it's manageable."

Tonight was difficult to manage.

It's been a tough week. Cooper has the worst seasonal allergy symptoms he's ever had, plus he has a sinus infection, plus he accidentally ran into someone during recess on Tuesday and badly busted his upper lip. Katie isn't sleeping as well as usual (I think last night's crazy wind is partly responsible), and when she has a sleep deficit, she's more volatile than usual.

After soccer practice tonight, I helped Katie take a shower. As I was drying her off and brushing her hair, she asked if I thought she would get sick when she's an adult.

I told her that most everyone gets sick with something -- a cold or virus or stomach bug -- but that with time and medicine most people get better.

What she really wanted to know, she informed me, was would she get a tumor like Daddy. I told her that I hoped and prayed that she wouldn't. That brain tumors are rare.

She followed with a lot of statements and questions about the tumor, regarding its location, its inaccessibility, how other people with brain tumors can have surgery. She's usually matter-of-fact during these discussions (and she talks about Steve multiple times a day), but tonight was different. She was more emotional.

We hugged, and I was walking her to her room when I saw Cooper sitting on my bed, staring at two gorgeous black and white photos of Steve, Cooper and Katie. He was crying.

"I'm forgetting what he looked like," sweet Cooper said. Then he started walking around the house, gently touching photos of Steve. "I want to feel him and hug him again."

Katie seemed stable enough to leave for a few minutes, so I spent some time with Cooper. We talked about how special Daddy was and still is. How we are lucky to have so many memories and photos. And yet how awful and unfair it feels without him.

While Cooper showered and Katie was getting herself ready for bed, I sat and sobbed.

Then it was time to read books and give and receive more hugs and kisses and tuck those sweet, resilient children in bed.


DogBlogger said...

Oh, Tyra.
((((KT, Coop, You))))
Crying, and lifting you all in prayer.

niki said...

Prayers to your family - I found your blog recently and did not get to read about the days of Steve alive until after he had passed. You are an amazing woman to keep those babies going. I am praying for your family daily and I pray that those babies (and you) never forget Steve's hugs!

chapman.d said...

there are no words really just hugs

KEHS said...

I feel for you every single day. Hugs to all.