To have or had?

Posthumous shifts in language.

There are so many things that are just damn hard when your kid dies. Like really big, existential, life altering and threatening things. But in all honesty, it mostly feels like you cannot do anything about those things except live through them so is there even a point in talking about them? Definitely. Especially to your therapist and/or your partner.

But you know what is not pointless? Words. Language. How you talk and what you say and how you are understood. It might all be made up, but that doesn’t make it matter less. I like to think that this is something that I have some skill doing, otherwise what business do I have pretending to be a writer? So I’m here, overanalyzing words and their meaning. Getting lost and confused in the words of others and struggling to clearly express myself.

Last week, Mike and I went to Whole Foods. As we were checking out we were being our normally playful selves, telling the older woman at the register that we just arrived in the area and that we were getting our bearings. She thought we were funny, asked us how long we’ve been married and how long we’ve known each other. We answered and she asked, “do you have any kids?” 

And after what felt like a long, awkward pause I answered, “We had a son.” It is not the first time someone has, in the natural course of small talk, asked if I, or we, have any kids. And so far, my answer has been “I had a son.” Which, if you’re not really paying close attention, doesn’t sound any different than “I have a son.” And honestly, in meaning, “I had a son” can mean that in the past I created a son and it doesn’t necessarily mean that he is not here anymore. But, Han isn’t here anymore. When I say, “I had a son” I mean that in the past I had a son and unfortunately my son is no longer alive, so I no longer have him.

Some people pick up immediately on the “had” - others don’t. This lovely woman did not. And I realized that while there may be something very technically correct about the sentence “I had a son” there may be something equally true if I allowed myself in these small moments to say “I have a son.” Maybe, in these little moments of small talk I can take off the heavy veil of bereavement and talk about my baby boy as if he is still here with me. Maybe, the woman checking me out at the grocery store can think that I am just a mom running errands while her baby is looked after by someone else. Maybe they can think that Han is still here, even if I know that he isn’t. Maybe there is a little bit of life for Han to be found in those moments?

I’m not sure how these words and this sentence will evolve in my life. Different circumstances will require different answers - code switching inside my grief. I can’t always pretend Han is here in these situations, especially around people who I will likely see again. But a little harmless fantasy might just give me a pick-me-up. Han’s loss is the peak of my grief, but below that grief are other big and small losses. I am a mom and I want to be seen as a Mom, but I think that’s harder now. These little moments are an indulgence. I don’t know if they’ll be sustainable or good for me for the long term, but I’ll take a little comfort where I can for now.

Han was showing great promise in the mastery of language. His little 18 month old mind was creating new sentences, trying to piece words together, and making up his own words to fill the gaps. It’s one of my proudest moments as a Mom, his pediatrician choosing to spend a little extra time with us to hear Han talk as he warmed up to her. She marveled at not only his physical health, but at his verbal development. She had never been around an 18 month old who had so much to say. 

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We’re ticking off the boxes during our time here in Los Angeles - we drove on Mulholland Drive, hiked Runyon Canyon, and saw friends. I’ve been doing Yoga, and Mike’s been getting into his own routine. We’re resting, but also trying to be in the world. It continues to be incredibly challenging to get through a lot these days - I think a testament to that challenge is the lack of writing I’ve been able to do. I avoid my laptop even as words fly through my mind that would love to be captured and freed into the world. It’s a shift and I don’t know if it’s a good one. I have felt my confidence drop and my ability to execute lowered. As someone who identifies as an underthinker, it’s hard to feel like I’m just avoiding the doing of things. 

I guess it’s grief? I’m missing Han in ways that feel so much stronger than they have before. I’m listening to a book on languishing and I’m feeling it in my bones. I feel pretty despondent a lot of the time. We are having some really lovely high times, but they are balanced out by some pretty persistent low times. Low times that really take it out of me. I don’t know whether to attribute my need to rest to the grief, the bad sleep, or the MS. I’m spending hours in the afternoon and evening laying in bed with Lincoln, watching TV or playing Civilization. 

We’re getting through the days but it’s taking a lot of effort. A part of me wonders if that push and pull, that happiness and that sadness are a fight that has to happen to heal some of my wounds. I think that as much as it feels good to be here in California, it feels bad to feel good. Probably something to talk to my therapist about.