More baseball, biking, a bike crash on my head. T's graduation from third grade, end of the year parties, goodbyes with best friends, sleepovers, play dates, swimming pools, cousins, state track and then All Stars and maybe track nationals but there would be no nationals because he is .2 seconds too slow, and there would be no All Stars because there is visitation looming.
6 weeks of summer visitation.
June 26, 2009 at 9 a.m.
We try our best to hold one another tight those last few nights. We also cry and we also dance and we also sing and all the while we try to make the most of every moment and yet just keep on living life and some other bullshit lines I feed him.
I catch up at work for the first time...ever. I hold my friend's babies and make them laugh. I ride and race and laugh and camp in the middle of nowhere. I stay up late and sleep in and ride my bike everywhere in between. I am in the middle of some woods with a man I always loved and yet suddenly I find myself looking very differently at. And then, just as quickly as he appears, he leaves; turns around for a goodbye kiss that lingers somehow: sweet anticipation, wonder and intense longing; just a thousand two hundred miles, in the opposite direction.
Ten years, July 29. Ten, to be precise.
My baby. My kid. A Stranger.
Seven days (post visitation):
My people swoop in and save me...again. They provide their beautiful baby to snuggle, ears, a bed, hand-crafted meals, and laughter and gorging on food eating and sleep and recharging for another week.