Puddle Jumping

I've said to people a few times that "puddle jumping" is God's gift to children. To help them manage their grief and not be overwhelmed by it. They can grieve for a moment them move onto something else. It protects their little minds.  Well, I've got an issue with this. Why can't grown ups retain the ability to puddle jump? What about my mind huh? 

I've had a good go at it this morning. First thing Oliver asked me today was "I wonder what daddy's up to in Heaven?". Ooh good question I said (silently thinking hold it together Sarah, hold it together...) It was a misty morning so we wondered whether perhaps daddy had helped make the mist. Oliver decided that God wanted a thunderstorm and the people in Heaven helping him couldn't manage that so we got mist. "How big is Heaven mummy?" (hold it together Sarah, hold it together....) Well, I don't know babe, bigger than we can imagine I guess, because every person who has died is there, "Well, it's bigger than our house..." he says. Yes, I expect so.  "Maybe it gets bigger every time somebody dies!" (Hold it together...breathe....) Well, Jesus tells that He has prepared a space for each of us.  So there's already a perfect place for me and you when we go there- in a very very long time I hope!.  "yeah....can I have cheerios and wheaties for breakfast please?"......

Crikey dude, Yes you can. 

After school drop off I put my practical pants on and phoned the vicar to arrange interment of Mark's ashes. Great, we have a date for that final hurdle.  Do we want to do a reading etc? Erm...do I? I don't want yet another funeral to get through. But then it's the last thing I can do for him. Maybe I should pick some sad poem? I don't think I can top Bat Outtta Hell for his committal at the crem to be honest.  We discussed if I wanted a double depth grave.....in case Oliver chooses to put me with him when I go.  You know, just the average conversation a 39 year old has on a Thursday morning.  I asked how deep the hole would be as I'm thinking about placing him in myself and don't want to risk toppling head first into the hole! After reassurance that won't happen I've opted to book myself a space with him.  Oliver can put me there or not as he chooses when the time comes. 

Right, next job, phone the funeral directors to ask them to arrange the grave digger. Gave her my name "Oh! Hiyaaaaa, you alright?" she chirrups.  "Erm.......yeah, I guess" I mumble. Stupid woman. This almost tops the "Your friend asked us to warn you he looks a bit different.....but we think he looks alright" comment I got outside the chapel of rest.  So bad it's funny. 

Then time for a cry.  Because puddle jumping doesn't work for grown ups. 

Instead I put the lid back on the grief box and move on to thinking about Christmas.  I need to do a photo calendar for the mums. They have one every year and will be upset all year if I don't do one.  Right. Time to trawl through photos looking for ones I think I will be able to bear to look at over 2022. ie none with Mark in.  I may regret that but I don't want to trigger anyone's grief randomly through the year, including my own.   So a quick scroll through with the thumbnails as small as possible so I can just make out if there are one, two or three people in the picture and if there's the bright blue of his favorite waterproof, or the grey of his most loved jumper, or Oliver up on shoulders or anything else I can't bear to look at full sized today. Job done, 12 photos of just Oliver uploaded and another tick off a long list of Stuff To Do.

Christmas shopping this year will be against my own principals of shop local and will be entirely online. Self preservation.