Saturdays Are Hard
I’ve noticed a pattern. Saturdays are hard. I won’t say they suck, because that would be an inaccurate generalization. Every moment doesn’t suck. In fact, on average, most Saturday moments are good, sometimes better than good. Sometimes really great.
When I wake up on Saturdays, especially when it’s sunny, I remember the plans we were making on December 15. I remember the family group text—”Who all can go to Sherman’s Garden’s tonight to see Christmas lights?” I remember calling out to Chandler as he ran downstairs Saturday afternoon, “Can you go with us to see Christmas lights tonight?” And hearing, “I’m on my way to work.” Then, an hour and a half later, the phone call.
I remember Saturday afternoon and evening, late into the night, fading into Sunday…
Saturday held the first of everything. The first news of what had happened, the first operation to try and keep Chandler alive, the first prognosis of what was to come, the first time seeing my strong, vibrant son lying still, motionless. The first time seeing his brothers and sister enter a hospital room and live out the worst nightmare they ever could imagine.
As if Saturdays weren’t difficult enough, today I was shopping in a large discount home furnishings store when Eric Clapton’s No Tears in Heaven came on. My heart sped up. I began saying to myself, “Don’t cry, don’t cry. Breathe deep. Just shop. Act like this is a normal day. Cry later.” When I got to my car, it was later, time to cry.
Also, this Saturday was very good. I talked with a dear friend for three hours over coffee where my son Chance works. With a friend and near my son. More than ever, both of those things matter deeply to me.
Tonight I cried with my husband, the only other person on this planet who knows what it’s like to lose Chandler as his parent. He said, “It’s OK to cry. It’s OK to miss him.”
Saturdays are hard. Also, Saturdays are really good.