Before and After

The other day I realized that when I think about various events in our life, I think of them in terms of whether they occurred before or after C was sick.

Before: My dad getting sick. K moving to town. Re building the front steps. Finishing the quilt for the living room wall. Innocence. Naivete.

After: My dad dying. My brother and his family visiting. Learning to surf. Rebuilding the rock wall along the driveway. S. Understanding that it could all be gone in a heartbeat.

About some things around that time, I am incredibly superstitious. For example, there's this one restaurant a couple of towns north. Our area isn't known for a plethora of decent dining opportunities, so decent restaurants tend to be latched onto with vigor. We had takeout from that restaurant the Saturday night before C became ill. I still cannot eat there, almost four years later.

It makes no sense. None. I know that restaurant has no relationship to C's illness. It had no bearing whatsoever. Heck, I can look back on photos from that weekend and see that C was already a bit unwell. But still, I can't go back there.

About other things, it's just a strong association and the difficult memories. For example, C and M have been asking to go skiing for a couple of years now. The last time we went skiing was - you guessed it - in the weeks before C became ill. In this case, it's more the memory than an aversion to skiing. Heck, I miss skiing, too, but it's freaking expensive taking a family of five to the slopes, and when two of the family members likely won't even make it onto the slopes (S and a parent), it sounds less appealing. I don't want to drive four hours to sit in a skanky lodge. But that last ski trip was great, and I had pictures from it up in C's ICU room. For days when C was in critical condition, I was afraid those were our last family pictures. That's a hard memory to get over. We're trying to plan a ski trip now, someplace where S can go to a little ski school so we all can get some enjoyment out of it. I find myself hampered by memories. Fears.

It's ridiculous, I know. Truly. I know.

A project I was involved in leading up to the time C was ill was running the PTA Reflections program for his school. I was an art major in college so I figured I should do something art-related in my volunteer work at the school. There was little that was artistic about the job - all bureaucracy (bureauCRAZY) and suburban housewife politics. Ick. C didn't even participate. But I completed the project and sent some interesting student artwork off to the state program (where it languished, but that's a whole 'nother story). I finished up the final paperwork and report to the PTA council the week before C became ill.

This year, for the first time, C decided to enter a piece in the Reflections program, and I've been bombarded by those little memories with "before he was sick" attached to them. This afternoon I picked up messages at home and C's piece has been selected to go on to the state level. The message also asks if we can make it to a little reception for all the participants on Friday afternoon. I remember doing that. Before, of course.

I'm thrilled for C. He's going to be pleased when I pick him up this afternoon. Yet I cannot shake this whole association with his illness.

This before and after thing is my own private hell.