I would so much to have been able to talk with you at some point over the last 2.5 years. Rather than write to you on my blog.
I once thought you were my friend.
You got pregnant shortly before Eva's death, which is really fine. I was happy for you.
You came over after her death and complained about your prenatal appointments.
You called me on the phone two and a half months after Eva's death and two weeks after what should have been Eva's first birthday to agonize over the details and the guest list of your breathing daughters birthday that was coming up.
You called me on the six month anniversary of Eva's death to tell me you were in labour and to pray for you. Without acknowledging the pain of that day for me you also said you were so happy baby wouldn't be born on valentines day. I said I hoped your baby would be born alive, which, under the circumstances, was the best thing I could say at that time. Now, two years later, I would manage more tact.
You basically never spoke to me again after that. I wrote you a couple of letters. I said hello to you if I saw you somewhere. I was met with an icy hello back, occasionally. I tried to meet with you with a mediator. My sons kept asking to go over to your place or to have your son come here.
Looking back, I honestly wonder why I tried so hard. Clearly, you were not worth it.
But you showed up at Eva's ride 2012. I thanked you for coming.
My sons missed your son.
You still didn't speak to me but showed up again at Eva's ride in 2013. You also returned some girl clothes to me. Girl clothes my daughter would never wear. You invited my mom over for lunch. She raved about how well behaved your kids were. I admit it got under my skin. It felt like she was saying my kids were so bad and yours were so great.
In the fall if 2013 we accidentally ended up at some school thing together that you had organized with local moms but had not invited us to. I guess we crashed the party accidentally. I don't remember all of it but I do remember you yelling at me very publicly that every time we talked I would bully you and to stay away from you. By that time I was done trying and would gladly stay away from you.
You moved away and it was a breath of fresh air to not have to wonder if I would bump into you. To be able to tell my sons that you had moved away. Then you came back.
I didn't know you were back until you showed up at Eva's ride 2014, again. I couldn't believe it. Why? Why were you there? The last words you said to me were to stay away from you...why did you show up at an event I would clearly be at? Honestly, it felt like some kind of show. Being able to tell people there you knew the little girl who died. That you were at her birth no less (oh that still bothers me, that
you would have that sacred piece of Eva).
Then you said you were trying to reconnect with old friends and invited my son to your son's birthday party? Friends? Who? And my boys heard you...and wanted to go. I read between the lines and knew it was only Samuel you meant as an old friend and only Samuel you were inviting to the party. Not Vincent, the brother one year younger who also liked your son and who was also right there listening. On the way home I had to bite the bullet and just say I'm sorry but we just arent friends with those people anymore. You will not be going to his party.
And then your sons birthday passed and there was no follow through on the invitation. And while I breathed a sigh of relief I was also annoyed that you would invite him in earshot and then not follow through.
I let it go. Wasn't going to write you this letter...but then the phone rang. Your name popped up on call display and I froze. I let the answering machine pick up. Your son's voice on the phone (he sounds very grown up now). Inviting only Samuel to his birthday party on Tuesday August 26.
August 26. A day no one remembers but me. The last day I would cradle Eva's body in my arms before her daddy would put her in the crematorium. Something no daddy should ever have to do for his little girl.
No, I don't think Samuel will be able to make it.