KitKat and Izzy were sick. They were vomiting. I check for fever and see if their bodies are different temperatures, look to see if their skin is yellow, think about any changes in eating patterns and don’t sleep so I can be there for them if they wake up. I over worry.
At 3AM, I was in the bathroom, cleaning up vomit and for a blip of a second, I thought it was John I was cleaning up after and I felt a rush of happiness and normalcy (if you can believe that) I haven’t felt in months. I was exhausted but he was alive. Then the blip was over.
KitKat talked about when John was sick and throwing up. “Remember the bowl Dada used? What did you do with it?” It was a fixture of his for the last few weeks of his life. It went everywhere with him. I told her I threw it away. “Remember when Dada threw up and had to go to the hospital? Are you going to take me to the hospital now, Mama?”
Izzy asked “Do I have cancer like Dada?” I don’t know how to be strong in moments like this. This is their reality and memories and I can’t erase them. They remember things that only they have witnessed and processed. They don’t even realize the depths of what happened yet.
It triggered a lot of things for us. I was waiting for a throw up bug to enter the house but really, I wasn’t prepared for it. I’m sad that a stomach bug or getting sick can’t be normal anymore, that they worry about getting sick and they remember their father that way.