Standing in the line at a Christmas circus yesterday, a girl of about 10 years old rolls up behind us in a power chair. I make small talk with her and her dad but make no mention of the rush of Nico-based questions that have just come at me. His daughter had good speech and much greater motor function than Nico's. Did this girl have CP or some other reason for the chair? Would he have had a power chair? How did her parents juggle everything? Instead we chatted about our girls liking One Direction and how close Christmas was. It felt nice, having my own little memories. Nostalgic rather than sad.
We got ushered into the Spiegeltent by Rudolph and some manly elves with cartoonish squeaky voices. We sat down at a table and Brooklyn went and sat by the roped off stage on the floor. Instinctively I looked for the girl we had just met, to make sure she had been given equal opportunity to get up close and am glad that she was. Then I am distracted by another girl in a manual wheelchair, much closer to Nico's age and from my outsider view, similar physical limitations. I try and keep my gaze in the opposite direction - the warm fuzzies become painful prickles behind my eyes.
'It's a circus, chin up love' I tell myself as the music and shouting that invariably starts these kinds of clowning acrobatic shows begins.
The elves arrive on stage with a bang and a crash, climbing a freestanding ladder, balancing on it, using it like stilts and swaying until they fall and the children all laugh and clap in delight. I catch the mum of the second girl in the corner of my eye, using the IPad looking device to communicate with her daughter and the hotness in my eyes begs relief and they burst silently into a waterfall of tears.
My favourite thing about Nico was his reaction to humour. Especially this kind of visual slapstick, completely predictable, loud kind of crazy. Falling. Chasing. Jumping. Without fail it all caused him to give a whole body chuckle. It started with an anticipation tense of the his arms and huge grin, then an inhaled squeal of enjoyments before the real giggle started. I could have been in the foulest mood ever imaginable but seeing/ hearing that would end it instantly and I couldn't help but laugh along. He would have LOVED this circus. He would have loved It and he was not here.
I don't have visual thoughts, people say they can 'see' a memory, or 'see' a plan/ vision. I can't. I remember things, but they stay thoughts. I can look at a plan and understand it, but I can't see it. I can read a book and imagine what it describes but I almost never SEE it like I have been told others do. Moments like this, all I want to do is see him. I kick myself for not having hours of video footage of every smile and laugh. Sometime, it seems, that realisation is too much and my eyes explode.
I used to be that neurotic mum who sat in doctors rooms, convinced there was something wrong with her baby because he cries (screams) in pain all day and flexed every muscle for hours. .
Now I am that neurotic mum who sits at a circus and cries while acrobatic clowns dressed as Christmas elves (in too tight shorts and suspenders) flex their muscles on stage.
It's been six months today. I am pretty impressed that this was my first spontaneous combustion in a public place actually.
We got ushered into the Spiegeltent by Rudolph and some manly elves with cartoonish squeaky voices. We sat down at a table and Brooklyn went and sat by the roped off stage on the floor. Instinctively I looked for the girl we had just met, to make sure she had been given equal opportunity to get up close and am glad that she was. Then I am distracted by another girl in a manual wheelchair, much closer to Nico's age and from my outsider view, similar physical limitations. I try and keep my gaze in the opposite direction - the warm fuzzies become painful prickles behind my eyes.
'It's a circus, chin up love' I tell myself as the music and shouting that invariably starts these kinds of clowning acrobatic shows begins.
The elves arrive on stage with a bang and a crash, climbing a freestanding ladder, balancing on it, using it like stilts and swaying until they fall and the children all laugh and clap in delight. I catch the mum of the second girl in the corner of my eye, using the IPad looking device to communicate with her daughter and the hotness in my eyes begs relief and they burst silently into a waterfall of tears.
My favourite thing about Nico was his reaction to humour. Especially this kind of visual slapstick, completely predictable, loud kind of crazy. Falling. Chasing. Jumping. Without fail it all caused him to give a whole body chuckle. It started with an anticipation tense of the his arms and huge grin, then an inhaled squeal of enjoyments before the real giggle started. I could have been in the foulest mood ever imaginable but seeing/ hearing that would end it instantly and I couldn't help but laugh along. He would have LOVED this circus. He would have loved It and he was not here.
I don't have visual thoughts, people say they can 'see' a memory, or 'see' a plan/ vision. I can't. I remember things, but they stay thoughts. I can look at a plan and understand it, but I can't see it. I can read a book and imagine what it describes but I almost never SEE it like I have been told others do. Moments like this, all I want to do is see him. I kick myself for not having hours of video footage of every smile and laugh. Sometime, it seems, that realisation is too much and my eyes explode.
I used to be that neurotic mum who sat in doctors rooms, convinced there was something wrong with her baby because he cries (screams) in pain all day and flexed every muscle for hours. .
Now I am that neurotic mum who sits at a circus and cries while acrobatic clowns dressed as Christmas elves (in too tight shorts and suspenders) flex their muscles on stage.
It's been six months today. I am pretty impressed that this was my first spontaneous combustion in a public place actually.
