What’s my wedding date? Uh…
MONDAY, November 16 – Sander walked into the bedroom this morning and reminded me about the instances when I had felt Jennifer’s presence. Twice in the woods, with Elsa and Eamonn. He gave me a penetrating glance and said: ‘I don’t know, but I haven’t felt anything yet. No Mom. Nothing at all.’
It was a simple observation, clearly not a sign of anxiety. I told him that was okay, too and that when the time came, he would know. I left it at that, especially since we were late for school. Made a mental note to talk to him about this later tonight.
9:00 – My Facebook post for this morning: ‘Lawyers, diplomats, psychologists, bankers and police commissioners; all of them on the agenda for this week. But what on earth do you do when your nine-year-old is havinghas a crap moment?’
10:30 – Fuck, fuck, fuck. Had to fill out a whole slew of forms for the American Consulate and my lawyer. Couldn’t for the life of me remember the date of our wedding. That’s how fucked-up the whole situation is. I’m going crazy.
22:00 – Sander brought it up himself. This afternoon he’d been busy trying to get his hard drive to work. He’d been fooling around with it for over an hour when he saw his Mom lean over his shoulder and heard her say ‘Isn’t it about time you took a break?’ Sander said it was creepy, scary. I told him there was nothing negative about it, and that he ought to cherish the experience. It’s possible that he was making it up, because he’s been so anxious to feel her presence. On the other hand, what right do I have to cast doubt on his experience.
Diary of a Widower 