Good Hours and Bad Hours.

It has been a week. Things should start returning to normal, right?

I got up this morning and prepared myself for my big day in court. I arrived early and had a brief discussion with my attorney. She informed me that I would be sworn, would answer a few questions and that would be it. That seemed far to simple, I thought to myself. She was right. A few questions about parenting time and that was that. Basic yes and no answers was all that was required of me. The judge granted everything as drawn up and based on the irretrievable breakdown granted dissolution – with one catch. I must complete a class on parenting after a divorce. I wouldn’t mind, but it is Thursday evenings from 1830 to 2030 and costs $50. There are four classes I must attend and then it is all done. My last class will be Feb. 12. Almost 12 years to the day this whole mess started.

I guess I have something to celebrate on Feb. 14 this year.

My attorney said something to me before she left. She stated that she lost her mother a couple of years ago. She said, “At first you will have good minutes and bad minutes. That will soon be followed by good hours and bad hours, followed by good days and bad days. Eventually you will have good weeks and bad weeks. Over time you will heal, like I did.”

Prophetic words.

In an effort to return to normalcy, I have my daughter tonight. I will drop her off at the daycare in the morning and go to work. It will be my first day back at work since mom died. I need to return to a routine.

Every week I took my daughter down to my mom’s house so they could spend time together before the end. She would go into mom’s bedroom, where mom pretended to sleep, and wake her up. They would sit there and watch tv and eat snacks and play.

My brother from Wyoming is still in town. His wife and three kids are with him. My daughter is quite fond of her cousins, so I decided to take her to Spring Valley tonight.

Our first stop was my grandparent’s house. She kept them entertained for nearly and hour before I got her into the car again. I told her we were going to see the cousins and she got very excited. She asked if they were at “Granny’s house.” I told her they were there. She said, “Granny is dead. Her is gone. Her is in Heaven, right, dad?” I told her yes and drove up to mom’s house. (Up never seems right. Mom’s house is south of my grandparent’s house, but it is up a hill, so I will let it be.)

She was quite excited to see her cousins and they had a great time together. There was one thing I noticed though. Every time we went to mom’s house, as I said earlier, she would go straight to mom’s bedroom to wake her up. She went into mom’s bedroom when we got there. I assume it was to make sure she was gone, but she went in there anyway.

A while later, I caught her carrying this little stuffed dog around. My mom kept it on her dresser and she always let my daughter play with it as long as she asked first and put it back when she was done. I don’t know where she found this dog, but it brought back a wave of memories.

I mentioned that to my brother’s wife and we decided to tell her that Granny asked us to give that to her before she died. We made her promise to take care of the stuffed puppy and she promised (like a four-year-old’s promise means a whole lot).

She has held that little dog tight all night. She is sleeping right now and still squeezing it tightly. My mom, daughter and this stuffed dog had some kind of bond, and it is still there. It has been a week, and I thought I was all cried out. Seeing this and hearing my daughter tell me that Granny in Heaven gave her the puppy proved me wrong.

Now I sit hear, quietly crying, watching my daughter share another moment with my mom.

I wish she were here to see it too. I am sure she is watching over this scene and smiling somewhere. Right now I wish she were somewhere much closer…

“Good hours and bad hours.” I guess if nothing else, my retainer paid for the best non-legal advice I have ever been given.