Ezra came back to me again, expressing his lack of desire to live.

I called Our House where the kids and I receive grief support.

I spoke with Lauren who is in charge of children’s support. She said I need to get Ezra help…. immediately.

She said it’s great that he trusts me enough to express his feeling. She said it’s good that I have provided him with a safe place to talk openly.

She said to call ________ (a therapist experienced with children’s grief) and tell her Ezra needed a suicidal evaluation.

She said to keep her posted.

I said I need another massage gift certificate.

And then I said “Fuck.”

—

Two days later, I ask him

“Ezra, how would you commit suicide?”

He says, fully exasperated, in a tone that is too large for his 7 year old experience

“That’s the problem!! I don’t know how!”

He continues thoughtfully, “I mean I could jump off a cliff but the nearest cliff is in the Grand Canyon and I can’t get there!”

I pull him onto my lap laughing, squeezing him too hard, my nose crushed in his neck.

God I love this child…….

 

—–

He has his first therapist appointment this week.

Later

I am in bed thinking about him. Thinking about me.

I can handle this. I am 100% sure I can handle this.

 

It is the first time since Art’s death that I have felt open enough, expansive enough, sure enough and strong enough to deal with their emotions — train wrecked as they may be.

 

And I sigh.

Cause Art knew I would be Ok. I think that is why he felt it was OK to leave.

I hate that.