This is what happens when I can't fall asleep. I lay in bed tossing and turning, I start thinking about Mary Poppins, or some other random thing, and then I eventually throw off the covers and wander out to the couch to write because I won't be able to fall asleep until I do.
Have decided we need someone to take over our lives for a while, because we are not managing the small things very well. On Saturday we received a water shut-off notice and I instantly went into crazy hen mode (running about, flapping my arms and screeching - so maybe it’s actually crazy owl mode). The husband calmly informed me he had missed one payment, but had rectified the situation and the letter was probably sent before the payment was received. This did not stop the freaking out; once that gets going I am helpless to turn it off.
A couple weeks before the bright yellow water shut-off notice appeared in our mailbox (still recovering from that, it was really bright. As soon as I saw the color through the window I started freaking out. The husband was all, “Calm down, you haven’t even opened it yet. And I was all, “It’s yellow! That means we have been bad and they are going to shut off the water!) we missed a mortgage payment. We had the money in the account, but for some reason our bank requires us to transfer it from checking to savings. We called the bank, and everything was fine since we have never missed a payment before, and called before we were five days late, but I spent a day or two in a panic after receiving that bright pink notice in the mail. If a month from now I am sitting in my house with no water and no electricity you will know why. If I still have my house, that is.
The husband and I have had money issues in our marriage before (different story, different day) so when things like this crop up I go from zero to level four meltdown in sixty seconds or less. To be honest, it’s usually only about three seconds before the screeching reaches a level only the dog can hear. We are terrible at sticking to a budget. It feels shameful to admit, both of our parents are very good with money, but we cannot wrap our heads around the budgeting concept. We used to joke that we were having Charlotte so someone in the house would keep the budget.
This summer we discovered we like to spend money when we are sad. We burned through paycheck after paycheck, never you mind silly things like savings accounts and putting money in them. Now that the crazy grief spending has abated a bit we are both picking ourselves up, dusting the money glitter off, and attempting to be more adult about our spending choices. The husband put money into our savings account this month and when I saw the account balance in our checking account I started screeching only to be shown the new amount in our savings account. Huh. I kind-of forgot that amount could increase.
Part of the issue is me. Of course. It takes two, right? I usually gather the bills, tell the husband what to pay, and he executes the payment. I harass him throughout the month - did you pay this, did you pay that, did this automatic payment go through - and in that way we muddle through the bill paying. I’ve started to do something rather shameful. We have a large closet next to the front door and at the front of it, on the left side near the window (a window in a closet? I know, it’s too adorable, one of the main reasons I thought we should buy the house) is the mail slot. Every day I open the closet door, look to my right, see the stroller, think about moving it to the room where all of the other baby things are, sigh, turn to my left, stumble over piles of shoes, sports gear, and umbrellas, bend over, and sort through the mail. If there is a letter or card from a baby loss mama or friend, a movie from Netflix, or a catalog that looks interesting, I pluck it from the bin and carry it out of the closet with me. If it’s anything that looks remotely like a bill, or junk mail or, God forbid, a baby related item, I leave it in the bin for another day. After a day or two the guilt gets to me and I fetch the bills and junk mail and sort through them. The baby related items stay in the bin until I have the courage to gather them up and run for the trash can. I don’t think I am the reason we are late on paying things, but I am not doing my job of opening the bills when they come and telling the husband what to pay.
Therefore, our need for a helper. Initially I thought we needed a robot. Someone who would help us remember to pay the bills, or even do it for us, clean the house, do the laundry, cook, help us with the day to day tasks that are so hard to master these days. Then I realized a robot would be too impersonal. I need a Mary Poppins in my life, but one who specializes in grief, not children.
Wouldn’t that just be perfect? The day someone in your life dies a kind woman floats into your life via an umbrella and the wind, and you don’t have to do a thing for a year. You don’t have to pay her, or thank her, or be nice to her. She is there to help you through the grief. She will hand you tissues, make you hot chocolate, dash up the stairs with food for the husband, clean the house, the dishes, the clothes. Since she is magical she will come with magical things. An endless supply of Kleenex and candles, an ability to converse with the sweet babe you lost so that you know she is okay, songs and stories to help you through the hard times, hugs, and the ability to know when you need to be left alone (if you remove the magic from the equation, I think I have just described my midwife).
When she appears a house will pop up in your yard, garden, or, if you live in an apartment, just outside your window (Hey, we’re talking magic here people. Anything is possible). The house will be small, but when she steps inside it will be large and beautiful with a view of a lake, and it will be a calm place where she can escape from the craziness and grief for a while. She will bring with her a Bat-signal of sorts which she will project over your house. People will walk by, see the tiny house in the yard, or hovering outside a window, look up, and see the signal. If you have lost a babe there will be a tiny rattle in the signal and then everyone will know the sadness you now carry. It will be real, tangible, and people will stop and think of you, pray for you, and love you. There will be no harsh words, no commands to get over it, no missed bills, no threatening water shut-off notices, but love, understanding, and compassion. For we are living the hardest moments of our lives, and I think we would all cry with relief if a Mary Poppins sort appeared in our yards with tissues and consoling words.