The Picnic

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Friday, September 18th, 2020 - 11h41.

It’s a Wednesday in mid-September. It’s hot, hotter than normal for this time of year. Highs over 90 degrees every day this week. School is only half-days here on Wednesday and I scrambled around getting as much done as I could before dashing back to school to pick up my son at 11:40. I’m in the midst of a ten-day stretch of solo parenting at the moment while my husband is out of town...I am holding down the fort but whew! I’d promised we could have a picnic in the park for lunch, so we’re home to try to rustle something up. I’m staring despondently around the kitchen looking for picnic inspiration when I hear Elliot half-laughing, half-screaming from his room: “MAMA! I’M STUCK!!!!” Oh, boy. I rush over there and sure enough, he’s stuck under his desk with a big pile of cardboard. (Honestly, looking back, it was kind of funny, but hungry, hot, tired...I was completely unable to see the humor in the moment.) I try to get him unstuck which knocks his little radio/cd-player of it’s perch and almost knocks over his desk lamp. I free him from his desk but I totally, totally lose my cool: in full-on, cliché, crazy-mom style I start grabbing things and throwing them out his door: “I can’t take it anymore! This room is a disaster! I am throwing everything out!!” He’s crying and I’m chucking cardboard scraps and creations into the living room. It wasn’t my finest moment.

I manage to catch my breath and pull myself together. We work together for about 45 minutes and his room is greatly improved by the end. I do throw out some of the most dilapidated pieces of cardboard but salvage the rest (Elliot has the heart of a little inventor and he’s constantly making cardboard models, etc).

His room all picked up, I now admit to myself we really don’t have anything that constitutes a picnic, so we order a pizza to-go instead. Pizza counts as a picnic, right?

Here we are, my son zooming along on his bike, me carrying a hot pizza and attempting to keep up.

My phones buzzes.

I see it’s a friend I’d been joking around with earlier on Whatsapp and click the message thinking another laugh would do me good.

But no. He’s not joking this time. “Remember that childhood friend I met up with this summer? He just told me his dad passed away. Apparently, he went peacefully. He took his last breath with his sons holding his hands and playing his favorite music… I’m so sad to hear the news. Feels like another little piece of my childhood fading away.”

I don’t know this family but for some reason reading this message stops me in my tracks. There I am, pizza in hand, sun beating down, I see Elliot before me pedaling like the wind, not a care in the world, and tears fill my eyes. My mind fills with thoughts about what it means to accompany someone as they die.

I see Elliot, fierce, joyful, full of life. I brought him into this world. I was there at the very first instants of his life and if I’m lucky, a very, very long time from now, he will be with me at the very last instants of mine. The thought is beautiful but almost too much to bear. We give so, so much to our children and, if life goes as it should, this is something they give us : love and comfort as we leave this world.

I let myself fall apart for a moment. Then, once again, I take a deep breath and pull myself together. I am, after all, standing on a sidewalk, holding a pizza. I run after my boy. It’s time for a picnic.

http://polaroid41.com/the-picnic/