Skip to main content

The Thankful Hobo

Yesterday was Halloween. We participate. This blog isn't about that touchy subject.

Money has been tight in our house lately. We've all been there, right? With Halloween approaching recently, I was wondering what Keirsey could dress up as. I mentioned a hobo to her and she took to the idea immediately. We looked up pictures online and planned out her clothes for the past two weeks.

The day finally came that we cut up her jeans, ripped up a shirt that was given to us (for THIS very occasion!) and the fun began. She tried on the jeans... not quite "hoboish" enough. So we added more tears, more rips until it finally looked right. Then we washed them... about 5 times! We tore up a straw hat for her wear. Except it gave her more of an unwashed dirt farmer look! So we pulled out an old beanie and stomped it in the mud. LITERALLY! The snow was melting and gave us the perfect mud hole!
We did the same with the jeans and shirt. Then Brad Dad had the idea of "beat them with the old firewood!" So we did that! We threw them around, stomped them, squished them, hit them with burnt wood and then held them up to look at as if it were GOLD, not dirty clothes.

It was time. Keirsey put on the clothes, added her beanie, stuck on her gloves that I bought on Halloween Day. We cut those up, too! They were only $2, the most expensive part of the costume.
Then the beard began. She was unhappy at first. She looked like a BOY, she said. I would wipe it off.
"No, I will just wear it, it's ok."

We are all set by this time. Ready to go. Then it happened. This adorable hobo girl came up to me, wrapped her arms around me and said "Mama, thank you for my hobo suit." She was almost crying.
I couldn't speak. I had spent a total of $3 on the WHOLE thing. And was getting the most precious reward for it.

Last year, we had a Bat Girl costume for her. It was fun. We added makeup. But there was never a thank you. Never. Not once.

Today, I asked her about the thank you.
Me: You thanked me yesterday for your costume. So you liked it?
Keirsey: I did, Mama! I really liked it!
Me: Last year you went as Bat Girl. That was fun, but you didn't thank me like you did yesterday."
Keirsey: I don't know what it is, but when you MAKE things for me, like my hobo costume... I just feel so special. Bat Girl didn't make me feel special.
This conversation was followed by a very long, grateful hug. I've never been so squeezed before. She hugged me with all she had.
Of course, I took this golden opportunity to tell her how incredibly special she is! How I LOVE doing things for her like making a costume.
For the longest time, she was looking down. When she finally did look up, I saw her holding back the tears.

Tonight was one of the most special moments in being a Mom for me. The time, effort and energy I put into that costume was noticed. She wore her Mama's love for Halloween, not just ripped up clothes.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

part 3: the recipient

I didn't know how this would end when I began writing. I just knew I needed to pen my anger.  I had a lot of things I needed to get through: thoughts that take over my brain and I think about over and over. Knowing what I know about myself, I'm stuck here until I take the time to write it down. It's gonna be a lot. I need to write about what happened in the hours after his death, how I remember the last time I saw his face, what exactly I saw & how that April is sooooo separate from the April I am now. I've learned what that is: dissociation.  I've also realized I've used dissociation my entire life. I'm not ready to write about that yet. I need to write these facts down. Facts that sound a little too weird if you've never suffered the loss of a child. I have. So whatever I need is ok as long as it isn't harmful to me or anyone else.  In the middle of writing how angry I am about not having signs from my son, about this deep turmoil I'm addre...

the years that come after

It's not true what they say.  "The first year is the hardest."  That's so far from the truth.  My beloved friend and hair stylist lost her 14 year old son in a tragic gun accident 12 years ago.  Today, as I sat down in her chair I asked her "How long did it take you to enjoy the holiday season again?" In the middle of my question, my breath caught and burst into tears. She shared with me some things that are deeply private, but she did say it.  "The first year is not the hardest." That was exactly what I needed. It was permission. It was my acknowledgement.  I'm not crazy. I'm not losing my mind.  The first year isn't the hardest.  While there IS joy in my life, this year, the third Christmas without Enzo, has been more difficult than the others.  What do I do with that?  No one can answer that. Not even me. Moscato didn't work. Quiet doesn't work. Loud doesn't work.  Smiling doesn't work.  The only thing that HAS helped...

take a shower

Yesterday was two years.  I've taken a shower the evening of both anniversaries during the 10 minute window I believe Enzo pulled the trigger. It's the only place I feel safe from the clock. I can't stare at it. So sometime during my shower, the minute my son fired his gun comes and goes.  Or at least that's the plan. I miscalculated the time I was in the shower last night. When I looked at my phone, it was the exact minute he sent out the Tweet: "after careful consideration I have decided to exit the simulation. I love you all so much and I will see you in the next one." I hate 9:01 pm on February 28th. A jolt went thru my heart. I got out of the shower too soon. Unable to decide what to do, I stood there. I took my nightly medication. And stood there.  Shouldn't I be doing something? Some action at the moment my son took his life that would honor him? Something. Anything.  But I didn't. I stood there. Then I went to bed.  I've done a lot to honor...