Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Shots and signs.

The school was giving flu shots a couple weeks ago and as we entered the nurse's office of the high school we were given the option of the flu mist or the shot. I listened as the nurse explained in detail the differences between the two choices. Certainly, in all our experiences in the last 11 years I'm aware of the differences. Though, she didn't know that about me. She was giving her most convincing argument for the flu mist when I almost stopped her in the middle of her talking points to say they can't have the mist because of their Brother's complex medical needs.

Then I remembered; that doesn't apply to us anymore. 

I stood there not sure what to say as she looked to me for an answer of which one we wanted for the girls. She kept directing me and assuring me that the flu mist is better coverage for all 5 strains of the flu and the shot will only cover 4. She didn't realize why I seemed to be hesitating. It wasn't that this was a monumental, life altering decision.

If she only knew the decisions I have had to make this year. 

Though, I think it may have looked to her that I really was weighing the pros and cons. I eventually just said "ok." To be honest, I didn't really care which version of flu protection to choose at that moment. What caused me to pause was that it just occurred to me (again) that my son is dead and no longer a factor in this situation too. Those moments of realization sting.

The girls did get the flu mist this year for the first time. As we were walking out of the building Jilly asked "Why didn't we get that before? We always had a shot." I explained it to her and they climbed into the van, quietly.

It can be little things that have more affect than the obvious, larger things that are associated with grief. Case in point; this morning the reserved handicap sign that was put up in front of our home by the borough was taken down without warning.

It's a small detail. A tiny piece of the picture.

But it surprised me. I knew it needed to happen soon and I was planning to contact them about it myself. But I didn't expect it today. I had no reason to expect it to happen today. I'm disappointed that no one contacted us about it first. Maybe that's silly of me...? I'm sure it wasn't significant at all to the person who decided that the sign needed to come down. It is just a sign, after all. I'm sure they assumed there was no need to contact us. But they were wrong. Buying the car this week was tough, no doubt. That was our choice. But the sign being removed today brought me to tears. Are my emotions over reactive...? Maybe. But none the less, what I feel is real.

This was something else of 'his,' for him, that's now gone.

It's not that I expected the sign to stay there, but more that it was done as if it didn't matter. It did matter to us. The little things that most would deem insignificant, the choice of a flu shot or a handicap sign, can make a day even harder to get through sometimes.
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1 comment:

  1. Grief is always
    tripping over
    things which
    have new
    meaning now
    that the
    one you
    love is

    I remember Wyatt. Daily.

    xo Cathy in Missouri