We don't even have a tree up. We were going to get one last weekend but Andrew was upset because we weren't cutting it down like we do every year. So we decided to try to do that this coming weekend...now Jim has a project at work - and most places are too far away - so we're going to go back to Lowe's and pretend we cut it down.
I make promises for get togethers and I don't want to do them. I just want to be left alone in my quiet to watch Golden Girls and forget everything. I want to get the family's gifts out and be done with Christmas.
There was a time when December was my favorite month - my birthday, Christmas - the promise of wondrous things. Just promises.
The phone rang at noon today. It was the assistant principal. Andrew tried to jump from the second floor balcony and he said he wanted to kill himself. My throat tightens up as my fingers type these words. "You need to come and get him and maybe call his therapist."
I get to the school and all the pitiful looks - "I lay my head on the railroad track, waiting for the Double E - but that train don't come round here no more....poor, poor pitiful me." I smile and tell them that their lunch smells good. I feel awkward.
The receptionist tells me Andrew is down in the lunch bunch room - - you know what the lunch bunch room is -- the place where Andrew goes to sit with the social worker - it's a fucking broom closet. Wet mop smell and all. I make my way down to Andrew and the social worker. And by the way the lunch bunch consists of Andrew and the social worker and the mop bucket.
Andrew starts in by telling me that I don't love him and neither does his father and he figures he might as well be dead. I wonder as he is telling me this if I could just stick my head in the wet mop bucket --- and do myself in - but I have no idea where the bucket is - I know it is here somewhere - I can smell it.
We talk for a few minutes. We go up to Andrew's classroom - where his teacher tells me - this all started because another child got a book Andrew wanted in the library. We pack his backpack and we head home.
Now the staff will have to find a new quiet place for Andrew to work - because they won't let him work near the ledge anymore.
I don't want to be on the ledge anymore.
I e-mailed the therapist and sent her a text. She is in Canada.