File Under Heartbreak

We rode the emotional roller coaster of widowhood today. I got up this morning, after a very productive day yesterday, ready to get things done. I had boxed up the shawl last night and Elliot and I had breakfast and headed off to the PO and then the museum of transportation.

He's a fun age in that he doesn't exactly understand what we're doing when we do new things, but he's enthusiastic. I showed him pictures of old trains on the internet and asked if he wanted to go there today. He started bouncing around and rushed off to get dressed.

I dropped the parcel in the post with delivery confirmation, and it should get there Thursday. Here's hoping they take it - I send an email and heard nothing back. I'm sure they are busy, but it would have been nice to get a yes or no on whether or not they were still accepting donations. It's theirs now, either way.

So, from the PO to the MOT. We looked at the old cars and trucks first, which he totally dug. He went up and down the display about 6 times, talking the whole way. He's a born tour guide it seems, just like Pawpaw.

Then we headed out to the trains. When we were in the first train, a guy came in with his son, who was a little older than Elliot. As they explored the train we chatted casually about the beautiful weather, and that this was way cooler than watching ANOTHER episode of Thomas. The boys were ready to move on at the same time, so we walked together for a bit.

In the next display, Elliot reached over for this guy's hand as he was climbing the steps. He was a father of 4, and took it in stride, glancing at me to make sure it was ok with mom. I was fine with it, since we'd been chatting a while and he didn't mind.

His son wanted to move on before Elliot, and they started to wander off down the tracks. Elliot looked up and started to follow them. Then he looked back at me, said "I'm going with my dad." and started after them. I realize he still has no idea what that means, and that some other boy was calling this man "Dad," so that's who he must be, but it froze me in place for a few seconds.

I decided not to correct him or make a big deal out of it, but to see what he would do. He walked over to the man, said "Hi, Dad." and grinned.

As we walked through the museum, "Dad" talked about his role as an adoptive and foster parent, and what a surprise his son had been after 10 years of trying with his wife, and finally adopting 3 kids. He mentioned a recent trauma when his 3 older kids were talking about being adopted, and his 4 year old was in tears because he wasn't, and another when they had to give twins they had been fostering for 3 years back to an abusive family because of a court error.

Of the kinds of people Elliot might decide are father figures, he seemed of a high enough caliber to make any kid proud of his dad, but it sure did put a rough edge on missing piece of my heart.