Ezra came back to me again, expressing his lack of desire to live.
I called Our House where the kids and I receive grief support.
I spoke with Lauren who is in charge of children's support. She said I need to get Ezra help.... immediately.
She said it's great that he trusts me enough to express his feeling. She said it's good that I have provided him with a safe place to talk openly.
She said to call ________ (a therapist experienced with children's grief) and tell her Ezra needed a suicidal evaluation.
She said to keep her posted.
I said I need another massage gift certificate.
And then I said "Fuck."
Two days later, I ask him
"Ezra, how would you commit suicide?"
He says, fully exasperated, in a tone that is too large for his 7 year old experience
"That's the problem!! I don't know how!"
He continues thoughtfully, "I mean I could jump off a cliff but the nearest cliff is in the Grand Canyon and I can't get there!"
I pull him onto my lap laughing, squeezing him too hard, my nose crushed in his neck.
God I love this child.......
He has his first therapist appointment this week.
I am in bed thinking about him. Thinking about me.
I can handle this. I am 100% sure I can handle this.
It is the first time since Art's death that I have felt open enough, expansive enough, sure enough and strong enough to deal with their emotions -- train wrecked as they may be.
And I sigh.
Cause Art knew I would be Ok. I think that is why he felt it was OK to leave.
I hate that.