I remember doing the underduck

So Jack's funeral service was today.  He succumbed to cancer a few days ago and the 13 month ordeal since he lost his arms is at an end.  Though for him it never was as much of an ordeal as most others would have made it.  The priest today mentioned how it was Jack who cheered him up when he went to visit in the hospital.  He was an incredible man.  The church today was packed.

He took up painting just shortly after his first accident, blowing acrylic paint onto a canvas through a straw.  We have one piece of his hanging in the boardroom here at work.  And just this past February, he and his wife celebrated 20 years together by flying to the Dominican Republic for a holiday.  He only lasted three weeks from the time of diagnosis to his passing.

And most of what I could think about during the Catholic service this afternoon was swinging on the swings.

I took my son to the park last night after supper.  The evenings are a little cooler and the familiar feeling is starting to creep in that summer nights spent indoors are wasted since there aren't going to be all that many of them left.

So while my wife was confined to the sofa by pregnancy-induced somnolence, Declan got tossed and strapped into his green plastic wagon and we went to the best playground around.  There are five school or neighbourhood playgrounds within ten minutes walking distance of our house and we have our favourite.  The cacophonous drone of the hard plastic tires of the wagon on asphault was interspersed with interjections from my son.  "DA!!  Bweeee chuh chuh NAH!" Finger pointed unerringly at... something, eyes wide and expectant and totally serious.  His entire visage thens softened to that of letting me in on a private joke and he finished with a back of the throat, Kathleen Turner-esque growl.  I have no idea how he does it.

We always park the stroller or wagon in the same spot and head straight for the swings.  Dex gets dumped into one of the toddler safety swings and I lift him up as high as I can before letting him swing back down.  He always has this nervous look on his face during that first backwards descent.  And then when he reaches the peak, stops and starts to feel the breeze in his face on the return arc to Dad, his eyes bug out of his head, his toothy grin breaks out and his hands release the death grip they have so far had on the chains.

Once I get him going, I run across to the 'big boy' swings and get myself going as fast as I can.  By the time I reach that perfect height where there's a half second of weightlessness, the chains go slack and then gravity reminds me that I'll always be her bitch by smacking my ass back into the seat with a chain-snapping THWACK of the rings -- by that time, Declan will have slowed down enough that I have to reverse my hands on the chains, count to three to slow down a bit, and then jump off the swing into the sand, almost never falling down.

I'll run to my grinning son to get him going higher again and then sprint back to my swing to do it all over again for about the next ten minutes.

Once we get our fill of the swings, I spend the rest of the time trailing behind Declan as he explores as much of the playground as he can.  When he tries to climb UP the plastic slides, I don't think he yet realises it's my hands his feet are using as steps.  (The concept of a coefficient of static friction just hasn't entered his mind yet.)  There's a horizontal section of orange plastic tubing he loves to crawl through.  I'll jump up on top and bellow at him from one end, making him squeal and gallop on all fours for the other opening... where my inverted, disembodied head is waiting to startle him again.  It takes him quite a while to get tired of this.  I don't really mind either.

Eventually he ends up seated in the sand just enjoying the texture of it in his chubby little hands.  And up his nose, down his diaper, in his shoes, pants, hair...  (Any time I'm around a sandbox I can't help but think of that Simpsons episode where Superintendent Chalmers was conducting a surprise inspection of the elementary school and, upon tasting the finger he had just swirled in the sandbox, was moved to proclaim, "Not a trace of urine; excellent!")

I've gotten into the habit of stripping Declan down to diaper and T-shirt before allowing him back in the house for his evening bath, bottle, book and bed.

And this is what I was thinking of during most of the church service for Jack this afternoon.  Today was the third funeral for a coworker I've attended in the past six months and each has driven into me the importance of going to swing on the swings as often as possible.

Comments

[Paula]

I'm proud of you Simon, keeping to your word never to grow up. Being grounded by family and fun when faced with dark days. You honour your colleagues by both your words and your actions.

Paula

[wil]

I'm sorry Jack didn't have a chance to fight the cancer. He sounds like an extraordinary man. And thank you for answering my question about the other post.

You seem to have learned the essential lesson of life. It's unpredictable and entirely too short, regardless of how long you live. Live life to its fullest and you will never be disappointed.

Hug your family close. You are doing something right.

[elizabeth]

Thank you for sharing, Si. I needed to be reminded of that.

[Tina]

Jack sounds soooo much like my friend,Billy, who passed away last February. Today is six months since he's been gone, and I miss him like crazy. He had that same attitude. Nothing got him down. What a way to go through life. These people are like little lessons for us .... glad to hear you are listening. Tina