Kiss Daddy

Doug and I had another "griefburst" (aka grief outburst) last night.  They hide in the bushes and creep up on you like a stalker when you least expect it.  It got us talking about how much we miss Jenson.  He taught us a lot about our relationship too.

It was January 2012.  Jenson was in the hospital waiting for a bone marrow transplant.  Doug and I were rotating shifts at the hospital trying to hold it together as we wondered whether Jenson would make it to transplant.  Doug arrived for nightshift in a funk.  He snapped at me (for what, I can't remember). 

That set me off.  I was fried too and didn't deserve to be snapped at for nothing.  I told him from a distance, "I'm out of here."  I went to give Jenson a hug and kiss before I left for the evening.

Jenson put his hand out like he was stopping traffic and said, "I need you kiss daddy."

My reply was simple and reflected exactly how I was feeling at the moment, "Jenson, I don't want to kiss daddy right now."

Jenson then looked straight at me and said, "No kiss daddy, no kiss Jenson." He crossed his arms and turned his body away from me as he made a defiant grunting noise (almost like an exclamation at the end of his point). 

There was no way I was leaving the hospital without hugging and kissing my little boy not knowing if he would make it to the next day.  I reluctantly agreed to kiss daddy.  And then the anger over something so trivial I can't even remember it anymore started to fade away.

I hugged and kissed Jenson too.  My little teacher was right, don't leave angry.  Kiss and make up.  Kiss daddy.

Kristin