Showers

A total of 5 people have now asked me if I would like a baby shower thrown for me.

I keep saying (and I really think) that second babies don't traditionally get showers. At least I can't recall ever being invited to a baby-number-two shower. I have tried to be mild about it and not make it sound like "remember Emily, remember her shower?"

'Cause that would be ungrateful. And really it isn't about that - for anyone but me.

We had a kickass baby shower - tons of people at a pub with good food and we received a heck of a lot of gifts and many many hugs. I'd been uncertain about it from the start - I hate being that kind of centre of attention, I am uncomfortable with getting loot on that scale, and I had arguments with my family about the guest list and other details. But in the end it was the best thing ever, to look out over that group of people and realize that this was the love, man; this was our community.

Then Emily died, and those people, and more, came to her funeral. And it was great to be supported; it really was. I never realized why attending a funeral was such a big deal until that day; somehow the presence of other people props you up a bit and gives you a road back to life after standing at the grave.

But it also hurt that all this was waiting for her and she didn't get to experience it. Love doesn't regrow brain cells; love is not enough. Love may conquer existentialism but it doesn't conquer death.

I am touched that people seem to want to recreate that for me, but I'm not ready to deal with it right now, even if we had a strict no-gifts policy. Even if I could get over myself, so to speak.

However, there is hope in my heart: we might just have to throw the most kickass first birthday party ever for this still-much-anticipated witch baby. I think I'll start saving.