Over the past few days I’ve been with my son and daughter, while my ex has been out of the country, and my son has been talking about a place called The Blue Star House. He calls it ‘my Blue Star House.’
I’ve gone with it and listened to what he’s said, not understanding much of what he’s talking about, but it sounds fantastic! He goes there in his Blue Star car and it’s got all sorts of things in it. It’s got his toys from when he was a baby, it’s got a cinema in it, it’s got his friend Thomas The Tank Engine, it sounds great. The Blue Star House is a place in his imagination.
I’ve asked him questions about The Blue Star House to find out what it’s all about, and perhaps a bit more about him and his imagination, but he just keeps telling me the same things. It’s got his toys from when he was a baby, it’s got a cinema in it. Actually he told me this part while we were sitting on the sofa the other day about to watch a DVD. He was pretending the living room was a cinema, and he was in charge of the cinema. He’s a generous cinema owner, you should all come along. He gave us all sweeties and tucked us up with a blanket and then came and joined us and we watched Up. I wonder if the cinema in his Blue Star House is like this? If so, it’s cool. I want to be in his Blue Star House.
This morning, on the way to preschool I decided to find out as much as I could about this Blue Star House as some things became… I dunno. Something.
The front door to his house is blue, and hanging from the back of the door, glinting in the light through the window is a star. His house has a pretend cinema, his house has all the toys from when he was a baby, his house has lots of versions of his friend Thomas The Tank Engine. So perhaps I’m just misunderstanding and it’s not a place in his imagination, it’s his home. His real home and I’m just not understanding.
“It has a cinema daddy, and all my toys from when I was a baby. It has my friend Thomas. It has Keela, my beautiful sister and a cinema and… errrrrrrmmmm…”
It’s becoming obvious now. He calls HIS actual house ‘my Blue Star House.’ Right. Got it. On message now Tiernan, now I’m with you.
“So your house, where you live, that’s your Blue Star House?”
“No Daddy. Silly Daddy. It’s in my sleep.”
“Sorry Tiernan? It’s a dream? It’s a dream house?”
“I go to my Blue Star House when I go to sleep Daddy. And in my Blue Star House there’s a cinema, and all my toys from when I was a baby, and my friend Thomas. And my beautiful sister Keela, and my Mummy and Daddy. And we all live together forever and we all live happily ever after. I love my Blue Star House.”
I kissed my son’s head. And took a big deep breath as we carried on our way.
I held it together. I held it together long enough to sing songs on the way to preschool, to take their coats off and kiss them goodbye and say see you later. I held it together until I got round the corner and went to the cemetery and sat down on the bench in the corner. I held it together that long and then I just wept. I wept huge tears that fell at my feet while I sat shaking, angry at myself for not understanding, angry at myself for a lot of things, angry at others, and sad, overwhelmingly sad because…
I cried those tears because my insides felt crushed.
I cried those tears because I can’t make my son’s dreams come true.