Cry over what Matters

“History has it’s eyes on you” (Hamilton)

A few days after the hamster’s untimely demise, as the usual group of neighbor boys milled around the front yard jumping BMX bikes over ramps and turning tricks on scooters, one boy commented to Mr. Ornery, “Sorry to hear about your hamster.”  I was just returning from walking the dogs and as I neared Mr. Ornery sitting in the grass, he reached over to pet puppy Moka. “Thanks,” he replied. “The black dog did it because blacks kill more than white people.”

You might have heard my head explode depending on your location. The whole neighborhood heard me yell at my son and march him inside where he sat on the bottom step as I continued to rail loudly at him. Doors and windows wide open, the other kids began to sheepishly clean up the yard and head for home.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I said.”

And he’s right. He’s eleven and he’s learning. And the world around him is feeding him lies and teaching him to view white as the norm and other shades of color as deviations from the norm. But I have little tolerance anymore for what the world is feeding into my children. For most of my life, I thought I was pretty awesome and aware and sensitive about race and doing things generally right. But I didn’t know what I didn’t know until the unrest this summer helped me identify some of my ignorance and defensiveness. I started reading (White Fragility is hitting me in the soul) and realized it was on me to choose to learn more and do better.

So when #45 stood on the debate stage a few weeks ago and at the moment he asked to strongly condemn white supremacy, he instead asked a white extremist group to “Stand back and stand by,” I wept. Seeing in that moment the pain that this man continues to inflict upon people of color and weeping in that moment that he would dare spur on people who would have no qualms about attacking my three brown-skinned sons. I lay in bed for hours fearful for what is to come in this country. I knew the power of those words. A call to continued racism and discrimination, to violence and use of force, to asserting power and dominance.

Many years ago, a friend passed along some wisdom. Do not get caught up or frustrated or sad about the little things of life, but focus instead on what matters to God – “to do justice, and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8). Cry over what matters.

I cry because the Earth is crying.

I cry because the people are crying.

I cry because the oppressed are crying.

I ache for the plight of the poor as millions more Americans fall into poverty while the millionaires in Congress avoid economic relief packages. My patients that I see every week are struggling and stressed and running out of resources.

I cry over senseless killings of people of color and the injustice that follows. I honor those in law enforcement who balance a difficult job without the right resources and training and improvements can be made. But it is time to recognize that Black Lives Matter means that at this moment in our history, it’s time to work towards true acceptance and dignity and honor and equal resources and opportunities for all people of color. That is why people march. Because this is our moment. To be the change.

I weep as I see infants separated from their parents knowing the stress from that trauma writes itself into the rest of their lives. Adverse childhood experiences leave lasting consequences. Thus, I cry for the lack of compassion in matters of immigration that leads to pain and trauma rather than working on policy changes and solutions.

And I cry for the families of 217,000 people (and counting) who died by a virus knowing that more could have been done to save people. Grandparents, parents and so many more would still be alive had this country received clear leadership and strategy out of the White House rather than mockery, dismissal and pressuring experts to change their guidance. Our leaders have “taken a crisis and turned it into a tragedy” (NEJM, 2020) and too many people have died.

And I continue to cry as the current president continues to incite violence and domestic terrorism and unease about democracy. The division, the anger, the hate tears at my soul and I find myself in a perpetual state of stress as we press on toward the election.

In all this stress and all this pain that I witness, I mostly cry as I struggle to figure out how to relate to family and friends who do not “see” the ways that the president, in words and actions, jeopardizes the very life and future of my family and my precious sons. In 2020, it is not about politics or taking “sides,” it is about love and humanity and decency. It is about protecting the lives of my boys and so many other people.

Depending on which version of the Bible one is reading, Isaiah 1:17 calls on us to “defend the oppressed” or “rebuke the oppressor” (NIV vs. New King James). I am committed to spending my days doing both. This week I took the biggest step I could by casting my ballot to vote out the evil that plagues us and begin to shape a more unified and peaceful society. I sent letters and postcards to encourage others to take a stand against power and greed and white superiority.

I cry because it matters.

Take my tears, Lord, and guide my steps to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly.

Be the Change that you want to see in the World.

Make Good Ripples

Everybody needs your help

Clearing out some emails tonight, I saw the subject of one reading, “Seniors in Isolation Need Your Help.” My first thought was, gosh, really, when you think about it, everybody needs my help. The kids crying and traumatized in concentration (I mean, detention) camps need my help. Isolated senior citizens need my help. Whales swallowing plastic need my help. The neighbor down the street whose basement was flooded last week needs my help. A friend starting to acknowledge the severity of her ailing mother needs my help. And by golly, these crazy boys living in my house sure do need a LOT more help curbing their misdirected urine, intense energy and spontaneous life-threatening poor decisions.

It’s pretty easy to become scatterbrained clicking on every email and every story and every social media post calling out for your help. It’s pretty easy to start thinking that the world is completely falling apart based on the endless cries for help. And it’s pretty easy to start feeling hopeless that there’s no way this one aging, exhausted mother of three is ever going to meet all those cries for help.

It seems to me, though, that the key to saving the world is by focusing on the little thing right in front of you and letting the love spread. A colleague of mine ends all her emails with the words “Make good ripples.” This has been sitting on my mind. When I talk to undergraduate and graduate students and professionals about what can be done to tackle the enormous and complicated construct of poverty in this country, I ask them to think of small things that can be done every day to make a difference. Give someone a smile. Hold the door open. Make eye contact. Share a hug. The smallest gesture of acknowledging the humanity in one another will make good ripples. It will share a little joy that can spread into bigger and bigger ripples of service and advocacy.

Take that one step further and find a charity that matches your passion, whether it’s with children or animals, homelessness or the elderly, the environment or your house of worship. Become a monthly donor to sustain their work. Sign up for emails or texts to provide you with daily or weekly action points, such as calling or writing to your representative about issues. Read wisely and become informed. Listen to others’ stories and speak for those who cannot.

Another key is having appropriate expectations for oneself. There was a period of time in my life when I worked full-time, parented young kids and spent hours and hours every week opening up a non-profit to care for children and families. That was a time that I could hear the cry for help and meet the need. But I can’t work at that level, survive on reduced sleep at that level, and not be present for my own children at that level every day. My expectation has shifted to match my current situation and now I look for other ways to spread joy and serve.

Some days one can wander along the path of despair in the vastness of the need. Some days it can seem like there is no way to make a difference. Some days, you just have to refocus on meeting the needs of a few people at a time, knowing that tomorrow always brings new opportunities. I know that I can not save the world myself, but I know that I can continue to love others, serve others and make good ripples.

You Got This!

I had just finished the first leg of the Pittsburgh Marathon, running 5.3 miles at a pace generally faster than usual for me. This was a combination of a running partner who was clearly in better shape than I (since she could keep talking while running – ahhh!) and because we were having such an impassioned conversation that adrenaline was definitely flowing.

After giving sweaty hugs to the friend who took up the next leg of the relay and to my running buddy, I headed over to the river to soak in the majestic views offered by the city despite a gray and foggy sky. Along the way, I politely offered to push buttons on cell phones to convert people’s “selfies” into “real” photos as I feel it gives a much better perspective (I’m a bit snobbish that way!).

Eventually I approached the statue of Fred Rogers, I noticed a man in an animated face-time phone conversation who was showing his listener the views of the river and pointing out that you could see the runners on the other side. Having politely asked the mother of a two-year-old little boy (who was definitely “not” going to get close to Fred!) to take my picture beside him, I wandered back to the race course. There was the runner who had ended his conversation. We remarked politely as to how the weather had cooperated and the rain had ended. We wondered how we’d “politely” cross the course to get to where we had parked. And then we began talking about the charities that we had run for to raise funds. I explained the work of Haiti H2O and he listened intently. He explained that he had been a marathon runner and had survived a heart attack a few years ago. He was back to running and was clearly passionate about raising awareness of heart disease and helping others.

As we meandered across the road and then along the race course in the opposite direction, B started to cheer on the runners. I added some feeble-sounding encouragements as well, but his voice boomed. “You got this,” he exclaimed over and over again. He lifted his extra-large right hand enveloped in a neon green glove and started to give each runner a high-five. I often thought, “that person won’t move over for a high-five,” but they sure did.

We were along the course around mile 4.5 where those at the end of the long line of participants were making slow progress in running, jogging or walking the race. Some looked exhausted already. Some looked like they were determined to keep going. Some looked like they wondered why they were doing this in the first place. Some looked ready to quit. But each time B yelled out “You got this!” and gave them a high-five, their faces transformed into beautiful smiles and a spark shone from their eyes. Every one. Old. Young. Black. White. In shape or out of shape. They all responded to B.

“Look how they are lighting up and smiling,” I remarked as we continued along. “Yes,” he paused. “My kids often say ‘Cool it, Pop’ but to me, every moment is worth living.”

Every moment is worth living.

Every moment is worth giving another encouragement. Giving another a smile. Giving another just a little more power, a little more strength, a little more determination to continue on. Whether others are running a mile or a marathon or whether they are walking or running through this journey of life, may we all continue to share a smile, give a high-five, and boom out loud – “You got this!

Photo credit: Daniel Heckert; Story credit: Betsy Ann

 

Love will Stay Stronger than Hate

The other week I took the boys to see a movie with my neighbor and her two children. The back of the minivan shook with glee. The popcorn flowed over laps and floors. The moms constantly “shushed” the giddy kids as the movie began. But eventually, the story compelled them to quiet down, punctuated every once in awhile with a great contagious giggle.

There once was a group of Yeti’s who so feared continuing death and slaughter at the hands of man that they moved high up into the top of the mountains and created a layer of fog to hide the humans in the land below.

There once was a group of humans who believed that Yeti’s were so violent and dangerous that if they ever saw a Yeti, they would shoot to kill.

But, there also was once a Yeti named Migo who was so fascinated by the possibility of a “Small Foot” that he risked leaving his home to go see if these creatures really existed.

And, there once was a man named Percy who was so desperate for fame that he searched for the Yeti as a tool for popularity. But when his fellow men came out with guns and armor and shields to fight against the Yeti, Perry took a step forward in faith and solidarity. Standing together, Yeti and humans learned that they are more similar than they are different. They discovered that to dispel fear, they needed to begin to understand one another and to respect each other. They discovered that they did not need to live in fear, but could live in community.

Our world is filled with fear. We are so focused on how we are different from others, that we have become scared of those differences. We want to build up walls around us. We want to stick with “our own.” Instead of becoming more unified, the pressure is to become more polarized. More extreme. More scared.

And that fear leads to anger and anger leads to violence. Violence against those who are different. Violence against school children. Violence against anyone considered an “other.” Violence against the innocent. And this past week, that violence touched the lives of a peaceful community of people gathered for worship at the Tree of Life Synagogue in my former neighborhood of Squirrel Hill. In that moment, the lives of a Holocaust survivor, a physician, a couple, a grandfather, a dentist, a set of brothers, and other beloved family members were ended in a sea of blood. A sea of anger. A sea of fear.

As the days have crept on, as the funerals have taken place, as the songs have been sung at the vigils, as the community has marched and as the families have mourned, all of us have felt a deep, deep aching sadness that has called to our spirits. A deep despair that has tried to blacken our soul and nibble away at our hope. And each of us has had to reach out to our community of friends, family, neighbors and even strangers gathered around us to rekindle our flames.

Because when fear tries to sow hate and hate tries to capture our hope, we stand together to say “Absolutely not.” We raise our voices to say, “Love is and always shall be stronger than hate.”

When we take a step towards each other. When we learn about others and discover that they too are humans just like us. When we are willing to look into another’s eyes and see their fears and their hurts and their hope which is just the same as ours, then….then, we will learn to love others.

As I cleaned up around the house this morning, I heard The Little Guy upstairs reading to his brother, “Do not worry about anything. Instead, pray about everything.” When the current world wants us to worry about everything and everyone, we are reminded that God is bigger than that and loves us all.

So, together we kindle the hope.

Together, we maintain the love.

Together, we treat others as God’s Holy creation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reckless Love

(Verse 1)
Before I spoke a word, You were singing over me
You have been so, so good to me
Before I took a breath, You breathed Your life in me
You have been so, so kind to me
(Chorus)
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God
Oh, it chases me down, fights ‘til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine
I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it, still You give Yourself away
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God
(Verse 2)
When I was Your foe, still Your love fought for me
You have been so, so good to me
When I felt no worth, You paid it all for me
You have been so, so kind to me
(Bridge)
There’s no shadow You won’t light up
Mountain You won’t climb up
Coming after me
There’s no wall You won’t kick down
Lie You won’t tear down
Coming after me
(Reckless Love: Written by Cory Asbury, Caleb Culver, and Ran Jackson)

 

We sang this song at church this morning. It is currently my favorite praise song. And it is one I really needed after dealing with Super Tall Guy’s latest “rage” fit yesterday in which quite a bit of anything that was not nailed down went flying. We even hit a new level – the next door neighbor who absolutely never talks, came out of her house and grumbled, “What in the world is going on?” Sigh….

But as we sang this morning, I realized that while this song was written about God’s incredible love of His children, it could so easily describe in a very imperfect way my relationship with my boys.

When they were infants – before they spoke a word – I would sing over them as I rocked them to sleep. (While I did not carry them in my body, their birth mother breathed life into them before they ever took a breath.)

When Super Tall Guy is in a rage and we are squared off foe to foe….my love fights for him. Fights to have him calm down. Fights for him to know that I love him despite the ugliness. Fights for him to know that I will be there with open arms when this hurricane ends. When he weeps in sadness and feels unworthy, I wrap around him in love. I pay such a price in providing for the boys, not just in material things, but in time and worry and stress and endless energy.

And should anything ever happen to my boys, I will always come after them. I will light up the world for them to see more clearly through the darkness that might threaten to overwhelm them. I will climb any mountain for them if they wander away. I will tear down any wall to free them. There’s no lie that the world could tell them about their brown skin or their worthiness or that they might tell themselves in self-doubt that I wouldn’t tear down.

And despite all their grumblings about how mean I am or how other families are so much better, I truly am trying to be good to them and kind to them. I would leave the ninety-nine, I would leave anything I had to for my children.

I am a failure every single day at this parenting gig. I want to do so much better. I get down on myself. But then I am reminded of the intense love I have for these three incredible boys. The absolutely overwhelming love. The never-ending love. The reckless love. Unconditional love. No matter what they are doing. No matter how many times they have ignored me or disobeyed. No matter how many mistakes they have made. No matter what, it is an overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love that tears up my heart and drains tears down my cheeks as I stand there singing.  And in those moments, I know that if I feel this passion for my boys….how much more does a Perfect God love each and every one of us. How much more does He breathe into us and come after us when we wander? How much more does He ache when we disobey, but has already paid the ransom? How much more overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love does He give?

Click on the album cover below and listen to reckless love….

 

Activation of the Extraction Code

He activated the “Extraction Code” and then realized he didn’t want to.

It was 8:54 pm on a Saturday night. Super Tall Guy was at a friend’s house where he enjoys countless hours of Minecraft, more junk food than his body needs, and stays up later than I would ever allow. But it’s a friend and he needs friends.

He has spent the night with this friend numerous times and always seems to like it, but this night he texted and asked me to come pick him up. He didn’t want me to tell his friend why. He didn’t want me to tell his friend’s mother why. He didn’t want to tell me why.

And I commenced the extraction.

Popped over to my neighbor’s house and asked their thirteen-year-old son to come sit in my house with my younger two and my nephew (who was planning to spend the night, but that didn’t work out either, which is another story for another day).

Texted my son over the course of five minutes to confirm the pick-up as his last message seemed unsure. Never heard back.

Texted the mother and “explained” a family emergency.

Jumped in the car.

Drove 5 minutes down the road.

Texted that I was in the driveway.

Super Tall Guy got in….and broke into tears. There had been a scuffle. He had been kicked (not sure if on purpose or accident) but what he really wanted was just to talk to me. He had decided to give his friend another chance….but there I was.

We drove off; him sobbing and me explaining the extraction system. At any moment, at any time, I would be there. No matter what. No questions asked. But if you activate the system – the system goes into play. There’s not a thing in the world that’s going to stop a mom from going to rescue her baby. Ever.

But I sit and wonder this weekend, who’s activating the system for the thousands of people stranded in airports or stranded overseas with fear and terror? Who’s running to the aid of immigrants and refugees? Thousands of people have arisen to protest the ban. Hundreds of lawyers working hard to overturn the discrimination against people based on their country of origin and their religion.

I sit and explain to my sons the extent of my love for them. It passes all my understanding. It is a very imperfect reflection of the perfect love of the Creator of the Universe. And it is the Lord who calls His people to love the homeless, the orphan, the refugee, the least of these in this world. Just as I love and protect my sons, I am called to love and protect the vulnerable.

May we all join the fight to carry out the extraction code which has just been activated by those in need.

 

 

 

Thank you, dear sister

Our Family
A circle of strength and love
Founded on faith….
Joined by love
Kept by God
Together forever

 

To my sister,

Thank you for the Willow Tree figurines of my three boys this Christmas. More importantly, thank you for my three boys.

You started this journey eleven years ago during whichour-family we fell into adoption and flew into love. I still remember nervously standing around a bassinet of two-day old Super Tall Guy, waiting for the social worker to find some clothes for him to wear out of the hospital. We walked to the car swinging him in the car seat unable to talk other than whispered “Oh my goodness.” I stared into his eyes while you ran to the store for bottles and formula and diapers and baby wipes. What had we gotten in to? Leaping by faith to into a family.

I broke your heart once. Probably more times than that, but once in a big way. It was the day I was sitting in my office chair and looked up at you standing there innocent and announced that I needed clarity on being a mother. I couldn’t share mothering. I wanted Super Tall Guy to be mine despite having both of our names on the adoption certificate. I needed there to be just one mother. I was naïve. I was strong-willed. I pushed the limits of our love, but you held firm. You sacrificed and continued to love me. We learned to be independent yet together.

And I divorced you once in a house of five young boys. We sat on the hard wood floor of the second-floor bedroom and divided the children’s books into yours and mine piles. We clung to memories of books that mattered to our mother-hearts. We snapped softly at each other. We made lists of books we were determined to replace as they clearly meant so much to us. It’s been two years. I haven’t found my list. I haven’t replaced the books, because it wasn’t the books that mattered, it wasn’t the toys that mattered, it wasn’t the Christmas ornaments that mattered; it was the sadness of separating. It was the reality of beginning to parent on our own. It was the fear that dug deep within us. And yet, two years later, we hold together as a family. We rely on that bind. We trust that bind. We are still in it together.

boy-figurines2“The Caring Child” – Super Tall Guy – strong and huge with occasional explosions of rage, but deep within there is such a soft tenderness.

“The Inquisitive Child” – Mr. Ornery – always wondering how to push the limits and whether that line in the sand was really meant for him or for someone else.

“The Kind Child” – the Little Guy – overflowing with love and kindness, ready with a smile and a story, eager to meet the world and charm the skies with his eyes.

Each beautiful boy a gift of God. Each beautiful boy a gift to my life. Each beautiful boy so touched by the love that you share with them as well as with your own three boys. Each of us touched by being part of our larger family.

Thank you for my boys. Thank you for being my family. Thank you for being in this together forever. No matter what.

Love,

Your sister

I Choose Love

It’s been an absolutely crazy week in the news and I know most of us are struggling with understanding what is happening and trying to figure out what we can and should do.

What’s most important, it seems to me, is to maintain hope. Just like we know that individual humans make mistakes, groups of humans and countries also make mistakes.

But it is the individual who has to hold the hope. The hope that there is better and can be better. And then collectively we can share the hope.

There must be enough of us to say, “I know you are hurting at this time and the world and the country seems bleak, but I will hold the hope.” For the time being, I will be the one to hold the hope.

Mat awesome

Suntan lotion fun with Super Tall Guy

I am doing that for my boys. They don’t even know that I am holding the hope for them. They don’t know that internally I wrestle with knowing that their brown skin glows and glistens and that beautiful skin will mark them and label them. They don’t know that I hold the hope for them.

They don’t know that I worry about them every day. Will they make good decisions or bad ones? Will they make poor choices in friendships or be surrounded in love? Will they thrive or flounder? They don’t know that I hold the hope for them.

They don’t know that I pour my heart and soul into thinking about them and what’s best for them. They don’t know that I sacrifice almost all my time and a (very) high percentage of my income for them. They don’t know that I’m desperately trying to get this parenting thing “right” for their sake. They don’t know that I hold the hope for them.

They don’t know that this world is huge and going through some crazy times right now. They don’t know much about the violence and racism and fighting and division. They don’t know that I hold the hope for them.

This week what runs through my mind over and over is “I choose love.” No matter what is happening around me, I choose love. For the sake of my boys, I choose love. For the sake of changing the world, I choose love. For the sake of those who need to hear it, I choose love.

If we respond in love,

If we react in love,

If we live in love,

the world will be better.

I hold the hope and I choose love.

prayer-of-st-francis

fineartamerica.com

Near Death Experiences Really Should be Teachable Moments

It’s crazy how insane the past couple weeks have been. The movers handled the large items and friends carried loads of boxes, but our new townhome sat piled ceiling-high with boxes for a week as we spent time outside with the neighbors and packed up for a beach vacation.

Sand is always good. Sand that has been dredged from the bottom of the ocean is near perfection. There’s not a sharp sea shell in it. You can dig and dig and dig out a hole large enough for boys to jump in and be completely hidden from sight. You can drizzle it into the forest where the trolls live while waiting to save Princess Ana from the accidental strokes of Elsa. You can mold a horse to be galloped upon. You can mold sandballs of wet sand dabbed in hot fine sand to threaten siblings with. You can rest.

There are few things more relaxing than sun and sand and the lap of waves. There are also few things more terrifying than the power and pull of water.

The warm sun was coaxing my eyes to close as I sat upon a boogie board and watched the three boys jump in the surf. After each wave, I would identify them – The First One shakes his head to get the water out of his ears. Super Tall Guy wipes the water from the top of his head to his chin. Mr. Ornery bounces and bounces and bounces. He comes up from under a wave and bounces as he awaits the next. His ringlets bounce. His body bounces. His arms bounce.

And suddenly there was no bounce. I looked again. There was his head very close to Super Tall Guy, but there was no bounce. They were too far out. They were too far out to see their faces, but I was on my feet and headed out there. A glance at the lifeguards on their stand showed that they were not going to be of any help. The panic started to rise as each wave pushed me back from my singular goal – to reach my boys who were being swept out to sea. But I wasn’t getting there fast enough. Do I scream? Yell? The three adults near them were close enough though. One man reached for Mr. Ornery and pushed into shore. One man grabbed Super Tall Guy and guided him in. I watched The First One start to swim.

Mr. Ornery wrapped his arms and legs around me as he clung sobbing in my arms. I tearfully thanked the Helpers. I praised Super Tall Guy for clear attempts to save his younger brother and keep him afloat. Suddenly I panicked again looking for The First One. Where was he? Mom, where is he? Super Tall Guy, where is he? I rushed to the lifeguards and then turned and found him. He had swum beside the current and then into shore. We all hugged.

“Look for the helpers,” I reminded the boys as Mr. Fred Rogers so eloquently stated. Rogers HelpersWhen you are in trouble, look for the helpers. They will be there.

Ask Mr. Ornery how his vacation was and he’ll say “I was almost dead.” We had to talk a lot about it that night. We talked about safety. We talked about the power of water. We talked about the helpers. We talked over and over about how you “NEVER go out past your waist” and you “NEVER swim alone.” We talked about going back in again.

And he did. Right back into the water the next day. I watched much more intensely. And I watched the new day’s lifeguard splash over to him and remind him in words and body language – “NEVER go out past your waist.”

And yet he did. Bouncing along right into the deep. This boy is going to require a whole lot of “teachable moments.” And he’s going to need a whole lot of Helpers!

But I, for one, would like to skip the “near death” moments the next time he needs to learn a lesson.

On losing our “forever family” pet

“Mom, can Roxy sleep with me tonight?” the six-year-old implored as he climbed into bed. “Honey, Roxy is dead,” I gently reminded him. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought about the afternoon. The wag of the tail as she greeted our visitors. Her disappearance as we talked. The phone call from my sister relaying the message from a sweet man who had found her….and stayed with her so she wouldn’t be alone until we got there. But she was already gone…

…and I was alone. In fact, my whole family was around me, but I was alone as I called the boys together outside and told them she had died. I was alone as I gathered up her food dishes and leftover treats and emptied them into the trash can.

I was alone as I sat on my bed in the quiet of the night, eyes stinging from the tears. I was alone.

Single mom.

Three boys.

No little dog.

Those dark moments are when the world crashes and the weight feels unbearable. When sadness drapes your heart. When guilt condemns you for not having kept her inside, for not keeping a member of your family safe, for failing to be the protector. When you can’t yet see the light even though you know it’s there and will return.

IMG_4769

Super Tall Guy wanted to keep the collar “in our house.”

We have now made it past twenty-four hours. Friends have expressed condolences and texted kind thoughts. “How are the boys doing?” is a recurring question.

The Little Guy in his concrete stage of thinking spent the day telling everyone he met, “Our dog died. Rund over by a car. She didn’t look both ways.”

Super Tall Guy woke this morning and said, “I cried for Roxy while I slept last night. We need another little dog that looks like Roxy and we’ll name her Roxy until we get our big dog.” Emotions generally are not part of his vocabulary (despite recently watching “Inside Out”) but he misses the morning hugs.

Mr. Ornery lay on his bed again tonight and said, “I’m sad Roxy died. Will she come back alive? Will we see her again? Is she alive in Heaven?” and moved on to “When are we going to Kennywood again? I’m only going to ride that circle snow thing ride the whole day.”

Seems to me that they cope better than I. That they don’t know yet the finality of death. That they don’t worry about whether I could have prevented it. Gave Mr. Ornery a hug today and said, “I cried last night when Roxy died.” He paused. “I would cry if you died.” Fair enough.

Roxy & NateI cry. I cried tonight when I peeked into his bedroom as is my nightly habit and miss seeing the white furball cradling his head or sleeping along his back. I miss the dog more than I thought I would. Turns out, I must have actually loved the sometimes trouble but genuinely sweet little girl.

It is a shift in our household, yet we grieve and learn and grow. And I am learning how to handle my own grief as I walk my sons through their first pet loss (Lightning McQueen the beta fish did not have the same effect). Time heals, they say. I wait for time.

Beware the grief
It calls upon the demons
It beckons the darkness
It smothers the flame.

 

Beware the grief
It tarnishes the beauty
It robs the love
It spoils the soul.

 

Beware the grief
It heeds no boundaries
It follows no clock
It finds its own path.

 

Rise up, oh strong one.
Lean in to others
Seek comfort
Accept the balm.

 

Rise up, oh strong one,
Rest the soul
Cry the tears
Let healing begin.

 

Rise up, oh strong one,
The heaviness shifts
The dark shall disperse
The light shall shine.

 

Hold on to joy.
Hold on to memories
And keep the gift alive.