In the Weeds

I talk to Jack while I mow the grass. I don't say a lot, mainly just, "I'm sorry, Buddy" and "I love you." Over the years we've mowed the grass ourselves, or when the mower was broken for a few years, we hired it out. I loved coming home to a freshly mowed lawn, with the leaves and helicopter seeds blown off of our driveway by an efficient team of workers. It took the pros about 14 minutes to mow the whole thing, and I'll admit I sometimes wondered if we overpaid for such an "easy" job.  I'd forgotten how challenging our yard could be.

Two summers ago we bought a new lawn mower and canceled the lawn guys, because at 12 Jack was old enough to take over the job. His weight was still hovering in the 60's the last summer of his life, finally hitting 70 lbs the week he died. He took to the job quickly, and enjoyed earning extra money to save up for Legos.

After the accident, Tim and I picked the mowing back up again. "Do you remember it being this hard?" I asked Tim. "No. The roots and the hills! Our yard is so steep. How did he do it?" Tim wonders, shaking his head. We are silent. We both feel remorse. Jack hadn't complained, so we didn't know what a challenge our yard must have been for him at his small size. I remember his asking one day if he could get the mowing over with while I was at work. "No, it's too dangerous. Stay inside and wait 'til I get home." I pictured his losing a thumb to the blade like my friend Patrick had in high school, or running over his foot.

Now Tim and I take turns. I push the mower up over high, high roots, cursing as I use all my strength. I roll past the garden bed, along a steep slope, and feel the tension as the mower tilts and threatens to tip me over, down the hill. I let out a moan of exertion as I push through the tall grass. "I miss you" I grunt, my voice drowned out by the mower.

I wonder what it was like for him, at half my size, to do this job. "I'm sorry, Buddy," I say as I criss cross the yard. "I didn't know." Jack's and my relationship was based on huge love and respect, and I have very few regrets. It's as if we knew each other from the beginning of time and trusted each other explicitly. I'd always told Jack he was the strongest person I knew, but I meant his inner, moral strength. Now I think about how he must have been physically stronger than I realized. He never got the chance to spend his mowing money, but he seemed to enjoy earning it.

Weird thoughts go through my head as I mow, like how I'm glad I didn't let him mow that day when I wasn't home because "something bad" could have happened. And then I realize how stupid it is to still really feel that relief now, when something really bad did happen just a few weeks later.

And I realize as I mow, that when I say, "I'm sorry, Buddy" and "I didn't know" that I'm probably not talking about mowing anymore.

I love you, Buddy.

Mother's Day

You know how painful it is for me to be around boys these days, when every cute little guy in our town seems to be getting a spring haircut, wearing a baseball uniform, or walking through the town green?

Well, there's that.
And at church on Mother's Day, when I was trying to sing and not cry, Tim whispered, "How come every family in here seems to have a little boy climbing all over the dad?" So it's hard for him, too.

After a short mental health nap, I worked on painting the kitchen then got ready for Margaret's big outing that night. And, in an unplanned stroke of genius, it turned out to be THE place to go if you are trying to avoid seeing any preteen or teenage boys-- a Taylor Swift concert!

We, along with 13,998 other screaming moms and daughters (and a few intrepid dads) had an awesome time singing along to Taylor's hits, enjoying Ed Sheeran's opening act, and counting Taylor's costume changes (13?). It was a very positive Mother's Day activity.

Here's a funny story about when we gave Margaret the concert tickets last Christmas. We did our traditional poem scavenger hunt that took her all over the house to find her last "big" present. When she found it, it was just a large Fed-Ex envelope, and her face fell. As I filmed her, she looked up, at me: "An envelope? An envelope? You guys didn't name a star after me, did you?"

No Honey, but we do love you to the moon and back!

If You Give a Mom a Muffin...

Thank you so much for your loving and supportive comments this week. They meant so much to me! And my sister... And my brother... And... I am grateful for you.

As I write posts, I wonder how much detail to go into. How much is too much for my readers? For me? Each day has its share of good and bad,  and in that small way they remind me of the long, long days of early parenthood. A glimpse of grace here and there, likely in the form of a toothless smile or the bright sunshine. A battle of wills at naptime. Worries and weariness. Up-down. High-low.

In the most ordinary of days, there are moments of hope, delight and despair.

This is also true for grieving families, as much as any day can be considered ordinary any more.

And we come to dread holidays, like Mother's Day, knowing they'll be harder than most. Which they are.

But what of any given Friday in May? What is that like?

When little boys in baseball uniforms spring up all over town like May flowers? And it's field day at the kids' school and siblings are always on the same teams, but I put Margaret, in her yellow t-shirt, into the car alone? When I  pick her up and see Jack's friends, and get my much needed hugs from them, but I realize with shock that they are taller, their voices deeper, and 8th grade graduation is just days away. Eighth grade! When seeing their beautiful moms, my friends, should be a welcome sight, but our relationships are so tinged by loss now that my grief starts to feel like something akin to shame. And I shrink away. And back in the neighborhood, with the bright sun shining down, and the kids playing kickball in the cul de sac, the sounds of laughter bring me no joy? Or a Friday night, spent painting the kitchen, in which I remove our family motto that has guided us all these years, even though it has never been more true than it is today?

And I take down our chalkboard family schedule, preserved on the pantry door, which has been there since the worst week of our lives, a "Thursday" once cheerfully but now ominously blank?

Do I write about these things?

How I thought I was throwing away old plastic bags in the basement and realized, with a sharp intake of breath, that they were Jack's boy scout ponchos? And I marvel at their small size. And remember when rainy days meant fun and joy and celebration. Until they didn't.

And in between all of these things are Margaret's laughter that her team tied for last place. And belting out a new Miranda Lambert song together in the car. And Tim's homemade pizza. And watching "The Middle" on the DVR. And a bird at my office window saying hello.

And going to sleep to the loud booms of thunder and noting it, but not being terrified of it any longer.

If you give a mom a muffin, she can take you through the highs and lows of any "ordinary" day.

*****
Love this video of Jack and Margaret IN the pantry! Less than a minute long, and oh so cute!

The Power of Words

Last week I got three very nasty comments from an anonymous commenter who attacked my character big-time. I've taken them down because I don't want to get in a peeing match here, and because they made my sister cry. Peeing matches are never worth it. I will say the commenter called me hurtful names, by far the kindest of which was "glutton."

So last night I found myself eating an enormous bowl of ice cream and chasing it down with Oreos. I don't even really like Oreos. I had been eating non-stop all day, but when I put Margaret to bed I went back to the kitchen looking for something, anything, that would fill me up. "What's going on? Am I getting my period?" I wondered. Nope.

And then it dawned on me. The words, which I tried not to let sink in, were somehow getting inside me. I had been called a glutton, which at first seemed utterly laughable, but now I was acting like one. I think she meant it in a figurative sense, but try telling that to a stomach full of Twizzlers. And glutton was by far the most innocuous thing she had said about me. What about the others? Were those hateful words seeping into me, making me doubt my worth, as the commenter hoped?

Maybe.

It made me think about words.

And how when a teenage boy carelessly labels a girl a slut on Facebook or through the rumor mill, the girl starts to see "slut" when she looks at herself in the mirror. "Why not act like one," she wonders,  "if everyone already thinks I am one anyway?" What about other words?

Lazy. Stupid. Ugly. Despised. Unreliable. Incompetent. Worthless.

What about Bad Mother? (Sometimes we call ourselves names, too.)

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." Martin Luther King, jr.

I don't have much to write today, but I want to leave you with a few words to put in your pocket and pull out when you need them:

Beloved. Beautiful. Smart. Worthy. Wonderfully Made. Cherished. Capable. Kind.

 

In Deep

Two years ago I wrote a post about our potential new neighbors. Every night the kids and I would pray for the people who would soon move into two houses on our street, “Lord, help us to bless our new neighbors, and help them to be a blessing to us.” Those empty houses held the promise of play dates, friendships, and casual pizza dinners in the cul de sac. Maybe even future prom dates. They were ideals, pristine-- not yet marred by the hurt feelings, awkwardness or conflicts that often arise when living in community. You can read that post here.

The houses made me think a lot about myself as a friend. I realized that while I wanted to roll out the welcome mat and be an ultra- friendly neighbor, I had grown accustomed to being more of a drive-by friend than a steadfast one. I leaned away from people whom I considered “needy” or who pushed intimacy on me.  I also think I put unspoken, internal limits on how long it should take for people to “get over” things, and how much of myself I’d offer up to them if they needed me.

I realized I might be an okay friend to have during a sprained ankle, but chronic depression? Probably not.  Ouch. You could have described my friendship style as wide, but not really deep. I think, with the exception of a small group of friends, I kept myself a little closed off from others. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to let them see the times when our family was annoying, ungracious, and our lives were… messy.

 Less intimacy = less mess.

Seven months after the new families moved in, 3 young friends knocked on our door, and Jack and Margaret went out to play with them, huge smiles on their faces.

Jack never came back.

One new neighbor, Jane, whose daughter had been playing with my kids in the rain, held my hand as I knelt in the wet grass, cursing and praying as rescue workers tried to find our son. And the other new neighbor’s son, Joe, was the one who called out, “Let’s go look at the creek!” and led the kids into his back yard.

I can and do wonder about the way God chose to answer our sincere prayers about our new neighbors. He’s the same God I prayed to for guidance on buying this house 10 years ago.  What’s up with that? Jack is dead! This is not a blessing! I ask Him, “Why did you lead us to this neighborhood in the first place?” Why? Wouldn’t any other f’ing town, neighborhood, or even street have been a better call? I don’t have the answers.

But I do think it is interesting that the woman who avoided conflict and intimacy, and sometimes missed out on true community, the woman who wrote these words on her blog, “Of course in my shallowness, I must admit I want to be needed in the "Where's the grocery store? or "Let's hang out on my porch" kind of way, not in the walk with me through a major life crisis sort of way,”  is now immersed in a messy struggle for survival that is truly long-term and has left few in the neighborhood,  town, or our internet circles untouched. There is no clear-cut end date or exit strategy, and no evaluation form to complete when the healing is “complete!”

And I have been cared for by people who have bravely rejected the idea that surface level friendship is enough, including my friend Jane, who hasn’t quit holding my hand.

It’s all so very interesting.

I now need what I was reluctant to give, and that is humbling.

And I can’t wash off or run away from the mess, even if I try.

 

Winner of the Pendant/s and LTYM

Good morning!

jnh213 is the winner of the beautiful Holly Lane Designs Jack's Promise Pendant. Please email me at aninchofgray@yahoo.com with your snail mail address so I can send it to you.

If you didn't win, but would like to purchase a pendant from Holly Lane Designs, here's the link.

A second pendant was purchased by an anonymous An Inch of Gray reader to give away to someone else, well, because that's how you amazing people roll! I  will send that one to Kate from Chasing Rainbows who lost her precious Gavin last week.

Thank you for sharing your stories in the comments. Your stories matter.

Speaking of stories:

If you are in the Washington Area and would like to hear more powerful, inspiring stories of motherhood, the Listen To Your Mother show is this Sunday in Crystal City! Tickets are still available. I was honored to be part of the show last year, and look forward to being in the audience this year. Hope to see you there!

Tickets available here.

The link to  my video from last year. Please ignore the pointy nose.

To see if there is a LTYM show in your region, click here.

Love and Hugs.

"For Nothing is Impossible With God" and a GIVEAWAY for You

I know this week has been dark and hard and maybe a little hopeless feeling. Some of us may be thinking, will the darkness blot out the light? What does the future hold for our children when there is so much evil around us?

I think of Jack's favorite Bible verse, "For nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37.  It reminds us of our little boy and his big faith. We have it on the blue ribbon magnets on our cars and in our hearts.

It comes from the story of the virgin birth. How strange it all sounds: a baby would be born to a teenage virgin, of no stature or fortune, and this baby would grow up to take our sins upon himself so that we could have eternal life. Huh? Sounds impossible.

We'd always read it like, "Nothing is impossible for God." If God can pull off a virgin birth, and our salvation, you can see why Jack believed God could do so much in his young life: help him make friends, get a hit in baseball, and live out his big ideas and values in a world that didn't seem to appreciate them all that much.

This verse told Jack that despite the concerns of his days, God had him covered!

A few months after the accident, when the shock started to wear off and the pain seeped into my bones, my heart, even my hair follicles, I started thinking of the verse a little differently. To me, it now meant, "For (even with God) nothing is impossible." Oh dear. Even when you walk with God, things that seemed impossible, are possible, like a safety conscious child dying (DYING!) in a creek on a wet, balmy night in suburbia. Or in a kindergarten classroom. Or at a marathon. Or in a sinkhole.

Any illusion of control I had for my family's safety and future was gone. Holding tightly to my plans and expectations was as fruitless as trying to carry water in my cupped palms while scaling a cliff.

What once seemed impossible within the structure of our simple, fairly predictable lives was indeed possible, and I didn't like it. Not one teeny little bit.

On September 8, 2011 I had to let go of my misconception that if I loved enough,  prayed enough, and worried enough, my family would "be okay." This realization came to our family that day, but I think it comes to all of us at some point or another.

Later, a friend and I talked about Jack's verse. What did it mean to us now? Surely God could have saved Jack. He can do the impossible! Reviving a drowned person is not too difficult a task for God. It should be easy! What is breathing life back into a boy's lungs compared to forming the universe? And if Jack had been revived, having had a near death experience, he and I could have taken our show on the road. We would commit ourselves to speaking out for God, sharing hope of heaven and the beautiful miracle of Jack's survival. Doesn't that sound like a much better plan than leaving Margaret an only/lonely child?

But God didn't do what He surely could do. And I've had to let go of trying to understand why, at least for now. At least for today.

And Jack's verse changed for me, slightly, once again. "For with God nothing is impossible." The task in front of families who have lost children seems impossible.  Truly. To wake up each day. To function. To forgive. To breathe. We can try to do the impossible without God, in our own strength, out of unbelief,  hurt, bitterness or even anger that He has allowed these terrible things to happen in the first place. It is tempting, believe me.

Or we can let go of the control we never had and let Him help us in our current, impossible situation.

And we can trust God to make something beautiful out of something terrible. I don't know how that works, but I think it can and it does. And if I've learned anything, it's that He stays close to the brokenhearted and performs miracles, even if they aren't the ones we would have chosen.

And we can recognize that while we can't control everything, we can do something. We can offer ourselves up, even in the smallest ways, to share the light with others by continuing to care for people, by showing up when things look hopeless, and by doing good in the face of great evil. Not because any of it will guarantee our children's safety, but because it's the right thing to do.

********************

I've been waiting to send a reader a "Jack's Promise" Pendant from Holly Lane Designs. This week it seemed like we might need to remind ourselves "For Nothing is Impossible with God." Tiffany Scott, my favorite jewelry designer, used a Mobius strip, which represents an impossibility that is somehow possible! She also chose it because Jack loved puzzles and brainteasers almost as much as he loved God and Legos. Jack's verse is carved into the silver. My sister wears hers on a silver chain with a small crystal teardrop.  If you would like to enter to win this pendant, just write "Luke 1:37" in the comments. Giveaway closes Monday, April 22 at 10 pm.

Jack's Promise Pendant:

 

My sister's neck.