“Hey mom, ummm, did you know that I made a new mii on Wii
and it has spikey hair like when I get out of the shower. Also, I need a haircut; so can you tell
grandma, cause I got crazy hair.”
“Mom, mom, hey mom, sometimes Jack gets sassy with me when I
ask him too many questions, but then I say I’m gonna tell and he says you
better not.”
“Mommmmmmm, can I get a baby bottle pop? Or some gum... or a Gatorade or…ummm, wait,
do they have root beer here? Cause that’s
my favorite…ummm…oh and orange pop.”“Mommmmy, are we almost done? My legs are getting tired. I think these shoes are too heavy. Maybe you should get me new ones or maybe I could just wear my sandals at winter if I have lotsa socks on.”
Somewhere on aisle five, as I reached for a can of crushed tomatoes and with my back to my sweet six year old, I began to cry…silently sob really. I tried so hard not to. I pinched myself hard on the soft underside of my arm and stayed perfectly still willing that burning feeling in my nose to stop. I gritted my teeth and squinted, but the tears came pouring out. I pressed my lips together to not let a sound out while still shaking my head “yes” in that motherly way we do when our kiddos are telling us stories and factoids at the speed of light.
Busy men and women, young and old, passed me with their grocery
lists and determined eyes. They took in
my red shiny face and runny nose and we looked at each other with such understanding that it broke the rest of me apart into a million splintery mommy
pieces. And I knew they knew. As each passing
shopper looked down at my sweet, happy, talkative, bright as new penny boy, I
knew I was not alone in this moment of intense grief. I didn’t have to hide the rawness or apologize
for being a spectacular emotional mess (Clean up on aisle five, please). We quietly comforted each other with soft
eyes and glimpses of the best part of ourselves. In that small space, as time seemed to have been
sucked away, my boy’s unselfconscious chatter and continual movement were the
most beautiful things we had ever heard and seen. In that moment, they were a healing balm for
all of us on aisle five. They helped us
all make it to aisle six and then seven and then to frozen foods and eventually
through checkout and home.
I hugged my baby boy so tight that night that he said I was “smooshing the snot out of him”. I smelled his sweet little neck and kissed him until he giggled and screamed “Uncle Milty”. I pushed down the urge to sit by his bedside and stare at him all night. Instead I just thanked God over and over and over again. I thanked God for letting me see evidence of Him all over the place. For giving me evidence of His reflection in everyday life…in my hopping, jumping, yelling, fighting, laughing boys; in the spectacular beauty of a December day; in the friends that I am beyond blessed to know; in the best family a girl could ever hope to have; in the strangers that I brush up against in a grocery store ; and most of all…in the hope and salvation I have in Christ. For all of those …and all the others I am yet blind to…thank you, Father.
I hugged my baby boy so tight that night that he said I was “smooshing the snot out of him”. I smelled his sweet little neck and kissed him until he giggled and screamed “Uncle Milty”. I pushed down the urge to sit by his bedside and stare at him all night. Instead I just thanked God over and over and over again. I thanked God for letting me see evidence of Him all over the place. For giving me evidence of His reflection in everyday life…in my hopping, jumping, yelling, fighting, laughing boys; in the spectacular beauty of a December day; in the friends that I am beyond blessed to know; in the best family a girl could ever hope to have; in the strangers that I brush up against in a grocery store ; and most of all…in the hope and salvation I have in Christ. For all of those …and all the others I am yet blind to…thank you, Father.
