A few days ago, I told a friend I hadn’t seen in a while about Jake being missing since May 1.
Aghast, she asked, “How are you still sane!?”
Moms always ask me this. Because, you know, they get it. I think every mom imagines this horror a thousand times before her child is a year old. I remember flying up north to see my mother when Jake was 7 months old. In the airport bathroom a stranger offered to watch my son while I went in the stall. A chill prickled over my skin and my brain froze for a second till I remembered that I had him right there with me. He wasn’t even gone but I’d imagined all the possibilities in that second.
Empathy always comforts me. It comforts me when you hug me tightly and tell me you keep me in your thoughts.
Yes, yes, I always want you to ask about Jake.
I saw a post from little *Kylie Rowand’s mom today that reminded me to pray for her. She states,
…it is important to us that our child be honored and remembered. It is our biggest fear that our children will be forgotten. They so easily fall off the radar because they aren’t here to engage you anymore. This breaks my heart. If you know of a child who has passed away from cancer, today, please honor them. Say their name. Talk about them. Send a quick note to their family that they were thought of today. That one simple act can change that parent’s entire day.
This is the picture of Kylie I hold in my heart:
This is what has reminded me to take peace and contentment where I find it.
That little baby — I still weep for her, and I don’t even know the family. I don’t know her mom.
But her mom’s faith made relax my grip –well. The grip I thought I had, the control. No, what do I mean….
It made me unclench my fist. The fist that both holds tightly and expresses anger.
Her mama’s faith inspired me to trust God when my son stopped talking to me. With her baby in one arm, that mama held out her hand to push back death, but she also trusted that everything would be okay. Kylie would be okay. She would be okay. Even if Kylie was not healed.
It’s so much … muchness.
Neither Kylie nor her mother ever lost their muchness. And in this whole ordeal I saw the grace of God.
Now my own muchness has been on the line.
I’ve not been insane, but I’ve been contentious, and I’ve felt glued in place in the face of a slowly encroaching mudslide. It’s still coming, and I’m still stuck, although, frankly, with this heat (115!) you’d think the glue would’ve melted. But no. The heat only makes me crabby.
Jake’s still missing.
I’m still grieving.
And I have this line from an Elton John song on repeat in my head: “Hey, hey, Johnny, won’t you come out to play in your empty garden?”
I’ll be okay, but half my garden is empty.