Grief

This won't be a funny post. But I have to tell this story.

A couple of nights ago, Cole was in trouble...again. He had had a particularly rough day. Kept getting in trouble - running away in stores, not minding, screaming, hitting his brother and sister, the works. I was tired that night, and he was still testing my patience. Or what was left of it. He had had a few spankings - real ones, not just a tap on his bottom as he scooted past.

To properly set up this scene, you need to know that a couple of years ago at least - maybe three- my grandmother started ordering magazines for the kids. This is my grandmother who just died this summer, and to whom we were all very close. The National Wildlife Federation puts out a magazine for kids ages three to seven called "Your Big Backyard," and one for kids ages seven and up called "Ranger Rick." Each issue has photos of real animals, along with stories, cartoon versions of the animals, and age-appropriate activities. They also usually included fascinating facts about the animals, as well as focusing on lesser-known and exotic animals. The kids would look at them periodically, some issues more interesting to them than others. It wasn't something I thought they would miss if it stopped, but the enjoyment they got out of their occasional glances coupled with Mawmaw's pride in finding a unique (and educational) gift kept me saying yes when MawMaw would call at the annual renewal date and ask if they were still enjoying them. And so she kept renewing their subscriptions.

Back to this past Saturday night. I don't remember what Cole's offense was, but let's just say he's one Arkansas law would label a "large habitual offender," thus allowing the judge to dramatically enhance his sentence. I grabbed the closest thing I could find and started to spank his bottom. It was the latest version of "Your Big Backyard," now rolled up and crinkled in my fist.

It was lightening fast - Cole's transition from angry, oppositional and defiant to broken-hearted and sobbing. It still rings in my ears: "Mawmaw gave me that magazine no no no!!!"

I just stopped and captured him in my arms as my tears started falling, too. For the next hour we cried together and grieved for Mawmaw's passing. His little heart seemed to have broken into a million pieces, all spilled out before me, with him begging me for answers I didn't have. I wear a diamond necklace every day that Grandad gave MawMaw, and recently gave me, and Cole looked right at it, and screamed as if he was talking to Mawmaw herself: "WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME!!!!!!" Over and over he sobbed, shouting through his tears that she needed to come back, that she didn't get it, that he needed her, that he wanted her, that he loved her. He loved her. His grief was so real, so raw, and so surprising. I never realized the depth of his love and attachment to her. Nor did I realize his understanding of the finality of her death. His hurt was so intense, so open, and so hard to bear. I would have cut my right arm off with a pair of safety scissors if I could have brought her back to stop his pain.

We grieved together, and no one tried to stop us, quiet us, hurry us, or even interrupt us. Just pure, unadulterated grieving. Even though I couldn't give him the answers he wanted, it somehow felt good when it was over. Is it because misery loves company? I don't think so. Maybe it's because we both needed it. Maybe it's because it made me more perceptive of Mawmaw's impact on his life, on all our lives, and if only for a while, calmed the emotional storm inside me that seems to rage constantly. Her life was peace, love, and joy. Real joy rooted in her love for Christ. Grieving for her brought all that back, and even as the tears flow along with these words, I sense the peace that she embodied filling me up again, readying me for another day, another week, another month, another challenge that inevitably is heading straight for me. Maybe it's because I needed the reminder to decelerate, to consider my children's tender little hearts and whether I'm modeling for them her life of Christ-like peace, love, and joy. I doubt it right now, I really do. Life is busting at the seams with chaos, questions, uncertainty, confusion, and change.

I need Mawmaw right now. Just this afternoon I thought about picking up the phone to describe to her something new we had done today. I need her guidance, her encouragement, her constant love and sweet, sweet voice telling me it's all gonna be okay. Reminding me how much she and Grandad love me, love my little family as she would say, and that they are praying for us every day. I need her as my buffer for all the stress and negativity. How can one person do so much for another with expectations for so little in return? This is my prayer: that I can be that person for Cole. For Katie. For Jack. For anyone who needs me to be that person.

Our tears finally stopped, even though I never gave Cole the response he wanted - that she was coming back. But I think one or two of the breaks in his heart may have mended a little, and I kind of believe that I helped do that just by grieving with him and being honest with him about her life and death. I kind of believe, too, that Mawmaw smiled on us that night, as we came together instead of being divided. That would have made her happy.

One more thing. The subscriptions to "Your Big Backyard" and "Ranger Rick" were about to expire. Not now. They've already been renewed.