Today I can’t escape this sadness. Even with the busy work of this monstrous house and its 8 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms and 7 kids. One of the children pulled out an ancient photo album and left it on the dining room table and as I began the post breakfast cleanup I was stunned by a photograph of Andy and Joey and I, having a really fun time at my family home. We were so young. 21 years ago. Practically just kids. Joey is in jail now and Andy was shot by a serial killing cop. There isn’t a bright and sunny way to spin that…at least not that I’ve discovered. So I sat and cried. And cried. And cried. And when Daisy approached me and asked “You tired Mom?”…I guess the answer is “Yes.” Grief can be so very tiring. Looking at the darkness of this world is so exhausting. But I’ve had to consistently choose to ACT instead of REACT. To let my loss change me, shape me, tenderize me…but not define me.
A few weeks ago I was inside my own head about how I feel I’m approaching 40 and haven’t accomplished much professionally or in any way that the “world” would call valuable. Having toddler snot on my shoulder 90% of the time can make me feel that way. My wonderful 17 year old daughter, who is one person I’d love to spend more time with but it turns out the entire world feels the same and everywhere she goes she is asked to bring more of herself because of the effect she has…she could sense how low I was feeling and offered her wisdom. She didn’t say “You should go outside more.” Or “Maybe try to make more mom friends.” Or “Daisy would probably love to go to the park tomorrow.” She’s been there with me…at a thrift store when a toddler loses their shit. At the park when someone has to poop and the bathrooms are locked. At the library when the bad news that “it’s time to leave” doesn’t land well. Watching me try to visit with someone and suffer interruption after interruption. She knows how frail I am. She simply said “I think if I had to be here all the time…I would just make it my sanctuary.” Somehow that statement laid on me like a healing balm. She sees me. She knows me. She spoke to my soul. She recognizes that I already strive to make our home a sanctuary and likely just needed that encouragement…and she knew it wasn’t out of my reach to accomplish. After her words, I felt a renewed energy and I started committing to walking into each kids room when they are away at school and spending 10-15 minutes loving that absent child through my service. I make their bed. If they have a basket of their laundry on the floor I fold it. I put a house plant in each of their rooms and I water it and care for it. I open their blinds. I have made it an act of worship…to be present. I have chosen to love my children through my grief and sadness. I spend those moments considering how blessed I am and how Andy would love to spend even 10-15 more minutes just loving on his 2 boys. I have chosen to take that time…even when deep in grief…being intentional. It also helps ease the fact that they are all growing up so fast and some days I don’t see some of them for more than a few minutes.
A few weeks ago I popped my head into Flynn’s (17) room to say goodnight. He mentioned, “Thanks for always making my bed mom…”. I said “oh, you’re welcome. The way I see it, you’re too old to ‘tuck in’…and making your bed feels like the grown up version of tucking you in. It’s just a way to say ‘I love you’ without saying it.” This grown man who goes around dead lifting 265 pounds and drives everyone to school and runs to the grocery store for the family and gets up at 5 to go to the gym because it’s too crowded and chaotic in the evenings and watches The Hobbit with his dad every chance he gets…it’s a privilege to make his bed.
Owen (12) got Out Of School Suspension yesterday for saying “Yo Bitch Ass!”…at one of his teachers. Naturally, he has a different story…says he was talking to his IPad…either way it’s not an appropriate way to speak in school…or maybe ever. I share this only to make very clear that our family is dynamic and we aren’t doing anything by any books and we have no idea what Owen is going through but middle school has proven to be close to breaking the boy and us as parent. We’re ready to pull him out and seek alternative education. Through tears I explained that he won’t be ours to parent in a mere 6 years…but right now our only job is to figure out what this kid needs to thrive. And it obviously isn’t present at the Lebanon Middle School. Between peer pressure and wanting to fit in so he doesn’t become a target (why does it seem like kids are nastier than ever right now…?) Chris and I feel considerably lost in parenting Owen. He’s different than the others and we’re blindly feeling our way through a dark valley. He’s a kid with a part time job and a great work ethic who would do anything for his friends who is our only kid who gets every family member a Christmas gift and needs external validation like no one I’ve ever known. He has a huge heart and wears it all out there on his sloppy sleeves. So he went to work with Chris today and we’ll just keep plugging away at figuring the boy out and letting him know we are on his team…even if it feels like a losing team.
Iris rolled in late from musical practice a few weeks ago and said something about how much she appreciates that I did her laundry. I told her that her words to me about making our home a sanctuary stuck with me and encouraged me. I told her that her presence brings me peace like no one else’s does. Her music. Her words. Her mindset. The way she expresses herself. Her laugh. When I’m in the kitchen late at night, picking up the slack for kids that haven’t done their chores…she abandons her schoolwork and comes along side me and lightens my load. She is a gift.
Noah (6) is home for the third day in a row with a fever. Today he’s more upbeat than the previous 2 days. I sat up in bed to see him outside my door on the 3rd floor landing. He had gotten Daisy (2) out of her crib and he helped her drape her blankey over her shoulders and stayed by her side as they walked down the steps together. I love watching him enjoy his role as the big brother.
Micah (14) just made the JV baseball team. He acts like it’s “stupid” and the only reason he made the team is because he’s “Flynn’s brother”. I told him “Who cares! You get to play baseball!” There were multiple kids who got cut and were crying because of it…kids that just want to play baseball. I’m hoping his perspective changes and the chip on his shoulder remedies itself…cause he’s a solid ball player and I’m excited to see him play this year. But we can’t really make others see themselves the way we see them. A hard pill to swallow as a parent. Their first scrimmage is this afternoon, and I’ll be there!
Max (8) is just a pleasure to be around and he’s smarter than any of my other kids were at his age and I think it’s because I’ve always said things like “You’ve got a big ol’ brain in that big ol’ head of yours…” and other such things referencing what a bright kid he’s always been. He desperately wants to fit in with Owen and his posse of neighborhood kids…but I think he’s smart enough to know what matters and to make good choices. Like getting off the trampoline when everyone on it is 3 times his size.
Daisy has been up my butt like no toddler before her! If she happens to find me seated in this house she runs to sit on me and wrap her little arm around my neck and she gives me these sloppy kisses that are nothing to envy! 😆. But I’m trying to enjoy it and I’m trying to focus on what an opportunity I’m given to teach her love and patience and kindness and general goodwill towards others. She’s my shadow right now and I’m keeping that in the front of my mind while I go about my day. My little leach. A true sponge.
Just writing about my beautiful distractions has helped me through this day already. I don’t know what I would do without them. They are an overwhelming force to be reckoned with…and it turns out that I need just that to keep me from wallowing for too long.
And so today, I cried as much as my tear ducts would allow and then I went off to make beds and water plants and put cereal away and rotate laundry and read a book to a kid and start some dinner prep and let my life be an intentional act of creativity…creating a sanctuary for joy and laughter and grief and pain and anger and happiness and failure and success and LIFE to flourish. Some days it’s an unrecognizable mess and it’s hard to understand how it got that way…and it’s out of our control. But what I can do is continue to control what is mine to control. My intention. My thoughts. My life. My sanctuary.
Thanks for witnessing me.
