Fragile

I thought it was morning and I had slept through the alarm and baby beau was here. 

When I heard the music of the phone it took me waking seconds to realize it was her song.  And there it was - in only the time it takes a heart to beat or a breath to leave - that knowledge.  That fear.  It comes so quick and it has come so often it surprises me that it startles anew each time.  But it does.  Startles me into awareness of fragile things. 

Her number was above 400 and I remain calm and we talk each other through a few moments while we wait for it to come down.
 

Can I tell you a secret? 

 

I used to practice staying calm.  When I was alone I would practice words out loud.  Rehearse the words that would assure her while I was near to a panic but practice out loud so she wouldn't see.

But I don't think it worked. 

I think she saw and sees through me.

It seems silly.  To practice staying calm. To sit in bed at night and practice words out loud because that was the only time quiet all day and I couldn't sleep anyway.

And I sit here tonight watching the clock tick time away.  Four more minutes before I can call again for the third fifteen minutes and see what sugar is.  Sugar.  What a strange word for what could take my child any day at any time.

 

Bring it down Jesus bring it down Jesus bring it down Jesus.

Two more minutes.

One more minute.

There's a little hole in the wall at the children's clinic.  Not very big, just big enough for a phone on a tiny shelf and a seat for mamas whose knees aren't holding.  He took me to it and told me to call her daddy so he could come.  And holding that phone, wetness between the receiver and my face, I said the word for the first time. 

And that began what was another first day of the rest of my life.

I just waited an extra four minutes.  Made myself keep typing while eyes kept shifting to that little clock at the corner of the screen and made myself believe she had fallen asleep and that is why her song wasn't playing.

And she had.  Number now 385 an hour later and why does it take so long to come down? 

I tell her I love her and she says I love you, Mama.  Instinct causes my other hand to reach for my phone as if I could touch her face through it.  Shouldn't a mama's touch heal?

I hang up and there it is.  That nagging little thought I fight to pray aside. 

 

Don't let it go too low Jesus don't let it go too low Jesus don't let it go too low Jesus.

Now I'll go to bed and resist the urge to call several more times and sleepless nights were easier when her head lay only feet from mine.

Thank you, Jesus, that she calls.  Thank you that she still needs me.  Thank you that I could call my mama right now if I needed to.  Thank you for each day of the last fourteen years and for the gift that is Delia.  I realize it.  I recognize it. And I thank you.

When You Watch Their Moment Unfold . . .

I don't remember everything about my children clearly.  I don't remember the moment Delia was born and I don't remember her first steps.  I do remember how her finger curled around mine when she slept and how she ended all her first words on a high octave note - sing-song style. 

I planned her first birthday party for weeks, probably months.  She wasn't walking yet and when she held my finger and toddled in the room - birthday crown perched on top of that silk blondness - I think I felt like the most important person in the world - being her mama. Oh, the pride.

What followed were birthdays at the park and the pool and the western ranch and with each one I could close my eyes and remember how hair silk felt each time I tied ribbon.

But with all that goodness I will never need to ask her favorite birthday.  Because I love a man, so I know exactly what she would say.

Concerns are natural for a mama at a time like this.  It's not personal or protection or hovering or any of the adjectives one could give it.  It's just natural.  But there is something about harboring a secret that your baby love is moments away from experiencing one of the happiest moments of her life that pushes that back into the far corners of the mind.

Everyone was pretty much giddy all night trying to keep the secret.  Her birthday was celebrated in its normal grand style - at Nana's house side by side with whom she had always shared birthdays with.  Sometimes it's easy for her to forget he's her uncle because he's always her friend.  And to me, he's always ten.

With a Chick-fil-a diet coke and seeing a new house seperating her from us we all hid in the bushes.  Yes.  Yes. We. Did.  We hid in the bushes.  And I prayed.  In those moments I prayed for that young man I love that will be my son.  I watched him pace the deck and knew seconds must be feeling like minutes and minutes like hours and knew that he knew she'd say yes but what does that feel like?  To already have lost your heart but still feel it quickly beating while you wait to do what makes you a man?

And I knew she had been trying to wait patiently until the moment was perfect for him.  And I was in on this little secret and I tried not to close my eyes and feel the silk and tie the ribbon because I'm still not sure they know that tears don't always come because of what my darlins' are doing in the moment - tears sometimes come just because of the moment. No one understands bittersweet more than a Mama.

He made it lovely for her and I watched the moment unfold and didn't need to see her face to know her joy.

 

 

And in that moment there were no flashbacks of ribbons and crowns and candles and hair that felt like silk. 

For in that moment I was back to before baby girl.  I was sitting on the floor of my childhood home when laughter turned into the moment he pulled me close and asked words I didn't expect.  Back to when I laughed and asked him if he was serious.  Back to when I wasn't in on the secret and our moment was spontaneous and beautiful and I asked him to ask me again.  Back to when I said yes and kissed a smile I'll never forget and began a life that led me to here.

And here is beautiful.  And the pride, oh my.

When I Absolutely Must Travel Back In Time

I've really messed up.  I can blame it on this medication taken for over a year that I think has completely zapped me of my creativity. Found out today it's even been called the dumb pill.

But, whatever the reason whatever the cause my writing on this white space has suffered from a bad case of nothing.

I know how angry I'm going to be with myself, when I cannot look back on the planning of this wedding and the announcement of another and the police being called on my baby boy and not remember.  Though I doubt I'll forget the last one.

I'm going to be doing a little rewinding. 

He's Too Good To Me has a remote control the girls gave him for Christmas a few years ago that cost sixty dollars.  Be still my heart I remember thinking.  A sixty dollar remote?  But right now I'd pay whatever I could get my hands on for a remote that would rewind and fill this space for the last year.

So, I'm going to be doing a little rewinding.

Last night she stood in front of her daddy with the dress on.  All the altering done and the last payment made and the first time he had seen.  I felt his knee press against me a little bit but I dared not look his way.  Everytime she puts it on I pinch the bridge of my nose to stop the tears.  I tell them - Mamas just get teary sometimes, they don't have to have a reason. But there is a reason and it has wound itself around my heart.  I know this is the beginning of a new life and a new relationship and I'm so proud of her and happy for her and I do remember how it feels and I wouldn't take that feeling from her for the world - breathe - but where did the days go?

So I'll be rewinding to catch back the last six months.  Tomorrow it will be July and he'll be down on one knee.  Travel back with me, okay?  Hold my hand while I squeeze my nose - k?

No Maybe About It . . . His Name is Max

Maybe he thinks I will forget how to spell his name.

 

Maybe his eyesight is poor and he thinks I can wear his shirts and he wants to discourage me from doing so.

 

Maybe he just wants to remind me who he is.

 

 

 

Maybe I should never turn my back on him and a permanent marker?

 

Oh boy, boy, boy.

When There Is Only One Thing That Matters Now and Only One Thing That Will Matter Later

I remember I thought the beautiful brown stainings on all the moldings of the church and the orange carpet didn't match gray paint.

I thought it was ugly.  Cold gray against the warmth of the other?  I thought it was ugly.

And I said so.  I was just several years out of school with my design degree and young enough to think that should count for something.  It didn't.

It's been close to twenty years and I can't remember what I said.  I can't remember what she said.  I just remember one thing - I'm not proud of how I acted. 

And I say this to her as she cries through the phone.  When I want to reach out and touch her and hold her to me and hear the heart that beat closest to mine before any others. 

Years from now, baby, when all of this is only a bad memory, there is only one thing that will matter.  It won't matter what anyone said,  who talked about you and who didn't,  who hurt you and who didn't.  There is only one thing that will matter.  How you acted.  When you remember this you will only remember how you acted.

Trust me.  I know.

So I tell her it is okay.  I take a deep breath and remind myself that I would fight lions for her and I give her permission to take care of herself - not me.  To stop crying and stop thinking and stop fighting and be what I raised her to be.

Kind, loving, forgiving, respectful. 

And later I lie in the bed and remember the carpet and the paint and tell myself it doesn't matter what anyone thinks.  We're good and I know it.  I say -

Remember, Rie - if you'd fight lions for her you can do this.  You can do this.

She is the only thing that matters in this great big whole mess.  The only thing.


Ten years ago it was she - the one who ten years earlier had liked the gray paint - and I - the young disrespectful  one who didn't - that redecorated that lovely building from one end to the other.

She and I who redid everything - except the gray paint - together.  Who put down new carpet that makes gray and brown work and ate lunch together and shopped together and laughed together.  She who became one of the greatest mentors and friends I ever had. 

And eight years ago when I stood beside her grave and listened I thought about that.  Those good times.  I don't remember thinking about the argument, maybe I did, but I only remember looking at the flowers on her grave and knowing I would miss her.

Because- if you let it- time heals, baby girl, time heals.

Trust me, I know.

So today when more pain layers on I keep reminding myself - remember your lessons learned.  Remember God's grace displays in lessons learned.  Remember, you can't teach her what you won't do yourself.  Remember, Rie.  Remember.

She's A Very Blessed Little Girl

I lie straight in the bed and stare at the ceiling.

Mommy, I miss Daddy.

 

 

So do I, Maxter, so do I.  But, thank you for sleeping with me every night and protecting me.

This son of mine takes my hand and says -

 

I'll hold 'ou hand, Mommy.  I'll never ever let go.

I don't know where she is or who she is.

 

I don't know if she'll catch a bus for school tomorrow or wet her bed tonight or run to her parents from a scary dream.

 

I don't know if she likes blue popsicles or purple, or if she likes the crust cut off her sandwich or not.

But I am sure of one thing -

she's a very very lucky little girl.

(that is if she can get past him leaving on adventures to save the world from all the villans, and that he often misplaces his secret identity mask - and she'll have to find it - and that he likes to pee off the porch)

she's a very blessed little girl.

When The Only Reason Is Because My Father Says So

I told Sandra last night on the phone -

What if people think she doesn't love us - or worse - doesn't want us anymore?

What if they don't know that she stills comes over all the time?  That she still hugs me and tells me she loves me?  That she sends me messages like this one last night at 9:58 -

I love you mama, I'm going to sleep.  Goodnight!

What if they think that because I lie awake at night struggling so hard with accepting and the giving of a gift that she now belongs to others?

What if they don't know that she is her daddy.  Trusting, forgiving, accepting.  Wonderful.

What if they don't know that she believes in me, even when I have no idea what I'm doing and she gets caught in the crossfire.

And she listens and loves me through the phone and she tells me - No matter what, I stand with you.

But right now I have no idea where to stand.  I'm not all that great a choice right now.

And she loves me and baby girl loves me so why do I keep fighting tears?  Because now I know so much more than I knew Saturday morning.

That so many others don't love me.  Don't even like me.  Nauseating?

I hide in the office in the dark so if someone sees the light they won't know I'm in there.  I'm trying to figure out where I went so wrong and the Spirit tells me to be bold and I'm hiding and arguing that I think I'll be better off if I just always always stay so quiet.

And then I remember something I heard on tv just a few weeks ago.  I scribbled it down on white space so I could remember it later -

and now it's later.  It feels like forever since Saturday morning when I very gently hit the off button because I didn't know what to say, because I was at such a loss, because the pain was growing stronger by the second.  Because I was beginning to believe what she was saying.

So I search and I read what I wrote on the white space-

my father says i am.  i am capable, his child, accepted,  i may not feel like it, you may not see it but my father says i am

Then I go to bed without that little pill to stop my tears and tell myself that tomorrow I will just put one foot in front of the other.  And I know I'm wrong so often but I'll just keep putting that one foot in front of the other and reminding myself that the ones that love me are so much more than enough.

When Sandra Tucked Me In

I lie awake and wait for him.  It's not too late but late enough and this foot is screaming loud and I just want to kiss goodnight and roll over and sleep.

And then he asks me if I saw the email. 

The one from Sandra.

No,  do I need to read it tonight?

You might want to.

I close my eyes and lose a few moments before what he says registers and I open them to say ok but he's already on that 4 he loves.  He reads words that make all of the ache and soreness and unworthiness and pain of the day go away.  They remove the fear that I might wake up to the negative and the worry that she might wake up sick and the dread of what tomorrow brings in a home not looking like a home. 

The thoughts that I had moments ago of being incapable of functioning in an order of peace.  Of forgetting too much and remembering too much. Of wanting to pull out this hair that's been so unruly lately I stare in the mirror and try to figure out what to do with it and it is the only bad thing that son brought.

Words of loving me and owing me and thanking me.  Of my spirit and my heart and my knowledge.  Of me being her blessing. 

Words of love that come from a heart with much more room in it than mine.  From a mind that thinks of others quicker than mine does and plans unselfishly and stands in the rain with no umbrella.  That cries silly over things most take for granted and loves my kids unconditionally.

 

From a friend who puts me in my place like a sister and never cuts me off and knows better than to be ashamed around me. 

He looks at me and I laugh.  What does she want?  I joke because it wouldn't take much for tears to come tonight. 

 

Because just when I forgot to say my prayers and let Father God rescue me from my day He rescues me anyway.  With the gift of her.

 

With words beautiful coming from this crazy technology into my bed and wrapping me like a warm blanket. 

 

When my fourth sister tucked me in.

A Letter To My Darlins' - remember the maze?

 

Sometimes we just don't know what to do? 

And in front of us lies two paths.  And both paths will get us to that final destination that is our longing.  Our desire.

But which path we take will determine who we are.  And by one path we are guaranteed suffering.

 

And by one path we are promised peace through suffering.

Sometimes we forget to pray for wisdom.  We pour ourselves out to our Father and ask direction but then  forget to pray for the ability to discern.  In discerning you perceive and make judgements - based upon your wisdom.  And God grants  wisdom and with His love He delivers unto you two gifts.  The gift of just feeling - of intuition - of just knowing in heart that a path is wrong.

But my darlins', sometimes we just don't want to know that it is wrong.  Sometimes we just want to believe that it really isn't and it is only guilt brought on to us by outside forces that causes us to feel wrong.

And sometimes we are just okay with it being wrong - but we really aren't - are we?  Because our heart wouldn't hurt if we were really okay.

You were knitted in the womb by your Maker.  And in that knitting He intertwined your being to be in His image.  And in His image you recognize wrong by - may we say your gut feelings?

And in His love He delivered the second gift of knowledge acquired.  But even one acquires one's knowledge from a God that gifted us with a brain designed by Him.  Complicated and wired so we may - by grace - gain knowledge. 

So in front of us lies these two paths.  And in our heart lies this desire.  And in a world perfect as created there would only be one straight path to there.  But by sin there are now two.  And only by sin and seperation, for God cannot be where there is sin, will you walk the crooked path. 

With eyes upon Jesus we walk straight ahead.  But with eyes on this world we must make curves and turns and fall into and try to avoid ditches and holes and bumps and piles of wrecked and twistedness that blocks until we are then a wrecked wrong struggling broken person who forgot - or ignored - the prayer of wisdom.

Do you remember the maze from your childhoods that was dark and twisted and full of scares?  The maze we would work hard on one time a year to bring you and others laughter?  Remember the verses along the paths and the light at the end of the cardboard tunnel?  It was to bring you wisdom.  It was a way for me to show you to see and learn. It was a way I prayed one grand memory would help keep you out of the dark.

So you, you who are the hearts of my heart - do not listen to me or to your daddy. Seek out for yourself and you shall see because you belong.
If you want to be wise open yourself up to your Father - for He loves you. 

Seek out what is the truth and then be ready to accept it and follow it. Pay attention.

Far beyond your own abilities you will then be gifted - you will discern - and you will know what path to place that next step. 

 

And you begin new - fresh and forgiven - always so loved by your Jesus right where you are - trusting and believing you will be blessed. 

When I Don't Want Him To Know

Sometimes I think she's Izzy's personal taxi.  Actually, I know she is.

 So tonight I promised to take Emily home.  Way past my due.

 

It's dark and raining so he takes her - he really is too good to me.

 

I waited until he left to google Malaysia.

 

He'll be going in a couple of months.  There to build longhouses.

 

For 8943 days I've never been away from him for ten. 

Ten days on the other side of the world.

 

Little feet patter up and lean over my shoulder -

 

How safe is Mawasia? he reads.

 

Mommy, 'ou know Mawasia is safe.

 

And he runs to brush his teeth.

 

Now I hear in the back of the house a little tune -

 

How safe is Mawasia?  Oh, ohhhhh, how safe in Mawasia?

 

And I run to son and see him swiping imaginary sword into space of imaginary something and I say-

Hush, don't sing that.  Daddy will know I googled it.
 

What is it I don't want him to know?

 

How nervous I am?  How frightening the thought is of him being so far away?  Of him not being in America?

 

And I know this is a dream come true for him.  It would be for me.

 

Or maybe I don't want him to know how little my faith is?

 

How I'm already questioning is this right?  Him away so far?

Us being left without him?

How I wonder why my comfort can't be with him here beside me when I know there is no comfort in any place other than the place called?

For other than the place called only is restlessness.

For out of will is only restlessness and pieces missing and searching.

And I hear him stomping the rain off his shoes at the front door.  I hit the exit button and promise myself no more questioning.  No more fears of the unknown. 

For faith large only has to be as big as mustard seed.