It had been a tough week for
Haden. He struggled to complete his school work each day, and I discovered
several assignments that he had just “forgotten” to do. I had to repeat
directions to him several times before he was able to complete a task. He shared
with me that he had to ask his swim coach several times what the set was because
he could not remember. “Mom, I can’t even stay focused enough to count my laps,”
he revealed to me after swim practice one day. I tried to be patient, but by
Friday, my patience was running thin. Nevertheless, I did not want to upset
Haden. He had his second degree black belt test coming up on Saturday, and I
knew he was feeling the pressure to perform well. “We’ll talk about it next
week,” I thought. “It can wait.” Yes, it was a difficult week.
Saturday arrived and although
Haden seemed rather melancholy, I attributed it to stress. However, as we were
preparing to walk out the door to drive to his belt test I noticed that he
looked rather downcast. Had I been too harsh with him concerning his lack of
focus? He was sitting in a chair in the breakfast area. I approached him and
leaned over and hugged him. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been extremely patient with
you this week. You’re a great kid and sometimes I’m not the greatest mom.”
Suddenly, it was as if a pipe had
broken. Haden started trembling in my arms. He was sobbing, deep guttural sobs
that wracked his whole body. “I want Dad!” he moaned when he finally caught his
breath. And then again, like a broken record, he repeated his wish. “I want
Dad!” He was completely broken. I had not heard him cry with such terrible
aching since the day Woody had died. Tears filled my eyes and my heart was
broken in two, but I knew that now was not the time. I had to be strong. He
needed to feel my steadfast comfort.
I rubbed Haden’s back and held
him tightly. “I know, sweetheart, I know. It sucks! We will always want your
daddy here, always.” I grew silent and listened to the moans of a child in deep
agony. I prayed over him, pleading with God to give this precious child peace
and to relieve his pain. It was brutal and though I wanted to fall on the floor
in a heap with him, I couldn’t. I had to be his strength and God would have to
be mine.
After about ten minutes, the sobs
ceased. I gently wiped the tears from his face with my fingers and kissed him
on the forehead. “You ready to go?”
“Yes.” I told Haden that I truly
believed that God would allow Woody to see him as he tested for his second
degree black belt. Yet, I knew it wasn’t the same as having Woody there beaming
with pride and then afterwards giving Haden one of his big bear hugs. But,
unfortunately, it is all we are left with—the hope that he is watching from the
spiritual realm.
I know we have so many more of
these milestone moments to endure; and I know each will be as painful to bear
as this one. I also know that in a week or two the grief that I had to suppress
in that moment will hit me, and I will struggle to get out of bed and wonder
why I’m still here. But I also know that just like on Saturday, God will
somehow carry us through these valleys and keep us standing. Perhaps it will
never get easier; but as one of my sisters stated, we will grow stronger and—with
God’s help—we will persevere.
