Milestone Moments

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.

An Open Letter to Cameron Sterling

I am stunned. My heart is broken for a 15 year old boy who had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. My mind races back to a day 14 months ago when my 14 year old son had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. And, no, the circumstances are not similar, but the loss and heartache are. As I view the video of Cameron Sterling standing next to his mother in his bright horizontally striped shirt, pulling up the collar to hide his face and somehow squelch the sobs, I am overtaken with pain as I watch him succumb to the sorrow and sob into a male relative’s arms.

Cameron, I am SO sorry! No young man should experience this kind of pain. This next year will be horrific as you walk through the fog of grief. You may block it from memory and refuse to acknowledge the pain, as my son has done; or you may engage in self-harm, as another child of mine has done. No matter what you do, the pain will stab at your heart and sting your eyes. The void will grow larger as you realize the gravity of your loss the next time you want to call or text your dad and realize he’s not there. More than anything, I wish I could wrap my arms around you and hug away the agony that grips you so tightly. I pray that through all of this you know that you have a heavenly Father who defends the orphan. He will be your Father and love you unconditionally. He alone understands the depth of your sorrow. My son and I are praying for you; and unfortunately, we know how to pray. We know what this year will look like for you and your siblings, and that is why we will not cease our prayers.

I will say this: although Cameron and Haden are the same age and have experienced a similar loss, it is not the same. Haden—a white male—does not have to worry about racial profiling. He walks down the streets of the city without fear from the police. I can honestly say that Cameron will never know that sense of peace. How many more lives must be lost before a black man can walk through the city with the same confidence as a white man?