On the Eve of Another Birthday

This morning I held my man child in my arms while he sobbed. “I’ll never get to do anything with my dad again,” he wailed as I tried unsuccessfully to soothe him. You see, tomorrow is Woody’s 47^th birthday, a day  we will not celebrate with him, just as we have not been able to celebrate his 44^th through his 46^th. The harsh reality of a life taken too soon slams us in the face every March 21, and there is no way to escape the pain. There are no justifications for a young man who was just a child when he lost his hero. There will never be an explanation good enough no matter how you wrap it up and redefine it. Yes, he has faith; and yes, he knows God is good, but this is not good. This aching for a daddy to help him find his way into adulthood is unbearable. I can offer little assistance in this area because I am not a man. Try as I might to be the best mother and father, I will always fall short. He needs his dad here, wrapping his strong arms around his shoulders and giving him advice about college, girls, and what the future might hold. I am inadequately equipped, I know that; and although I know God is on this journey with me there are moments when I feel terribly alone—moments like this morning as I watched my child sob.

But I continue on in faith, believing that someday this journey will not be so lonely and treacherous, believing that someday this heaviness will cease to exist and in its place peace will reside with comfort close by. Someday…we’re just not there yet.

Sixteen

Last night I cried myself to sleep. Tomorrow Haden turns 16, and the thought of celebrating another birthday without his daddy’s boisterous laughter and over the top antics was just too much to bear. Woody loved birthdays. Celebrations were his forte. And now, it’s just the two of us. Hunter and Haley are both away at school, and though I invited a friend to have birthday dinner with us and watch Haden open his gifts, I know it was a poor substitution

.

I often wonder how Haden truly feels. He was so close to his dad. He admired him so deeply. Of all my children, Haden is the most like Woody. He is sensitive and empathetic; selfless and kind. He rarely speaks about Woody and the day he died. He has buried that day beneath a mountain of rock. It’s as if Woody is on a permanent vacation. However, what can I expect? That day was too horrific. How can I expect him to deal with the emotions of watching his dad fall like a rag doll over 100 feet until his head smashed into a tree stump? How can I ask him to talk about the terror of holding his dad on the side of a mountain for over an hour watching him slowly die, with injuries too gruesome to adequately articulate? No, we will not bring up that day. It is better to deny its existence and deal with the loss.

I know Haden’s faith is what holds him together. He is so firmly rooted. Not once has he doubted God’s love or faithfulness. However, that doesn’t take away the pain. So, Haden swims and throws himself into a sport he has grown to love. Rather than striking out, he works on his strokes. In the pool he forgets and convinces himself that he is just like any other swimmer. There he has found physical relief for the emotional pain that haunts him daily.

And I watch and I wish desperately that Woody were here with me to see the young man Haden is becoming and the progress he has made. All the success in the world cannot replace an amazing dad, but perhaps it makes the grief more bearable.

Sixteen. I pray that God brings Haden healing and hope in this year of his life. I pray that I can be the mother he needs in order for him to grow into the man that God desires him to be. I know there will be many more tears, but perhaps this year there will be more laughter.