Conversation between me and my seven year old....
Me: Are we going to talk about that really bad thing I did?
CMC: What bad thing?
Me: You know when I got mad, really, really mad...
CMC: Oh, that...
Me: Did you forget or are you choosing to forget?
CMC: (No answer)
Me: (long pause and two right turns later) I'm lost.
CMC: How are you lost?
Me: I'm just lost. I can't seem to find my way. I'm so sad and I've been sad for so long that it just makes me mad, which is kind of crazy because the reason I'm mad in the first place is because of sad and remembering I'm sad just makes me sad all over which just makes me mad....(pause)....which...is...just crazy.
CMC: It's crazy. (very quiet voice) I feel sad too and it makes me mad and I kick my brother in the face.
Me: Maybe you and I should do something since we're both sad and we've been sad for so long and it just makes us mad that we're so sad all the time.
CMC: Like what?
Me: Pull our hair and scream together? Or maybe we can line up the pillows on the couch and punch them. I don't think kicking your brother is a solution.
CMC: No. Maybe we can box on the Wii or punch the air.
Me: No. I think we need to hit something. Oh, I know, maybe we can use daddy's boxing mitt and hit that!
At which point he got quite excited and his mind wander off in a totally different direction. He's only seven. I can't expect him to carry on a longer conversation than that. He helped my grief explode. It shouldn't have because I'm the adult. But in talking to him about it, I think it helped him identify his own grief. I hate the fact that I can't make it better for him any more than I can for me.
A few hours later....after sharing our idea with his father....
CMC: Maybe we can spend time together. Maybe that can help us not be sad.
Hot damn! To think I gave birth to him. He's wiser beyond his years. Maybe it's not a bad idea. How does he know me so well? How the hell do we go head to head? He's me and I'm him. Life is odd and God really does have a sense of humor. He built the perfect version of me that I always wished I could be. I'm not sure how this parenting thing is supposed to work because all I learned from my parents is that parents are supposed to tell their kids how it works. It has worked to an extent but I think this kid is unique. He taught me more, impacted my life in ways I never imagined and for the better in his seven years on this earth than anyone I have ever known. Impressive that he has done that while simultaneously pissing me off as he gets older.
Then he does things that completely blows my mind. He took his brother's glass because he wanted the last of the ginger ale. I told him he shouldn't take it but ask. Which he reluctantly did. His brother, adoring him completely, just gave him the glass. Seeing my attempt to impart a lesson about sharing fall completely flat, I decided to tell him that he should save the last for the one he loves.
Without missing a beat he replies, "Jesus? I love Jesus." Now it makes sense why he understands me. I have been blessed to have a son who shares something very important with me, the deep abiding love I have to Jesus.
I don't want to be mad. I am tired of being sad. There is life all around and I want to live it. I'm done accepting this sadness. I had the love of my parents my whole life. They are gone. It's time to strengthen the bonds of other loves and move on. All it take is faith the size of a mustard seed. My son's mustard seed sized faith has tossed me a lifeline, I just have to now grab a hold of him and pull us both to the shore.
Me: Are we going to talk about that really bad thing I did?
CMC: What bad thing?
Me: You know when I got mad, really, really mad...
CMC: Oh, that...
Me: Did you forget or are you choosing to forget?
CMC: (No answer)
Me: (long pause and two right turns later) I'm lost.
CMC: How are you lost?
Me: I'm just lost. I can't seem to find my way. I'm so sad and I've been sad for so long that it just makes me mad, which is kind of crazy because the reason I'm mad in the first place is because of sad and remembering I'm sad just makes me sad all over which just makes me mad....(pause)....which...is...just crazy.
CMC: It's crazy. (very quiet voice) I feel sad too and it makes me mad and I kick my brother in the face.
Me: Maybe you and I should do something since we're both sad and we've been sad for so long and it just makes us mad that we're so sad all the time.
CMC: Like what?
Me: Pull our hair and scream together? Or maybe we can line up the pillows on the couch and punch them. I don't think kicking your brother is a solution.
CMC: No. Maybe we can box on the Wii or punch the air.
Me: No. I think we need to hit something. Oh, I know, maybe we can use daddy's boxing mitt and hit that!
At which point he got quite excited and his mind wander off in a totally different direction. He's only seven. I can't expect him to carry on a longer conversation than that. He helped my grief explode. It shouldn't have because I'm the adult. But in talking to him about it, I think it helped him identify his own grief. I hate the fact that I can't make it better for him any more than I can for me.
A few hours later....after sharing our idea with his father....
CMC: Maybe we can spend time together. Maybe that can help us not be sad.
Hot damn! To think I gave birth to him. He's wiser beyond his years. Maybe it's not a bad idea. How does he know me so well? How the hell do we go head to head? He's me and I'm him. Life is odd and God really does have a sense of humor. He built the perfect version of me that I always wished I could be. I'm not sure how this parenting thing is supposed to work because all I learned from my parents is that parents are supposed to tell their kids how it works. It has worked to an extent but I think this kid is unique. He taught me more, impacted my life in ways I never imagined and for the better in his seven years on this earth than anyone I have ever known. Impressive that he has done that while simultaneously pissing me off as he gets older.
Then he does things that completely blows my mind. He took his brother's glass because he wanted the last of the ginger ale. I told him he shouldn't take it but ask. Which he reluctantly did. His brother, adoring him completely, just gave him the glass. Seeing my attempt to impart a lesson about sharing fall completely flat, I decided to tell him that he should save the last for the one he loves.
Without missing a beat he replies, "Jesus? I love Jesus." Now it makes sense why he understands me. I have been blessed to have a son who shares something very important with me, the deep abiding love I have to Jesus.
I don't want to be mad. I am tired of being sad. There is life all around and I want to live it. I'm done accepting this sadness. I had the love of my parents my whole life. They are gone. It's time to strengthen the bonds of other loves and move on. All it take is faith the size of a mustard seed. My son's mustard seed sized faith has tossed me a lifeline, I just have to now grab a hold of him and pull us both to the shore.
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