Done Deal 9-22

Today has been one of the hardest days of my life. Back in the '50's (?) Ray Bradbury wrote a story titled "Last Night of the World." I have stolen very liberaly his idea in this post.

It's not like it should have caught us by surprise. There had been rumblings and threats and promises made for the past year and a half. Each time I would call my friends and pray and fret and worry. And each time, after time, the threat would go away. But last spring things became different. There was more influence than before saying, "You need to get him back." So, this time, the threats became real. 

The last week...the last night...the last morning. How do you deal with those terrible milestones? I considered taking him out of school and just having the biggest Skip Day ever. I considered doing something over-the-top crazy fun. 

Know what we did? We went to school at the usual time. We read our Bible story as usual. We ate supper together as usual. I tucked him into bed as usual. 

And, last night, I followed that pattern. That is what is best for our Luke. To keep his life, which is about to go into upheaval mode, as normal as possible. 

There were lots of tears by both of us as I lay down with him last night. 

"I will always love you. If anyone tells you I don't love you, what do you say?" (It's a lie.)

"If anyone tells you that we didn't want you, what do you say?" (It's a lie.)

"You will have so much fun living with Mommy and Nick. You'll have your room and your baby sister and new friends." 

"Why does she get to decide?"

"Will I ever get to come visit?"

"Will I ever get to see the brothers?"

"If you ever visit our church, please, please, please come and find us."

"We'll see you in 13 sleeps..."

Then, after we had tucked him, Loy and I had more and more tears. My friend, Debbie, says tears get the sad out. I'm hoping so.  

"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book."--Psalm 56:8  I don't think a bottle will do it this time...God, you'd better get a bucket.

This morning was the regular "Donut Day" for Loy and Luke. Then they were home and we sat around and waited. I'll admit, I was a coward. Ten minutes before I expected they would be here to take him from us, I said my "good byes" went for a walk. It was no wonderful, sentimental good bye. He was feeling the stress and was really ornery. He told Loy, later, that he was prickly. 

And they loaded his desk, his shelves, his table (that we uncrafty people made for him), and boxes of his stuff--much more than he came to us with--into a truck and drove away. 

I don't wish them failure. I don't wish that he becomes a juvenile delinquent because he doesn't have my influence. I don't wish him to pine away for me. 

Now, on a practical note, my way of dealing with sadness is to clean. I'm about to go reorganize Luke's bedroom and bathroom and clean it until it shines!! 

I just wish he was back in his little bed in his room. My boy. Always my boy. I love you, Luke.

Breathe In. Breathe Out. Move On. 9-24

So, now what? I feel at odds trying to figure out just what I'm supposed to be feeling now. A person just CANNOT sit around and cry forever--at least this person can't. But I don't want to minimize how terrible the recent events have been by just moving on and laughing and joking.

Luke is my first thought in the morning and my last thought at bed. He wasn't that when he was living here! I try and think of those thoughts as reminders to pray for him.

I could make myself crazy trying to imaging "What is he doing now? Is he OK? Is he sleeping good? Who will notice when his little face gets "that look" that means he's sad?" Yep. I could make myself crazy.

Church yesterday was tough. After the service I asked the music pastor if he was trying to kill me. We decided that when you're going through something, almost every song appears to be written straight for you. I could croak out some of the songs...I wanted to proclaim that, even now I know that God is faithful. Thank you, Adeana, for coming up to stand by me! I will forever remember that kindness.

Moving on, I am a Grammy again. Alexis and Corey have taken in an 18-year-old boy, Enock, from Ghana. He's been in the US for three years but needed a new place to live, so they are assuming responsibility of him. Corey knew him when he worked in a Ghanan orphanage about three years ago. They have hosted him for two days but, so far, so good.

I called this blog "Remembering to Fly." I had a reason...really.

Loy and I were married when we were 20 and 21. Then, three years later we began our wonderful family. Four kids in five years. (And, yes, they were all planned. We wanted them close.) (And, no, Grant, Paul was NOT an accident.)  Anyhow, we had all these kids and their activities and were fully immersed in parenting mode. We purposely had them all by 30 so that we would be 48 when they were all gone and we could have our empty nest.

Then in 2008, four months before this empty nest I was diagnosed and treated for breast cancer. It put quite a shadow on Paul's senior year. After graduation we arranged for Paul to live at NWU with his brothers since our house was not exactly a happening place at the time. We were going to bed by 9:00 p.m. and I layed (laid?) on the couch...alot.

That fall we hosted a wonderful family of eight, the Zach's, at our house for six weeks while they waited to buy a house. It convinced me that I could easily live a communal life! After they left, we had approximately two months, then we got Luke.

So we haven't really had an extended "Empty Nest." I have concentrated on getting the baby birds fed and bathed. I have rearranged the twigs in our next again and again. Now that it's just us, I need to remember that there even is such a thing as flying. Time to stretch out and be me.

I know, I know. I'm being terribly hokey. But, it makes sense to me.

If I just wasn't so sad right now...

God, watch over my Luke. Keep him close, oh so close, to You always. Protect him. Give him a sense of the love that You (and I) have for him.

Thank you for friends who care for us and pray for us and sit with us at church and pick us up to take us places. Thank you that we know You love us.

Heal our broken hearts. Give us a sense of joy again. Draw Loy and I closer over this loss.

And, help us remember what it means to fly.

Starts Out Sad...

Hello,

The past five years or so have been really hard ones for me. . . cancer, leaving for England, getting Luke, and now losing Luke. One thing I have discovered is that the way I process things is to write about them. Some crazy people have said that they like to read what I write, so I've started a new blog to journal all this, if you're interested.

Anyhow, almost four years ago we got our little Lukie. He was naughty...so naughty. I remember the first rest time I put him in. When I came to "release" him he had overturned his night stand and toys were everywhere. Another time he took all the knobs off his dresser. Or the time he snuck out into the garage during rest time and was playing in the Loy's jeep when Loy came home. He hightailed it back to his bedroom but left his shoes and a few toys in the jeep, so we caught him. 

He cried out during the night every night...not waking up, just crying. When I went in his room he wouldn't wake up. Just cried. The only thing that consoled him was to sit in my lap and I sang. And sang.

There were many days when he sat on my lap and we sang. Song after song. For hours. 

I remember the "Poopy Trophy." That coveted award was presented after someone went five days without pooping in his pants. He's still got it sitting on his desk.

We would take long walks. He'd walk or run beside me as I pushed the jogging stroller. Then, when he got tired, he'd climb in and eat the snack that was waiting for him. After a rest he'd get out and finish the walk.

We've sat at the dining table and played dominoes or Labrynth or UNO. I can do a 100-piece puzzle with the best of them (although I always saved the last 5 or so pieces for him to do). We've played Play-dough, although I'm terrible. I can only make snakes or balls. 

I've sent him to time out, sent him to his room, and, on occasion, spanked that little bottom. I've sat in the audience during graduations and programs and sports events. 

I've gotten in bed with him at night and played "The Question Game." How many times have I answered what animal I like best or what kind of car I would like to drive?

I think back to those times, then compare him to the confident, funny, obedient kid he is now. He still can be naughty and sassy. He still does things that drive me crazy. He still has much, much energy to burn. 

I love him. He's my boy. 

So, last Tuesday when the gavel struck and the judge said, "Guardianship is terminated." it was the beginning of the end. My little boy is leaving us. Saturday. Two days away. And I don't know how I can even pretend to do this.

Right now I can see nothing good of this. It hurts...terribly. I cry often. But I know that I know that God is here. That there must be some crazy plan that He knows. I don't always feel this in my heart, but my head knows. 

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways," says the Lord. "For as the heavens are higher than the earth so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." That verse is written on the huge chalkboard in my kitchen. At the bottom are three little words, written in 1st grade handwriting...

"I Love Mom."

I love you too, Lukie. Always will.