Great Things

So the big race was last weekend! Tim and 11 other family members and friends ran a 199 mile relay in Jack's memory, and generous supporters donated 150 Lego sets to seriously ill children in the hospital. Thank you so much for your support! It was super hard to go into the Lego store for the first time without Jack, but I did it. I know that's not as hard as running almost 200 miles in the sweltering heat, or in the middle of the night, or up an almost vertical hill, but it was something for me.

As the racers gathered at our house before the race on Thursday afternoon, a bird flew into the kitchen! Through the garage, into the kitchen, and right onto the window ledge. There's a picture of it on the An Inch of Gray Facebook page if you want to see the little guy. It was calm. After a few moments, it flew out again. I couldn't help but think that our rare bird was stopping by to give his stamp of approval on the weekend to come.

The weather was much hotter and the course much hillier (mountainous!) than everyone expected, but the runners dug deep and finished strong. Way to go, Team Jack's Lanterns!

I want to tell you something my sister, Liz, shared with me yesterday. She is quite the runner, using her running as therapy and prayer time after Jack's death. Each time she runs a race in his honor, she safety pins a laminated photo of him to her back and takes off.

After each race, she likes to take a look at her bib number to see if there is anything significant she can learn from it in her Bible. For instance, if her bib number were #413, she might think of Margaret's favorite verse, Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." This might lead her to consider the ways in which God strengthens her, too.

This time, the team had the race number 149 on their bibs. This didn't stand out to Liz as significant or remind her of any special verse, so when she went to her Bible, she decided to go to Jack's favorite verse, Luke 1:37, "For nothing is impossible with God" and keep reading in case there was a Luke 1: 49.

There was.

 "For the mighty one is holy and
He has done great things for me."

Once again, Liz felt that her Jackie Boy was close, so close, because that verse sounds very similar to a line from Jack's Psalm of Thanksgiving that he wrote in 6th grade and is on the back of the prayer cards we handed out at his service. I want to share it with you today:


A Psalm of Thanksgiving
by Jack Donaldson

God, You are good,
Your goodness extends beyond
the bonds of eternity.

God, You have done great things,
Helping many in times of need.

God, you have done great things for me,
You have helped me in times of struggle.

God, You are merciful.
Sacrificing Your only Son for our life.
God, You are powerful,
You reign supreme over all of the nations,

God, You care about me,
Your love endures forever.


Even though it's hard to see it sometimes, God did do great things for Jack in his short life. And He still does great things for me. Many days I can see this, and that is good.

Choices

 

I have no control over what happened to Jack. I can only control my reaction to it. I used to whine to my mom about my sister, “Mom, Liz makes me so mad!” Mom’s annoying response was always the same, “No one can make you mad. You choose how to react.” I knew it was true, and I’m sure she did to, but that calm philosophy didn’t always work for me, and it didn’t keep Mom herself from crying in the car when the three of us kids pushed her right over the edge. “I’m just so upset! I’m sorry I yelled at you kids. I know I don’t have a u-ter-us anymore, but if I did have a u-ter-us”-- weep, gasp, snuffle—“I think maybe I’d be men-stru-a-ting right now.”

Not sure what was worse, seeing my mom cry, or having her discuss lady parts in front of my brother.  Another day we sat lined up 1-2-3 on the brown tweed couch in the living room. “I want to talk to you about something very natural called “nocturnal emissions.” They are a normal part of getting older and are nothing to be ashamed of.” I’m sure my brother wanted to crawl under the couch and die. I was confused and would spend a few years wondering if I was ever going to get what mom had told us could also be called, “A Wet Dream.”

I read a quote from a blogger Jennifer Boykin: “I am responsible for everything that stays in my life.” It reminds me of my mother telling me I can choose how to react. But to the death of my son? Hmmm. I don’t feel like there are a lot of choices here.  Sure, I chose to stay positive after my mom died when I was a teenager. I  had pushed through as “brave,” and “strong,” and "positive." I dealt with the painful secondary losses of other important relationships that followed. Sometimes I felt very much alone.

I yearned for big family reunions and multi-generational beach trips, and someone to watch my babies so I could take a class, get my hair colored, or sleep. But I knew that my ultimate goal was to have a family and be a mom, the kind of imperfectly wonderful my mom was to me. And I got that. Jack and Margaret helped redeem that early, painful loss.

It hasn’t really felt like I’ve had much of a choice in how to react since Jack’s death. It’s been more like a “hang the hell on and don’t get sucked so far into the depths that I can’t get out” kind of thing.

But I guess there always is a choice, and this path, whatever it is I’m choosing-- whether it’s called being positive, clinging to joy, or whatever-- beats the alternative.

I think of our traditional Christmas Eve movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life” and I’m taken aback by Old Mrs. Bailey who has lost her only son to an accident. She has always seemed scary, bitter, shriveled and a bit wild to me. And I know that's an option.

But I do not choose that. Not today at least.

What do you choose today?

If You Give a Mom a Muffin...

Thank you so much for your loving and supportive comments this week. They meant so much to me! And my sister... And my brother... And... I am grateful for you.

As I write posts, I wonder how much detail to go into. How much is too much for my readers? For me? Each day has its share of good and bad,  and in that small way they remind me of the long, long days of early parenthood. A glimpse of grace here and there, likely in the form of a toothless smile or the bright sunshine. A battle of wills at naptime. Worries and weariness. Up-down. High-low.

In the most ordinary of days, there are moments of hope, delight and despair.

This is also true for grieving families, as much as any day can be considered ordinary any more.

And we come to dread holidays, like Mother's Day, knowing they'll be harder than most. Which they are.

But what of any given Friday in May? What is that like?

When little boys in baseball uniforms spring up all over town like May flowers? And it's field day at the kids' school and siblings are always on the same teams, but I put Margaret, in her yellow t-shirt, into the car alone? When I  pick her up and see Jack's friends, and get my much needed hugs from them, but I realize with shock that they are taller, their voices deeper, and 8th grade graduation is just days away. Eighth grade! When seeing their beautiful moms, my friends, should be a welcome sight, but our relationships are so tinged by loss now that my grief starts to feel like something akin to shame. And I shrink away. And back in the neighborhood, with the bright sun shining down, and the kids playing kickball in the cul de sac, the sounds of laughter bring me no joy? Or a Friday night, spent painting the kitchen, in which I remove our family motto that has guided us all these years, even though it has never been more true than it is today?

And I take down our chalkboard family schedule, preserved on the pantry door, which has been there since the worst week of our lives, a "Thursday" once cheerfully but now ominously blank?

Do I write about these things?

How I thought I was throwing away old plastic bags in the basement and realized, with a sharp intake of breath, that they were Jack's boy scout ponchos? And I marvel at their small size. And remember when rainy days meant fun and joy and celebration. Until they didn't.

And in between all of these things are Margaret's laughter that her team tied for last place. And belting out a new Miranda Lambert song together in the car. And Tim's homemade pizza. And watching "The Middle" on the DVR. And a bird at my office window saying hello.

And going to sleep to the loud booms of thunder and noting it, but not being terrified of it any longer.

If you give a mom a muffin, she can take you through the highs and lows of any "ordinary" day.

*****
Love this video of Jack and Margaret IN the pantry! Less than a minute long, and oh so cute!