About a year ago while leaving church walking blissfully
hand in hand with my muppet the silence between us was broken with a question.
“Mommy, when I become a daddy do I have to go to heaven?”
My heart sank. I knew that one-day questions such as these
would come from my innocent little boy. I just never expected them to come then
or with such forethought that his little tone had put behind it. You could tell
that it was something that weighted heavily on his little mind to the point
where he couldn’t hold it in anymore and needed answers to the thoughts that
bounced around in his head.
I always knew that Ethan and I were on opposing ends of the
grief scale and we would slowly move towards each other at a pace that was
comfortable for us both. And at some point our paths would cross and I just
prayed that that day would be one where my heart, mind and soul was at a place
of peace so that I could be there to answer those difficult questions of “why”,
“why him” and “what about me”? But this question threw me in a tilter
of emotional upheaval. I wasn’t expecting this now at such a tender age.
My child’s mind was filled with thoughts that the idea of
becoming a father and raising a child meant death… and that… broke my heart
into a million pieces that seemed almost impossible to pick up and glue back
together. My eye swelled with the tears of the possible answers that floated
through my head – I threw each one out because each one had flaws and I already
knew that with whatever answer I could word ever so perfectly it wouldn’t be
enough or right for Ethan.
I couldn’t say “No”, because in his thoughts his dad was
gone shortly after becoming a Daddy. I couldn’t say, “Yes” because, well for
obvious reasons. I thought about saying all families are different, but it
never really would answer HIS question.
While my mind quickly came up with answers and shot them
down Ethan stopped in his tracks and looked at me. “Mommy? Will I?”
“No” was the answer I choked out and hoped he couldn’t see
the tears welling up behind my sunglasses that I have become so good at hiding
behind. Then the very next question was the one I knew he would come back with.
Ethan looked at me with those big dark eyes and for a moment
I could see through them and into his little soul. So sweet. So loving. He
would be one of those men that would make a wonderful companion to someone and
an even better, loving, father. Ethan’s soul is one of someone twice his age; so
mature and compassionate. And it broke my heart that all these thoughts filled
his little mind when it should be filled with Thomas the Train or when was he
going to the playground next. Instead he was concerned that if he became a
father it meant he had to go heaven and he needed/wanted answers and he was
looking to me for them. And I was at the biggest loss as to where to find them.
“How do you know Mommy?”
I paused and looked at the sunset ahead of us. Then without
thinking I told him, “Because I have faith in the unknown that I don’t know.”
Ethan smiled back at me and said cheerfully, “ok.”
Like that answer magically worked. I had found the golden
goose of an answer that surprisingly Ethan accepted. There were no more
questions that day (or week) about death, Heaven or when he became a Daddy. I
sat up late at night pondering over a glass of wine if I really gave him the
answer he was looking for or if he just didn’t understand it and figured I took
too long to answer the question in the first place that he thought it pointless
to ask another one. Either way I spent many a night wondering how he processed
that answer; or if he even processed it at all. Did it all just go over his
head?
I found my eyes fixated on a photo of Ethan. That little
smile, those little eyes dark at night and that warm spirit that seemed so old
for such a young little boy radiated from the photo. I thought about how I
would give everyone in the world a thousand pennies if I could just have one
peek inside his little mind to see how it works.
One glance at how his wheels turn. What goes on in that
little mind that makes him seem so much wiser than he appears at times? But
God, the universe or whatever it is that you believe in didn’t grant me that
wish.
It was shortly after that conversation that I called a play
therapist. I knew I was getting to a point in Ethan’s life where I had given
him certain tools to understand the situation that was him, I and the life that
was set for us. But I was also reaching a point where I felt like I wasn’t
schooled in ways of handling childhood grief and it was time to bring in the
expert.
I struggled with this idea because I felt like I failed as a
mom for not being able to handle my own child’s fears, but as the play
therapist told me, I was just the opposite and giving my child everything I
could to help him. It may have been a marketing tactic on her end, but it made
the choice to send him easier on my mind.
He amazed the play therapist and I by using every second of
play therapy to talk about Christopher and the few memories he has of him. He
talks about how he knows his daddy is in heaven and he’s happy and looks down
on him. They talk about Ethan’s fears and the therapist teaches him the tools
he needs to overcome them. His play therapist has been a blessing to both our
lives.
Between the work Ethan does in therapy and what she teaches
me to work on him with Ethan has gone from being afraid to sleep in his bed to
sleeping upstairs all by himself and now even getting dressed in the morning
before coming downstairs. He even came to me the other day and told me that he
had made some wrong choices and didn’t deserve his iTouch and gave it to me as
his punishment (yeah I’m still in shock over that one).
The old little soul I see in those eyes comes out more and
more with each day and it warms my heart to see him growing into such a strong
and loving little boy.
April 18th Christopher would have been 37 and I
thought with everything that Ethan had gone through it was time he knew this
day was his Daddies birthday. See, in the past on Christopher’s birthday I
would pick Ethan up and we would go out and have cupcakes with Daddy. I would
buy some cupcakes and we would sit out there and eat them and talk about
Ethan’s day. I never told him what that day was; I just wanted him to know that
it was special and when Ethan was older I would explain.
This year I felt like Ethan was old enough to fully
understand what made April 18th so special to him and me. We sat
down and talked about it and I asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate it.
His answer? Cupcakes with daddy!
So the Monday before we went Ethan made him a card, necklace
and bracelet in play therapy to leave on the grave. It was a very special moment
for all of us and I even got a photo of Ethan with his card that we taped to
the marker.
That night as I downloaded the photos from my camera I
looked again into those little dark eyes that are filled with so much mystery
and pondered. Wondered. To only be a fly on the wall that resides in his head
for half a second is all I would want. To understand what flowed completely
through his mind this day. This day brought him so much joy.
Yet, as I looked at those photos I was brought back to that
moment after church when he looked up at me with his questions that I didn’t
have the answers to. I still don’t have the answers. But as I told him before,
I have faith in the unknown that I don’t know. I have faith that God gave Ethan
the skills and wisdom to be the child that he is to understand where it is in
everything that life gave us.
To find joy in a day that for him brings joy as his Daddy’s
birthday and yet I wish I could see the world through his eyes. For me
Christopher’s birthday is one that is private and held in my heart. It’s a day
where the man I love(d) no longer grows old. It’s a day that also marks the
halfway point before another year he’s gone crosses off my calendar.
The greatest lesson I learned this year with Ethan was on
this day. Looking at him so happy and full of joy on this day. It was his Dad’s
birthday and one that should be celebrated because without his father he might
not ever be there to smile upon that grave and know that his dad loves him, wholly
and completely from beyond this mortal plane.
I find that while I was choking on answers to tell Ethan
almost a year ago – he was the one enlightening me almost
a year later as I watched him through a different set of eyes. This year I
looked at him with a stronger belief in the unknown that I don’t know, that all
this happens with reason that no one is meant to comprehend, only to believe
and find joy in the simple things that life holds within it’s robes that we
often look over.
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