I saw my son for the fist time this year.
It had been going on ten months.
I was about to induce labor had I not and it would not have been pretty.
But as usual, God is so very good...
This is what happens when a real 'mother' decides to make life difficult for a man who is trying to see his only child and a son to boot.
What makes women or men do that sort of thing.
What makes men or women turn their backs on their children and not look back?
I'm glad I am not one of those men, but now I can understand why some do.
If you have a heart to care, the pain is tremendous.
Like Everest high and cold at times and marathon exhaustion at others; volcanic hot in some places and as difficult to navigate as the twists and turns of insanity .
But then there's Faith.
I don't know why it works, but it does.
It's the Novocaine to a root canal and a parent's kiss on a child's scraped knee...
Sometimes, as a passionate person - for people and causes - it's difficult to let go of things I feel deeply for; like my son.
But I made up my mind a long time ago, no matter what it took and no matter what challenges I was to face, as long as I lived I was not going to leave my son.
Sure, they say 'suicide is painless' and the thought visited from time to time but...
If I had taken that shortwalk, today would have never come for me...
For my son...
Tears may come at night but Joy comes in the morning...
Thanks Mom for preparing me for days like the ones I have been through...
And Thank You for NOT telling me there would be days like the ones I experienced...
The sun kept coming up, or rather, the Earth kept turning when I thought all had come to an end. I kept living... The tears fell, I slept and I learned to forget.
Now I need to learn to forgive.
Others and myself...
God is so good.
So, after many, many low days and thousands of miles - sometimes running, sometimes just traveling, now being where I need to be - the day came.
A Saturday.
And then, walking through a simple, white door there he was again.
A tall, young man of 12 years of age. His hair, dark and thickly curled like wool, rested on his head like a warm blanket. The sight of those curls led me to memories of my elder brother Merrill's hair lying just above a furrowed brow and thick glasses, his squinting eyes darting from subject to the next brush stroke as an oil-soaked, horse-hair brush he held glided across a hand-stretched canvas. His work, portraits, still life, city scape, imagination creation or landscape left me awestruck. He was the kind of illustrator who could draw a figure with five lines better than I could with a thousand and five.
His work, indelibly etched in my memory, faded as I looked again on my son's handsome face; a smirky smile creeping across his face and I think mine too.
Our eyes met awkwardly but like old friends.
He seemed unsure to me. His step a little tentative, his greeting subdued.
Outwardly, I was reserved and cool, but inside, it was times square at New Years.
His one-word answers bothered me a bit, it was as if he had an internal harness he hadn't quite learned how to release, but I'm sure he'll tame that lion too. I'll be glad to help.
We sat, talked and played video games on my laptop for what seemed a light and timeless forever like at a wedding reception or a vacation's walk on a perfect, far-away beach.
And after a snack of sandwich cookies, a game of chess.
He told me not to let him win when I moved a piece he knew I shouldn't have.
After a while, his responses were two words, then three then more...
It just got better and better.
But as time goes by, the reunion ended too quickly.
As we prepared to depart I asked him if I could touch his head... His hair...
Like a dad does to his son.
He said yes and I did. He seemed to welcome it.
There's no gauge to tell how much I missed it, missed him...
I asked him for a hug and he said yes.
But before I held him again after so long, I asked him if I could pick him up
and again, he said yes...
That meant a lot.
I picked him up and felt like I was picking myself up.
I closed my eyes and was both there in the moment, in the room ...
And not.
I watched as he headed for that white door again.
I so didn't want him to leave without me.
The wait until next time is always pregnant.
I wasn't sure what he felt.
Did he miss me?
Was this just obligatory?
Had HE moved on?
Had he turned his back on me?
I was about to turn and sit and fade into countless thoughts and questions and uncertainty.
Then, as he made the last turn out of the room, the last turn I could see him and he me,
he turned, looked at me with a fondness and waved good bye.
Not a full cruise ship good bye like I may not ever see you again, but more like a, 'see ya later' kind of wave...
When he was a tiny thing, we had a level of spoken and unspoken communication that only people with close relationships can understand.
At that moment, I felt it was still there between he and I.
And it felt good. I hope for him too.
It was the indescribable feeling I was missing all these long miles, these long hours and long, long years.
While it was not the best time we spent together, it was the most wonderful time for me.
But then again, when you're starving a tea biscuit tastes like a gourmet meal.
This was a really good tea biscuit though.
The best times we had were way back when he was an infant, a toddler, a first grader...
At least now he can remember our time together.
I'm looking forward to getting to know him all over again.
Having new adventures and making new memories.
I look forward to the first time we go scuba diving together.
Or sailing or cycling.
These last few days, I have actually been looking forward instead of back.
I have been thinking about life instead of death.
I have been thinking of love instead of hate and indifference.
...Of being clean instead of dirty.
There's s much more to say, but it will have to suffice when I say I had an unusual visitor come and stay with me for the rest of the day and several days still afterward.
A visitor I hadn't seen nor felt nor held in a very long time.
The visitor was a smile...
Something I hadn't done in quite some time.
And for a while, a peace...
One that passed my ability to understand it...
Now, parts of me are trying to tell me it was a dream, that it never happened.
But it did.
And if I can hold on, it will happen again... And again... And again...
I want that peace to stay with me.
I want to be with my son.
Shalom
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