Mr. Magoo makes me listen.

My children's stories intersect, entwine and overlap.  But, their stories are not mine.  I am the keeper of their stories.  Just as I help hold their hurts, their successes, their fears and their dreams, I hold their memories.  Someday they will ask me and want to remember, through my memories of them.  I will think back and retell their tales.  Some stories I will tell so often that they will remember my story so clearly, that it will fully eclipse any part of their original memory.   Such is the powerful influence that a mother has over her children's early years.  Keeping another person's story is a great yet delicate responsibility.  It is one of my favorite privileges of being their mother.

There is one story I want to remember right, so that someday I can tell Hayden how he had a profound impact on my heart.  Hayden made me listen to myself and understand...

Mr. Magoo, I have a story for you...
 
You were five, almost six.  We had been in Hawaii for almost two months and you had just started kindergarten.  You were rather indifferent about starting school which I found odd since you had loved, loved, loved starting each year of preschool.  Mommy, however, was a mess about you going.  I tried so hard to act excited, but really I didn't want you to go.  I wanted to keep you home with me.  With Hudson.  With Sissy.  I wanted to keep things the same.  I selfishly didn't want another change and I didn't want to say good-bye to another person, even for just a day.  Especially you.
 
But off to school you went.  It only took a couple weeks before we were back into a routine and Mommy was back to normal.  Then one night, after homework was done and supper was cleared, we decided to finish our thank you card for Uncle Nate and Auntie Jayme.  We were going to write what we missed about each of them.  For Uncle Nate you said you missed "playing games".  When I asked about Auntie Jayme you said, "her laugh."  I thought about that for a second and realized that was exactly what I loved and missed most about Auntie Jayme too.  After I wrote your message I looked up and found you desperately holding back tears.  I could see in your face that your little heart was breaking.  I grabbed you and held you.  We rocked and cried.

You told me, through tears, something that shook me to my core.  You said,

"I'm sad.  My heart hurts.  It hurts so bad that my whole body feels black and blue like a bruise."

  

In that instant I realized that I agreed with you.  I had just never said it out loud, to anyone, yet.

And then you told me you didn't feel that way all the time but that sometimes you had "Red days," where you felt happy and Red.  I told you that sometimes I felt happy too, but that my happy day color is Blue.   We cuddled some more.  Talked some more.  Dried some tears.  Blew your nose.  And you were off again.  Back to your normal Red self for the time being.
 
But your words cut into my heart.  How could I not see your pain, the pain you were so easily able to articulate for me?  Am I not your mother?  I realize now that I was so caught up in my own unacknowledged grief that I couldn't see yours.  Because, you see, when you are blind to your own pain it makes it near impossible to see another's hurt.  Even your own child's.
 
Regardless of why you chose that moment to let me share your pain I am so glad you did.  You put into words just exactly what I had been feeling as well, and just didn't know how to say it.

Black and blue, just like a bruise.

  

Hayden you have a unique ability to articulate what you are feeling and a gift for empathizing with others.  It is my hope and prayer that God will use those gifts for blessing others and genuinely loving and serving them. Your gift helped me.  It made me realize that grief is a real live thing.  A tangible thing that does make a person hurt in a very real and physical way.  Grief needs to be treated like the bruise that it is, giving it time, rest and plenty of ice to heal.  And just because we have Red days sometimes doesn't mean that the grief is gone.  It just means that the bruise is healing.  A black and blue bruise can take a really long time to fade. And that is an okay thing.  As long as we keeping talking about it, it is going to get better.  But we need to talk about it.  Talk about it a lot.


I promise you, that from now on that I will always try to be honest with myself about what is going on in my heart.  Talking to people when I need to talk and asking for help when I need help.  So that I will always be ready to see the bruises that you and other people may be wearing.

Thank you my Big School Boy for sharing your wisdom with me.  You are loved.  I hope you enjoyed the story where yet again God used YOU to teach ME.  I will keep it in my heart always if ever you want to hear it again.

With all my heart,
your mommy.

Obviously a Red Day at the North Shore!