And Then There Were Four...
The exci tement of the trip, buying new items, thinking through what might be needed, arriving early to avoid the traffic, carrying suitcases and boxes and crates, watching and talking while he organizes things.
And then the excitement ends. Not slowly and gently but suddenly and loudly, like the sound of a guillotine slamming home.
A last meal. A last prayer with a tight voice and a quavering chin.
And then there were four.
A long, quiet drive home, a growing pile of tissues on the floorboards of the car. Periodic conversation gambits fumbled in the haze of sorrow.
This morning I got up as usual before the rest of the family. Usually I have to be careful which light I turn on because Christopher's room is a little day-room that looks into the kitchen. This morning I didn't have to be careful. No snarled sheets, no bed-head on that pillow.
Oops. Not "Christopher's room is" but "Christopher's room was"...
Words hurt. Even the tense of a word can hurt.
Tears flow. Again. Who knew one head could generate so much snot and tears. I suppose the resulting headache is complaint from the factory floor, unused to being in full-time, non-stop production mode.
Each day I try to take one simple concept from the Gospel and preach it to myself throughout the day. One of the streams in my reading plan has me going through John and so Jesus' claim, "I am the light of the world" was the concept for yesterday. At first it seemed a little dry and I was afraid I might have trouble holding onto it throughout the day. But then with our early morning departure He gifted us with a sunrise and a few minutes later a "column rainbow" out of nowhere. By evening when He gifted us with a golden explosion of sunset I was getting the message that had been knocking.
Family is a wonderful source of joy. Inside my head almost a fireworks display of fun and shared experience. But 18 years is not forever. (Just a really long time to get quite addicted to that source of light) Jesus is a source of light and joy Who will not be interrupted mid-blaze by needing to go to college.
He is my source of joy. He is enough for joy. I choose to hold onto Him as the tears flow.
My head knows that it is right and good for my son to go off to college. I've been raising him these 18 years so that he will be ready for this. This is A Good Thing.
My heart reminds me of other friends who have gone through much deeper pain this year or last. A right and expected transition is not the same as a death; my pain doesn't hold a candle to their pain.
(An interesting parallel bubbles into my brain - both the transition from home to college and the transition from this life to the next life are right and proper and a source of deep sorrow and yet bittersweet for the believer. Interesting thought bubble to ponder sometime...)
So I sit here outside the dayroom that is no longer Christopher's with my eyes burning and blurring yet again and I remind myself that change is not bad, just different. (Then I remind myself again ... and again -- my heart can be a little slow sometimes.) I pray my son will find good friends and that his launch will be the start of something amazing. I remind myself that joy has not been snuffed out - Jesus is the Light, not my son.
I know it's going to be OK. I know it's just a matter of time before my heart catches up... I know he's just a phone call away (even when we're on the other side of the ocean, these days).
And then I curl up on the couch, huddled around my heart, and we have another good cry together.
Good-bye, Christopher. I love you. I. Miss. You. See you at Christmas...
-Dad
And then the excitement ends. Not slowly and gently but suddenly and loudly, like the sound of a guillotine slamming home.
A last meal. A last prayer with a tight voice and a quavering chin.
And then there were four.
A long, quiet drive home, a growing pile of tissues on the floorboards of the car. Periodic conversation gambits fumbled in the haze of sorrow.
This morning I got up as usual before the rest of the family. Usually I have to be careful which light I turn on because Christopher's room is a little day-room that looks into the kitchen. This morning I didn't have to be careful. No snarled sheets, no bed-head on that pillow.
Oops. Not "Christopher's room is" but "Christopher's room was"...
Words hurt. Even the tense of a word can hurt.
Tears flow. Again. Who knew one head could generate so much snot and tears. I suppose the resulting headache is complaint from the factory floor, unused to being in full-time, non-stop production mode.
Each day I try to take one simple concept from the Gospel and preach it to myself throughout the day. One of the streams in my reading plan has me going through John and so Jesus' claim, "I am the light of the world" was the concept for yesterday. At first it seemed a little dry and I was afraid I might have trouble holding onto it throughout the day. But then with our early morning departure He gifted us with a sunrise and a few minutes later a "column rainbow" out of nowhere. By evening when He gifted us with a golden explosion of sunset I was getting the message that had been knocking.
Family is a wonderful source of joy. Inside my head almost a fireworks display of fun and shared experience. But 18 years is not forever. (Just a really long time to get quite addicted to that source of light) Jesus is a source of light and joy Who will not be interrupted mid-blaze by needing to go to college.
He is my source of joy. He is enough for joy. I choose to hold onto Him as the tears flow.
My head knows that it is right and good for my son to go off to college. I've been raising him these 18 years so that he will be ready for this. This is A Good Thing.
My heart reminds me of other friends who have gone through much deeper pain this year or last. A right and expected transition is not the same as a death; my pain doesn't hold a candle to their pain.
(An interesting parallel bubbles into my brain - both the transition from home to college and the transition from this life to the next life are right and proper and a source of deep sorrow and yet bittersweet for the believer. Interesting thought bubble to ponder sometime...)
So I sit here outside the dayroom that is no longer Christopher's with my eyes burning and blurring yet again and I remind myself that change is not bad, just different. (Then I remind myself again ... and again -- my heart can be a little slow sometimes.) I pray my son will find good friends and that his launch will be the start of something amazing. I remind myself that joy has not been snuffed out - Jesus is the Light, not my son.
I know it's going to be OK. I know it's just a matter of time before my heart catches up... I know he's just a phone call away (even when we're on the other side of the ocean, these days).
And then I curl up on the couch, huddled around my heart, and we have another good cry together.
Good-bye, Christopher. I love you. I. Miss. You. See you at Christmas...
-Dad
Each one is tough, but each gets easier. Our fourth went there and we enjoyed every visit. We are only 2 hrs from the dorm if he needs anything.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing, Peter. You've said it well, I think. May God give you grace to endure the separation.
ReplyDelete