The Boy had an indoor soccer game this weekend. I ran into a mom I who has a daughter the same age as the Boy. One of the dad's on Peter's team bought a pitcher of beer to share amongst the parents. I offered this mom a cup from the community beer.
"No thanks," she said. "I've had a horrible weekend."
"What happened?" I asked.
"We've had four soccer games this weekend. Wait -- five," she said. This alone is enough to make a parent want to drink, but not so much that they don't want to drink.
"I went to a funeral for one of my son's classmates," she said. This was a fourth grade boy who attended the same elementary school as The Boy and Claire Adele.* This boy was diagnosed with leukemia and died ten days later. He was an otherwise healthy, athletic boy who one day felt a little tired. The first idea was that he had the flu, but no, it was far worse.
"On second thought, I'll have some of that beer," the mom said and she got a glass.
"How was the funeral?" I asked.
"Awful," she said. "The mother moaned the whole time. I couldn't take my eyes off of her."
I have been the starring role of a mom at a funeral for her own child. I was in too much of a stupor to moan. Moaning would have implied that I had grasped the gravity of the situation, felt the pain. I was still numb at my daughter's funeral. Ada was a full-term stillbirth, and the pain and acceptance of her death came in waves. Most of my moaning was in private.
Even though I have buried a child, I cannot imagine what this mom is experiencing. Her son was on a soccer team. Does she still go to those games and watch other kids play? Her son recently switched schools. Does she still volunteer there? Does she give her older son's clothes to the younger one? Does she pass on the lego collection? What does she do at bedtime? Who does she nag to take a shower? Her son's birthday we be marked by sadness, as will be the anniversary of his death. This mom not only lost her son--which is horrible by itself, she lost part of her job as a mom and her community.
I can't even imagine. I've never met this woman, yet she is in my thoughts and prayers. Please send a few warm thoughts in this woman's direction.
* The Big E wants her name changed on my blog. Her new name is Claire Adele.
This blog is about the little and big thoughts that pop into my head. I once read that when Flannery O'Connor walked into a bookstore, she would want to edit her published works with a red pen. In the digital world, we have the luxury of tweaking things up after we've hit the publish button. I can be a perfectionist/procrastinator, where waiting for the ideal means little gets done. Here I will share what is not--and likely will never be--perfect.
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