My boy True has a soft heart that meets mine, sometimes on days when I least expect it. Yesterday his words broke me in all the best ways. Words hidden amongst a family drive-just a way to spend time together after a whirlwind of school holiday and work commitments drove us all in separate directions this past week.
My True had missed his Daddy who had been working late to meet a big deadline. I hadn't noticed the disconnect. But he was a little shadow to his Dad over the weekend. Keen to help on projects around the house, thriving under the kind words his Daddy threw over him like a warm blanket after being cold to the bones.
Driving to the bakery in Meadows we listened to a story together - the one about a heroic little crop duster who wins a huge race with a little encouragement from his friends. (Thanks Disney) When we arrived we had Brave a mess of car sickness, Soul keen to run around, and a True wanting to be given responsibility and be Dad's helper.
We grabbed donuts and coffee on the way to the playground, and the boys slid and swung and hurled themselves around despite the chilly day. Huz pushed them on swings, I sat and drank in the moment: Me out of the house and living life with my family - sweet sweet times. And I promise I didn't even whinge about the cold (which I absolutely normally would have) because who could be cross at bone chillin' cold when I was with my littles instead of waving them goodbye from the couch.
And we are walking back to the car when True says, 'This was the best day I have ever had in my life'. Oh my boy. My True. And he tells Dad first, and when he gets to me I whisper back in his ear so it's our secret, 'This is my best day too'. And I scoop him up in a cuddle because I still can.
And then there's the part that breaks me again. The part where we sing loud and free to music on the drive home - that CD that never gets played anymore because that was what I used to do back in the day when life was normal, and Mummy cooked and ran the house, and that's when I would play these songs - hoping the Truth would sink into little hearts as the music beat out the Jesus story...
True and Brave remember the words - some of them - and we just sing sing sing. 'Be Strong and Courageous' begins, and I remember how my breath catches at the Hope ringing true in the lyrics. Then True's voice belts out the words,
'Be strong and courageous
Lord of the Ages,
Holds all His little ones safe by His side,
Be strong and courageous,
The Lord of the Ages
Holds all His little ones safe'.
And for all the reasons you can guess and all the hidden sadness too the tears are rolling, rolling down my face and they won't stop as I hear his beautiful, high, confidant, true voice ring out in the car reminding me that God will hold him when I am gone because doesn't He hold all his little ones safe?
True has often times been too shy to sing out loud, but when I look into the revision mirror, he is singing with gusto. I can almost see the deep truths penetrating that heart of his.
And that's when it happened. The little family drive becoming sacred. The space to be together - just the five of us - and my boy True soars. His heart meeting mine and breaking me in all the best ways.
I caught myself out.
Just realised what I've been doing. All of that sneaky loving on my boys. My heart aching to see them last night when they slept over with cousins. The need to hold Brave's hand in the car after I hadn't seen him for 24 hours. The counting down till I see True when I pick him up in an hour.
So, why is it so hard to stop kissing my boys, studying the intricate details of their faces more intently, and squeezing just a bit too tightly when we cuddle? Is it possible to maybe fill their hearts to the brim with my mummy love so that when I'm no longer here they will still know, still be tangibly in my love anyway? Can you do that? Like preparing in advance? A cup of love filled to the brim.
I've been trying.
And going grocery shopping today reminded me again how fatigued I get walking that trolley around Pasadena Foodland, and how I came close to leaving my trolley full of groceries in the line to find a seat to sit on when I started to feel weak. It reminded me that I'm not well. That I'm not healthy. That I need to squeeze tight and kiss too much and tickle these boys of mine everyday.
And it exposes my lack of faith that without me their lives will be full of the goodness of God, His presence, His guidance, and his biggest of all love. This big love that has wooed me all of my life. And He will woo them, and He can do this without me in their lives, and even just writing that makes me mad, because what could be better for my four boys than to have this mummy, this wife here-in the flesh here-to do what I love: do life together.
And I can't even weigh up how it is better for me not to be here, for them to process the loss of a mother when this story I've been handed is too big even for me to walk out, much less my little men. And their hearts are so very young, so very tender. A good friend told me recently that God is very gentle with our hearts. It comforted me to hear that, and I have been praying that somehow these incredible boys of mine would see me walk this ugly thing out holding the hand of Jesus and seeing it is well with my soul. That my God is good, that He is to be trusted, that He will never ever leave me or forsake me, and that His heart is for them. All out, 100% for them.
And there's a desperation to wanting to stay with my Huz. I feel that desperation today. And it's so yuck that I'm the one going, and all that's being asked of him feels so very huge, and it comforts me that he will be here to raise the boys because he is an incredible father and the best, the very best man to love them, but it's awful that we won't get to do it together. Actually it's kind of unimaginable. We make such a great team. I almost don't know myself when I think about who I am without him. We are one entity in many ways…I can't process this leaving when it feels like leaving half of myself behind.
So the struggle to live this out is wearing. I'm weary from laying on my couch day after day. I'm weary from my mind constantly ticking over. I'm weary from the sadness that I've had to make room for in my spirit. It's demanded such a lot of room in my heart and life and the processing of this cancer, this not being healthy, this unable to grocery shop/drive/look after my kids alone kind of change is weary. I'm weary from what feels like being cut off from the people I love and the life I love to live.
But despite these things, it is well with my soul. It is well with my soul. I've got this on repeat as my broken heart is trying to fix eyes on Jesus. It is well with my soul.
I woke with the faces of my littles in my mind. Sweet, soft faces with huge eyes and questions, always questions to ask, and laughter that comes easily. Oh my littles. You are the three I sobbed over when I was alone falling asleep last night - you beautiful, frustrating, incredible darlings.
And it's these faces that turn the constant cog to write down all the small details of this beautiful life, because I am the keeper of so very many memories, moments with you three, and these moments are rich as gold and deeply precious, and how do I give them back to you when articulating it is so unbelievably daunting?
Moments like discovering the dimples in Brave's cheek when you were hours freshly made. Marvelling at the detail of how He made you, with the softest skin and eyes that met mine and never did look away. The boy with the name made up on the spot during labour - a perfect name for such a light as you Brave.
Moments like True finding worship at church irresistible to dance to when he was 2 years old-a dance from his happy place, a dance that in itself was his toddler worship. A dance that made my heart see the joy of abandoning yourself to the moment, and put to shame my inhibited, self conscious singing beside you. Small feet tapping and a body moving as one little unit. True joy.
Moments like the first smile Soul gave me from his hospital bed after he came out of cranio-facial surgery at 7 months old. Bandage wrapped swollen head, tiny tiny body, jagged stitches and a smile. I could breathe again. A tough fighter and dearly loved one. That smile undid me.
And these moments pile up in my mothers heart, and there are too many to dig through, carefully collected and counted and tucked away. Countless deeply happy, life is beautiful moments, of which I am the keeper. I have to believe that my Jesus will do something fabulous with such moments as these. They inspire my heart even in it's brokenness, they have made my life such a rich treasure, they will be carried in my mother's heart all of my days and into eternity.
But now I don't have too long to give the gift back to you my True, Brave and Soul. How can you know the way I drink you in, the way it refreshes my soul to be next to you doing this life. Can you know the intricate way I have studied your sweet faces, knowing each and every curve of the nose, small freckle on the cheek, cowlick and expression?
And the moments themselves may look ordinary on the outside, but these moments cuddling in bed and eating rice bubbles at the kitchen table, tickling and sitting by the fire -these are the delicious moments full of the very best of life. These are the moments I ache over in all of the new knowledge. Knowing that I can no longer be gluttonous in my desire for endless days with my tribe of boys. I love our moments together. I have gathered them to me and I am the keeper and long to be now also the giver of them.
I just wish I could find a way to give the gift of all of these moments right back to you. So you would know that you know how loved you are by this lucky mum who counts it all as grace as the moments pile up.
And this part of my story is hard, and you boys are the ones I fall asleep crying over and wake up smiling over. You are my portion and joy in this life.
I am more than blessed.
You love me so well. You who comes to all my appointments and chemo. You who takes time off work to drive the boys to school and childcare. You who makes school lunches at 8pm at night, and loads the dishwasher in the morning so I don't have to look and smell dirty dishes all day from my spot on the couch.
You love me so well. You who comes home from work when it's dark, and feeds the boys a sneaky taste of liquorice while you talk to them about their days. You who scoops up Soul and finds teddy and big red dog and his sleeping bag too. You who prays with the boys, and has secret talks with them by their bunk when you say goodnight.
You who asks me, 'what do you want, and what do you need?' when you know that it probably involves talking. Lots of talking.
You who finds me most nights at around 9pm a sobbing mess of barely articulated emotions. A stream of sadness. A dribbling mess of cancer related melancholy.
You who has found his wife dressed day and night in a dressing gown, explorer socks and pj's on for the last 5 months. Oh, and I'm bald. Not in the sexy way, just in the cancer patient 'I'm having chemo' way. You love me so well.
You who gladly drove me and the boys to a far off playground yesterday, and declared to them that it was a real treat that I was there with you. Because I can never come anywhere anymore. Even though I can only walk slowly, and I wore the most hideous outfit possible. You who has to take the boys on his own to church. You who is practicing the single parent routine while I am still here, talking and breathing. It breaks me. You love me so well.
You who has been my best friend, my 'take him for granted', always by my side husband for the last 12 years. You who has laughed with me and talked with me and taken my side even when I'm in the wrong, and who sees me when I won't let anyone else see my heart, see my brokenness. You who is grafted into my very being, my very heart. You who is a part of me in every facet. You love me so well.
You who is the most decent, deep and surprising man I have met. You who is accomplished at almost everything you put your hand to. You who melts me when I look into your eyes. You who is handsome and a little grey haired and perfectly tall and looks divine in a suit. You who holds my heart.
You who has never left my side during my illness. You who has shown me the face of Jesus in my darkest moments. You who has never judged my doubt or need to give in to the overwhelming monumental sadness of what we face. You who has never made me feel alone in this horrible sickness. You have loved me like Christ loves the church. Your arms feel like home when I'm in them, and I'm having a hard time today imagining us apart.
You who is my safe place. My happy place. My home.
I love you with all my heart.
