Holding Him

How much easier would it have been just to keep holding him? So many days I dreamed of his future, dreamed of his little crooked smile hopping off a dirt bike. I could see him throwing off the helmet in disgust and then grinning when he saw me watching him. The impish glint in his eyes giving away the pleasure he felt in being noticed. Then he would tell me all about the ride.
How much easier would it have been to just keep holding him? Late at night when it’s just the two of us and he reaches over with the big wide mouth kisses. The nights we argued for hours about his going to sleep so I would have a chance of functioning in the morning. How much easier would it be to just keep rocking him? The old recliner clicking with each push, the minutes falling over each other in sleep fog. How much easier would it be?
It’s not a question of love. It’s not easy to understand. The decision hurts as badly as any I could think of making, and yet. Yet, He says this is what we will do. In the moments when my heart is being torn through the layers of bone built to protect it, I feel His peace. When the tears fight for space in the corners of my eyes and there are no words to express how I feel, I can hear the still small voice.
In my doubt He sends a messenger. The messenger is compelled to tell me what I need to hear. The funny thing is, she has no idea what she is saying. I can see the places where she is trying to make sense of the message and I tell her it is ok. The message is heard. This is what He would have me do.
Then I think of Abraham. I see him climbing the mountain, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. I wear my sunglasses to hide the tears from my girls. Did he wear his prayer shawl pulled tight? Faith in God does not keep the tears from falling. Grief happens. It overwhelms us, wraps itself around us. When we think we’ve left it behind, it sneaks around the corners of our minds and whispers words of longing. Then the comfort comes. Sometimes the miracles are not grand rescues. Quite often the miracles come in the form of a friend’s comment that makes the next step possible.
And then there is the top of the mountain. The moment when the knife is drawn and you are waiting, begging to hear “stop”. And it doesn’t come. There is no word. No way to stop until it is done. Abraham heard it but God isn’t asking me to take a life. He’s asking me to save a life. He's telling me to step out in faith that His way is right. Sunglasses can’t hide the anguish and of course, God knows no matter how hard I try to hide.
In the middle of mourning, a glimpse of the joy peeks around the corner of my mind. I think of the mother who will get the phone call. I can almost see her face as the worker tells her “We have a baby for you”. Her mind starts racing. She calls her husband and tells him. Maybe this time it will work. Maybe this is the son we have prayed for. Maybe he is the one we have waited for. Peace comes then.
We have done our job. It was such a hard job but it will soon be done. Now we start the walk down the mountain. We walk in the peace and joy of the Lord. We will miss him. We will miss his kisses, his patty cakes. We won’t ever forget that stubborn streak that drove us crazy but probably kept him alive in awful circumstances. Maybe his real parents will send us cards every once in awhile. Maybe we’ll run into him in the store. We will pray for him no matter what. One day, maybe, he’ll ask about his life and his parents will say ‘you were loved so much’. Maybe. I’ll remember holding him. Holding him in deep silent hours of the night when it’s just the two of us and he smiles that crooked smile.