How long is a year?

How long is a year?
At once it is infinitesimal, fleeting,
but also it is arduous and tortuous.
As you can live a lifetime in minutes,
so it is compounded by months.
A year can seem longer,
when you see so many years to come.
Busy, or quiet, the time passes unevenly,
like your life is stop-and-go traffic.
The escape of activity is followed
by the uneasy introspection of silence.

A year

My boy is gone elsewhere,
He's not been with me for a year now.
I sometimes feel like I've been dismembered.
Unable to move, sometimes unable to feel.
I know there will come a day on this earth,
when he's been gone longer than he was here.
On that day I shall surely weep.

Oh Ani.

Oh Ani,
my love for you is indescribable.
I dedicate myself to your care.
Though difficult and frustrating at times,
I am not frustrated with you. Rather,
I am usually frustrated with my failure to soothe you.
With my failure to determine what hurts.
Never with you, my dear.
I soar with your smile, and warm with your laughter.
I falter with your paIns, and crash with your cries.
As much as I want you to forget parts of this time of your life,
I want you to remember your strength through it all.
Remember my love and my willingness to be what you need me to be.
My way is to try and fix things,
though I've had to learn to let go sometimes,
and tell you I don't know how else to help you but to love you.

I am reminded...

As the one year mark approaches, I am reminded.
Reminded of that evening, in my room at the hospital.
Of the horrific words the sheriff had for us,
and incredible courage, courtesy and composure Todd & Lisa
displayed towards their extended family.
The words cut me, and I bleed.
No parent should ever hear those words.
If you're sure you want to know,
you can ask me.
Don't expect a quick and smooth response though.

How do you say goodbye?

How do you say goodbye to a little boy?
A little boy who said "Mo!" to tickles?
A little boy who loved his teddy.
A little boy who loved so much.
A little boy who came running to you, squealing.
A little boy who kept the house full of sound (his sister too).
A little boy who loved crackers.
A little boy who loved his family.
A little boy.
Maybe I should forget about saying "Goodbye", and focus on "I love you, see you soon".

Author's note: "See you soon" is from Nate's perspective, not mine.

Why does pain/sadness cover over joy?

Even after the wonderful thing that Ani did last night,
the pain on her face with her gassy stomach almost overshadowed her accomplishment.
Why is this?
Why should I allow my empathetic feelings for her sour tummy blot out something great?
That's sad, in and of itself.
I have a (even more so) new found appreciation of care-givers. Their love and service
comes, even though they see pain, sadness and sorrow. They can see through this, they
can see the potential, and not get themselves down. I envy them for this.

How important is it?

Communication,
a way to express your ideas, opinions, and wants.
Last night, Ani made a choce.
Lullaby first, or stories first.
How would she go about communicating it to me?
She opened her mouth wide like she was singing...
I (thank God) picked up on this and asked her if she was singing, and if that meant she wanted the song first. She smiled widely when I asked.
How wonderful! When I've written that I want to hear her, hear her needs, I heard her loud and clear last night. Perhaps not with my ears, but I heard her nonetheless.
How wonderful.

Hero

I told Ani last night that I thought she was a hero, for being brave and strong, and not giving up. She gave me a really big smile. I cannot tell her adequately how much I love her, though I keep trying.

I remember

Oh Nate, as I look at your picture,
I remember how your hair feels, when I would stroke your head.
I remember how your skin feels, when I would scrub your back.
I remember your voice, when you would ask for more crackers.
I remember your love, when you would squeeze me and kiss me before putting you in bed.
I remember your smile, oh I remember your smile, when you would lift my heart above the clouds.
I remember choo-choos whose motors would run constantly.
I remember your kiss on Ani's head before bedtime.
I remember your puzzle skills.
I remember the sound of your "stampy walk", and how I could tell you and Ani apart, though my back was turned.
I remember "hot!".
I've forgotten nothing, my son, you're still here with me, though tears accompany my memories now.
I love you and I miss you, my Nate-Nate.

A little better

No surgery necessary for Ani!!! Some bigger antibiotic, and her infection is better after two doses!


-- Post From My iPhone

Ani's infection

Ani will likely need some sort of minor surgical procedure to help stop the infections she us getting around her tube site. I am pleased that she has been more aware even though the tube site must hurt terribly.


-- Post From My iPhone

Thinking about Nate...

When I look at a picture of Nate, one thing I can't suppress thinking about is what happened to him. As if that small moment of terror, or whatever, somehow has some effect on when I think of his whole life to that point. Like it's difficult to remember his first steps without thinking of his experience. I pray that someday, on this earth, I can remember his life without that moment of his death casting a shadow over happy memories. When I watch the video of us dancing in the kitchen, I wonder now how I could have missed (or at least not fully appreciated) the width of their smiles, how much fun and joy they felt. I can still "light Ani up" now, and that helps when I think about her, but when I see Nate's smile in a photograph, why is it so hard to _just_ see the happy little boy, and not think about whether he was afraid, whether he felt any pain. I wish we all had that that "honesty of emotion" that children have.

Beauty

A month or so ago, I saw a young woman walking into church. She evidently had some form of cerebral palsy, or some condition that caused her to need to use walking canes. The first thought that came to my mind was that she was beautiful. I’m sorry that I did not go to her and tell her this. Her beauty, to me, seems to have been from the “I’ve overcome my limitations, see me walk”, or “I am who I am”. It was something in the way she held herself. I thought that she was beautiful, and that I prayed that Ani would be capable of that kind of mobility some day. I saw her walk, not as some gangly stumbling movement, but a grace in motion that she was able to control her body.

In other ways, I’ve come to wonder what “beauty” means. I’ve seen beauty in people’s hearts, souls, and servitude. Beauty is not simply a physical characteristic. Beauty is in a serving heart, a caring heart. It’s in a mother’s hand held out to help a child who has stumbled. It’s in an action that brings joy to somebody else. Beauty is in the eyes of a child who has not yet learned to see the world through cynical eyes. Beauty is in the importance of a worn out teddy bear that a little boy carried everywhere. I miss that little bear. Beauty is in the stream-of-consciousness chatter of a 5 year old. Beauty is not hiding how you feel. Beauty can be in the order you find in chaos, or the chaos you find in order. Love is beauty.

Strength

Strength

What is it? Where does it come from? Is it purely a physical aspect to a person?
As I consider the things people have done for us, I find that the measure of strength is not an easy assessment.

I don’t think many would argue against the notion that the strongest person ever to walk this earth was Jesus. However, even with all of God’s might, he showed strength not in physical aspects like lifting animals or some brute-force act like that, but in strength of character, of love. He showed it in his ability to love those that were hard for others to love, to ultimately lay down his life for us, who are deeply flawed in many ways, undeserving of the gift of grace. He wasn’t afraid to allow himself to be made vulnerable, to ridicule, to torture, and even to death. But, for us, showing your honest emotions to others leaves you open and vulnerable also. Why is it really considered weak for males to show emotion? Shouldn’t that be what you expect from a “Daddy”? Shouldn’t it be strength that is observed in men that make themselves vulnerable by being honest in all that they do, whether in act or emotion? When you need to help somebody who is in need, a lot of times it’s not physical strength that is needed, it’s emotional strength. Loyalty is strength also, as is a commitment to one’s beliefs. However, what someone else believes is not necessarily a threat to your strength. Consider the parable of the Good Samaritan, who, though the man on the side of the road was a hated enemy, showed love and compassion and (gasp) spent money.

I think that too many of us (myself included at times in my life) confuse power, wealth, and even winning (in many ways, sports, even just getting in front of the next driver in traffic) with strength. While at times these goals may or may not be acceptable, don’t confuse them as strength. I have concluded that some of the most powerful “leaders” are truly weak, while many who serve each other in small ways are truly strong.

Joy

Joy is difficult for me these days.

That’s not to say I’m not pleased with certain things, or that I’m not amused with things from time to time. But the pure happiness or elation of a moment is sometimes few and far between for me. When my wife holds me and says she loves me, I am transported away. I feel no weight, for a time, on my shoulders or soul. When my little girl laughs with me, at something we both find humorous, I’m lost in her smile, her eyes. Other things are fun, but they are at once obvious to me as a diversion, an escape. Those things are necessary too, you must indulge yourself once in a while. I’m not depressed, or sad, all the time, but sometimes I feel like I’m just swimming towards the future, swimming through a swamp. I recognize the need and placement for feelings of sadness. When I think of salvation, seeing Nate again, seeing Ani WHOLE again, I don’t know if I can describe it as joy. It’s kind of like a warm safe place, a place that I’m travelling to, a place to finally rest. It’s a foundation, I guess, on which to really live the rest of my life here on earth. It’s like I feel it’s “my real home”, and though our stay here is temporary, it can really feel like a long time on earth.

What do I want? It’s hard.

I want to hold my son, and tell him I love him, though soon enough, I’ll get to do this. It’s hard to wait.
I want my daughter to talk to me, tell me what hurts so I can help. It’s hard to hear her wail.
I want to be the best father I can be, the best husband I can be. It’s hard to do, when you’re a fallible human being, you must always strive.
As an engineer, I want to fix Ani’s problems. It’s hard, because they’re not intellectually based.
I want to hold on to my self and identity. It’s hard, because God calls me to serve Christy and Ani.
I want to plan. It’s hard, because I don’t know the variables.
I want to live in the now. It’s hard, because I want to plan.
I want to change the past, I want to have grabbed my son and tossed him to Christy, I want to have tried harder to save him. I want Nate to have walked around the couch the other way. It’s hard, because it’s the past. It’s hard because it’s burned in my memory and I must see it every day. It’s so hard.

God help me just live.