Bear on edge for days on end. The yelling, the arguing, the talking back are like the first rumbles of an approaching storm. But he always retreats before it breaks. Back to his room. Back to his legos. Back to the constant background noise of Adventures in Odyssey.
And I breathe a sigh of relief. Even though I know the quiet is only temporary and eventually the storm will come.
And come it does.
It comes when my husband takes a moment to pull him aside and just talk to him.
“Bear, you seem to be pretty upset recently. Like you’re angry all the time. What’s going on?”
And my little Bear collapsed into his arms sobbing. Everything Micah does reminds him of Tiggy and it hurts too much and he just wants to smash the world.
And while he finds some calm as his storm passes, I feel the tempest in my own soul begin to stir.
. . . . to be continued . . .
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Shared with Let’s Hear it for the Boys. Visit for more posts about raising boys.
I homeschool my children on a small hobby farm in rural Nebraska and write about life more abundantly, from the joy of a baby's smile to the almost unbearable grief of losing a son while seeking beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead of the spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3)
Tears.
Bless his little heart. I am so sorry, Dana.
Prayers continue!!
Thank you. He always likes to hear when people are praying for him.
Dana,
My heart aches for you and your family. My brother was middle aged when we lost him quite suddenly almost four years ago. I am now middle aged and still deal with the effects of that. Grief can be horrible for adults. I can only imagine what it must be like for children who understand even less than we do.
I look at my stoic father gradually get worse and worse (his memory is shot), because he won’t openly grieve or talk to anyone. I see him going downhill with grief as it saps his energy, joy, and mind. I know the three years of blackness and darkness that I experienced.
I don’t compare my pain to yours to say that I understand totally. I don’t. I have my two children and am so very grateful that I do. On the other hand, I do have much sympathy for you and yours.
God is using you, however. Last year I quoted some of your post about the goodness of God as I preached a sermon on the sovereignty of God. It was well received, and a man with ALS, who had already lost most physical strength, was especially touched and blessed by your words.
Your trial is not in vain. God is sanctifying it. Your pain is not useless. God is using it.
He will also bring you much joy; deeper joy; and lasting joy, though it will be a long and hard road to get to it.
God is with you. He will never, no, never, no, never forsake.
I’m so sorry for your loss. And thank you for the encouraging words.
It is a hard road. I try to focus on the temporary nature of this world, but my moods are fragile as well and even small upsets can bring me crashing down and feeling a little incapable of knowing how to help my children.
Dana, the fact that you get up every morning, smile at your children, hug them often, and care for their needs is a sign of a very capable, God fearing mom. The fact that you would rather curl up under a blanket and don’t, is a sign of healing and a sign of God’s unending love for you and your family. You will all get through the pain in time, and what a blessing to do it together, especially for Bear. The fact that you know something is wrong, that he is distressed, and that you and your husband are taking the time to talk to him, to get to the root of his distress is a welcomed blessing. Each day is a new day, a new beginning, a new day to praise God for all that He provides. Including the strength to get through another day. Keeping you in my prayers sweet one.
Sending prayers for your family!
Oh Dana, I could not imagine what your family is going through. I will pray that God continues to bring peace and healing.
You hit the nail on the head: my father died over 40 years ago, and, just the other day, I said to myself, “I thought life would hold on a minute, while the family pulled itself back together, and I could catch my breath.”
But people I love keep dying. My father died when I was six, and by the time I was 10, my grandmothers died, my uncles stopped coming by, two other father figures died.
My best friend died when I was in my 30s. Countless women I knew and loved died have died of breast cancer. It seems, every time I turn around there is more loss.
The other day, I searched out a past art professor to invite him to a show we were having, and I found out he passed away a couple of years ago.
That was a turning point for me, at 48 y.o.: People die. I didn’t cry.
Crazy as it sounds, it was actually a light bulb moment for me: I realized I had been living with this idea that it was an anomaly that my father died, that people I love die. I wish I had been told this years ago. I wish I had been a part of conversations with my mother about the circle of life.
I wish I had been asked to talk about what was going on inside of me, but no one talked to children then.
I keep coming back to Roscommon Acres because you are amazing, and because I get to learn about life in a manner that is teaching that child in me who was left to deal with loss alone. You speak to a part of me that needs healing.
I didn’t cry the day I found out about my professor, but I still cry, on other days, because I miss my friend, my father, my professor, because people die: my heart is forever soft and I know that because my father died, because I know people die, I am not one to hold a grudge, stay angry, or be disinclined to let my family members be exactly who they are. I forgive a lot.
So, I am seeing G-d’s plan for me through loss: I am actually a happier person, because I love more deeply, because people die. And I could cry everyday, but I am working on releasing the sadness I have held onto for so long: I am more conscious of what I want to look back on from my own death bed: did I laugh enough, smile enough, hug enough, trust G-d enough.
And you have taught me to Love: only your story has led me to adoption, to be brave enough to continue to love, to love in spite of loss.
You are helping me to heal, thank you, and I have you and your family in my prayers to be carried through this time.