Vivid Memories

Tonight, I sat on my eldest son's bed, and we read his bible and talked about a variety of things.  He seems to be trying to figure out some of the "simple" things of faith that he accepted easily as a younger child, but now he looks at them differently and wonders what they really mean.  It was a good conversation and I pray my words gave some insight.

Then, the conversation shifted.  He expressed the same fear he always has about his father; the fear of his father dying while his heart is still turned away from God.  We talked about praying for his dad and how God has each of us on a different journey and God knows his dad's journey intimately.  He won't forget Ethan's dad.

Tears.  The tears started flowing.  They got heavier and heavier and then he burst, "I thought, that night when dad said he was going away, it was just going to be for a day!"

And my beautiful baby's 12 year old body was wracked with sobbing that ripped my heart out.  The memory, the pain, is just as vivid for him as it was 5.5 years ago.  It still doesn't make sense in his poor head.  And why should it?  It shouldn't make sense that a father walks out on his son.  A father should never have a conversation with his son about leaving.

I held him.  He let me hold him so tight.  "It still hurts," I told him, hoping he knew that he had every right to feel that sharp, wrenching pain just as thoroughly as he did as a wee 6 year old boy.  It still hurts.  I want it to not hurt for him.  Oh God, I wish it didn't still hurt him.  But I don't know how he feels.  I was an abandoned wife.  I have never been an abandoned child and I cannot even fathom it.

In the bathroom, while he used copious amounts of kleenex, the sobs came again.  "When we got on the plane to come back to Canada, I said, 'Isn't Dad coming?'"  Oh baby boy... I never wanted any of this for you.  That trip home was surreal for me, being a literal leaving of the man (who had already left us!) who had been my husband for almost 11 years.  I was going to live in a different country than my husband.  How was that possible?  So, then, how could my little 7 year old boy (we left NZ 9 months after he left us) have had even an inkling of understanding, if I, a 35 year old adult, couldn't even understand it?

For it to all wash over him in painful, vivid waves of memory tonight, makes my heart physically hurt.  It is so tight in my chest as I write these words.  I pray each time the pain makes itself known, that the healing will be that much more powerful.  I pray, I pray, I pray...

Please pray for my children.  This isn't a pain they heal from and move on.  It's not at all what it is for me.  It is lifelong for them.  They will need these prayers their entire lives.

May God's peace and rest wash over you tonight, my precious boy, as you sleep.  May you wake up feeling a strength you haven't felt before.  May God bring growth and beauty from your greatest devastation.  Beauty from ashes.  Isaiah 61:1-3.

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.