cried himself to sleep last night. because two of his best friends’ mom died yesterday. he has been in school with these twin boys since they were all in preschool. their mom has been fighting a HUGE battle with cancer for over 6 years and yesterday, while maxx and the boys were on a field trip, she died at the hospital.
their dad came to the farm where the boys were on the trip to get them and maxx found out about their mom. his teacher called me to let me talk to him on the phone on the bus ride home because he was so upset. the bus pulled in about 6 last night and this red eyed, exhausted, emotionally drained baby boy got off and just hugged me and wouldn’t let go for about 5 minutes. we talked about life and death and God and heaven and the certainty of eternity and the gift of memories all the way home.
i took him home, fed him chips and dip, he took a shower and then he fell asleep on the couch at 7:30. adam took him to bed and i went in to check on him. he was crying in bed and so i rubbed his back until he fell asleep...
because that is what you want your mom to do
because that is what those twin boys would have wanted the most in the world
because that is what their mother would have told me to do
because i could and she couldn’t anymore
because life is hard
because in spite of it all, i know that God is good, but i didn’t believe it very strongly last night.
i asked him what was the part that hurt the most and he said it was that he realized that you could go on a field trip and come home and your mom not be there anymore.
and he is only 11. he is wiser than i am...
Death Be Not Proud by John Donne
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better then thy stroke; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.