Molly Beth and I sat in the hospital cafeteria; she was mashing macaroni and cheese under her plastic fork. ”We had a baby chicken a few weeks ago,” she said. ”It got a foot disease or something so its momma kept pecking it to keep it away. It died.” She said this matter-of-factly, like she was explaining the mechanics of a seesaw, or why all kids squish Jello through their teeth.
“You like that macaroni?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Not as much as fruit snacks.” She giggled and her cheeks pinked under her long blond locks. She didn’t catch the subject change. Molly Beth is still innocent. ”You want a pink one?” she asked, sliding a star-shaped piece of goo across the table. ”It’ll make you feel better; it tastes like strawberries.” She raised her eyebrows as she said “straw” and “berries,” and her eyes opened wider, like blue full moons. Her gestures were emphatic, uninhibited.
Molly Beth’s sister, a diabetic, read my concern. At ten, Suze has become accustomed to the pin-pricking of life, the blood letting. She checks her sugar with ritualistic precision. She understands the body’a independence on food. In some ways she is my youngest son’s kindred spirit.
As we left the cafeteria, Suze reached for my hand. ”Is Titus getting better?” she asked. Not sure how to answer, I squeezed her hand a little and stared farther down the hall. Feeling the awkward moment, Suze returned the hand squeeze. If I had a daughter I hope she’d be as intuitive. ”Thank you for coming,” I told Suze. She smiled.
Molly Beth moved to my open side, grabbed my left hand and started swinging it like we were on the playground. The sisters skip and for a moment I forgot why I was walking hospital halls.
The doctors have said that my son has failed to thrive. But these girls and their parents have come to bring solidarity. They’ve come to offer love, to lift my spirits.
Sometimes the dawn breaks backwards and black, melts up from the horizon like tar. The stars flicker out, snuff silently under a rising tide. Sometimes the dawn breaks gray, hovers like a cloud of doubt. But even still there are lightbearers that see through the most opaque. They know when gooey fruit snacks and a hand squeeze are more than meager graces. They know the innocence of mercy.
“Sometimes the dawn breaks backwards and black, melts up from the horizon like tar. The stars flicker out, snuff silently under a rising tide. Sometimes the dawn breaks gray, hovers like a cloud of doubt.”
Exquisite. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing the graces.
Wow. I got chills. My husband just died from an apparent suicide. We have a 7-year-old son. He was the love of my life. Married 9 years. Your words describe my feelings so well. Thank you for your post. You were a blessing to another heartbroken woman today. God bless you, sweet sister.
Karen, your comment broke my heart…I just wrote you at your blog with my email address. I love your writing and my heart breaks for you…am here if you need the ear of another cracked pot…Amy
Mine too, Karen. Praying that you find many little little coves of peace like this one as your weary heart makes this hard new journey.
Oh, Karen. May God draw you so close. xo
I’m so sorry, Karen. *gentle hugs* We lost my husband’s sister in 2004. If you want to chat, let me know. In the meantime, please know that my family will be praying for yours.
“They know when gooey fruit snacks and a hand squeeze are more than meger graces. They know the innocence of mercy.”
Thank God for the more than meager graces. I’m praying for your family.
From a Momma who has also watched her son fade away … I pray tears of mercy on you and your family today, yearning that the Great Physician might breathe His knowing into the minds of Titus’ doctors, and His healing into Titus’ body.
… and peace, into you and Amber’s souls in the midst of all this.
We are praying for Titus and for all of you…for healing, of course, and for many more meager graces that add up to enough.
Praying.
I am so glad you have family and friends there close by to help share this heavy load you and Amber are sharing. I would love to be there for support and help with the boys. I love you and Amber and those precious boys so much. Praying and hoping that each day will be better. Hugs!
Can’t stop thinking about your family, especially sweet Titus… Praying for you all. Praying, praying, praying.
Gethsemene grace…sufficient…when angles come and strengthen…the burden too great…there is no shadow in God’s love and light.
Seth and Amber,
I am so sorry for this health scare with Titus. I have been praying this weekend whenever blog posts or God brings your family to mind.
Sincerely,
Jennifer Dougan
http://www.jenniferdougan.com
I’m getting my people to pray too. Our family joined you from around our scratched supper table tonight, praying for Titus.
http://www.jenniferdougan.com/2012/07/neighbors-and-breaking-7-year-record.html
Jennifer Dougan
http://www.jennhiferdougan.com
Friend, so glad the mercy of a small, sweet fruit snack reached into your darkness. Our family continues to hold watch by prayer.
Do you think sometimes God can walk in the shoes of people to give us physical comfort? Sometimes I think so. My heart and prayers go out to your family.
you and your wife are two of the most beautiful writers, and people, that i know, seth. hundreds, if not thousands, are praying for you guys right now. may you find rest and hope and comfort in these dark hours. and may you know how deep the father’s love for little titus.
Holy Spirit come along this dear family & be peace & comfort to them.