The end of the innocence

Tonight as I was putting my youngest son to bed we followed our usual routine. Brushing your teeth, one last drink of water,  and our nightly prayers. Every night was like this, something we have grown used to doing. Tonight ended differently though. He told me of a classmate that was ill and in the hospital because of "crocs". I wasn't sure what he was trying to tell me and I assumed he meant croup.  We talked about how quickly this sickness came on and then it was time to sleep.

This talk between us kept replaying in my mind, why I wasn't sure.  My husband and I watched tv for a while and then I decided it was my bedtime. I followed my own rituals to prepare for my nights rest.

Lying in bed listening to an audio book, I received an email from the school principal, the subject line said please read for timely and important information.  I opened it.

Reading through the email, it's content was saying how the classmate my son had told me about had been in the hospital over the last few days, I already knew this because of our earlier conversation. It went on to say that his illness had worsened today and that he had been transferred to a children's hospital. From there it said that she was sad to report of this little boys death.

WHAT?? Did I read that right? As I reread that paragrapgh, my heart sunk in my chest. I quickly got up and ran to the other room to tell my husband. We both sat in stunned silence. I could not imagine what these parents are going through? How can they go on.

I googled on how to tell your child a classmate died. The experts say to be honest and factual but not to dwell on the details. This much I already knew. I wanted the words to use, the exact phrase that I needed to tell my son. I couldn't find it. They say it is okay to tell you child you are sad. I think he will know that as tears will be falling from my eyes.

How do you actually do this?  I know that children know about death. But, how do you tell your nine year old child a friend has died? How do you explain that sometimes people get sick and cannot fight off their illness. How do you explain that this is so very uncommon. How do say this cannot happen to them, when you not sure yourself.

How do I end his innocence at such a young age? How do I make him face the mortality of a boy in his class, and then have him question his own?

How do I do this?

Lord, please give me the strength and the words to tell my son of his friends passing. And God, wrap your arms around his parents as they cope with the death of their beloved son. Grant upon them comfort and peace. Welcome this boy home to live with you and your son Jesus Christ.

May the angles welcome you to paradise,  may the martyrs greet you on your way,  may you see the face of the Lord this day,  alleluia,  alleluia.

Rest in peace Patrick.

Amen.

My own Toy Story

I have been putting a specific task aside for over a year now. Ignoring this chore has been hard. Not wanting to take away from  my son anything that he enjoys, I have neglected a certain basket in the corner of his room.

In this one corner of his bedroom is a pile that has grown deeper and taller as time went by. This basket in which the pile has grown contains the fallout of childhood dreams and memories of times gone by.

This is where his toys are kept.

From the must haves, to those passed down from family and friends, birthday gifts to Santa presents. All of these toys have occupied this space for many years. Being a sentimental spirit, each toy must not be given up.  Whether intact or not, each one holds a special place in his heart.

Not wanting to be the one to take his heart apart one bit at a time, I have allowed this to go for far too long. Without him knowing, I have gone through this pile removing items that do not belong there, such as "hidden" tv remote controls, unpaired socks, and markers that no longer color. Other than that, each of his cherished treasures remain where he left them.

As his 11th birthday approached, I had contemplated talking to him about packing up a few of his things to be stored in the basement. Knowing how he reacts to this conversation (we have had it before) I spared myself any ensuing arguements that he has on why his toys should stay put.

On a Saturday afternoon, not long ago, I was cleaning house. I knew that he was busy, but with what I didn't know. As the day wore on, I started cooking dinner. The aromas started to fill the house and he came out to see what was on the menu. As he walked away he asked for a trash bag. I told him sure, hoping he would use it for something productive.

All the sudden I heard a loud clank as something hit the floor. I turned around wondering what in the world was crashing down. I saw the look of pride on his face as he sat down two trash bags and the basket on the kitchen floor. In my mind I knew in an instant what was happening. My sweet, not so little boy decided on his own that it was time for the toys to go.

He said, "Here Mom, here's all my toys. I think I am too old for them now." With that one statement, it was My heart that was being taken apart one bit at a time. "Where do you want them?" I had to clear my throat of emotion, and said, "Put them in the living room for now." 

As he was putting his once treasured belongings in another room, my mind was taking a quick inventory of what could be in those bags. Were his favorite stuffed animals and cars in there?

I heard the sound of the vacuum coming from his room, tearing me away from my reverie. Knowing that he was busy for a few minutes, I peeked inside the bags. 

Seeing his discarded things made me so sad. I wanted to rush back to his room and put everything just the way it was. I knew I could not do that. He was making a statement and I had to respect it.

Instead I grabbed my phone and through my tears I had a long conversation via text with a close friend of mine. I knew she had to have gone through this before, she had two sons that were older than mine. She would understand. A mother's heartbreak cannot be held in secret. It must come out, if not my chest would surely explode. She comiserated with me, knowing just how I felt.

I left those toys in the living room for a week or so. I could not bear to see what he packed away. I wanted to know in my mind, yet I was not sure my heart could withstand it. So, one day while my husband took my two boys out for an afternoon of fun, I sat down and opened the bags. I gently dumped out their contents and slowly made my way through them. Laughing and crying at the same time, I was remembering him playing with each one. As I sat there, I was making piles of my own, what to save and what could be thrown away. When I was done I did have some things to get rid of. As any mom knows, there has to be twice as many broken toys as there are ones intact.

Out of his pile of toys he put into bags, I found yet another "hidden" tv remote, five socks and about a dozen markers that didn't work and enough baseball cards to fill a book.

There are a few things I did sneak back in his room. My heart could not bear to have them packed and put in the basement. Maybe he has seen them, maybe not. If so, he hasn't said a word.

Although these are just his toys, they are my memories of times gone by. Time that I would never get back. Each one holds a picture in my mind of the day he got it. The pure joy of receiving a wish come true, in the form of something tangible that brings that wish to life.

I will always remember this day. The day that he decided he was grown up. The day my heart was taken apart piece by piece.

I will also remember the day my wish came true, something to hold in my hands, the day my son was born.