Holy kisses

Last night, we began watching Tim Burton’s “Alice in Wonderland” while eating our pizza, knowing Skye would only enjoy the first part of the movie with us. Nearly all the extra-cheesy pizza slices - sausage and pepperoni - had been devoured when he jumped to his feet and quickly covered the length of the ramped hallway that leads to his and Stross's bedroom. He needed to collect his wallet and whatever else he thought he might want in order to enjoy the rest of his night.

A few friends who were home from college had already arrived and a few more college friends were on their way. A van-full - more like our van filled - needed to leave soon if they were to catch the opening moments of whatever movie was scheduled to start prior to 7 p.m. The choice of movie didn't matter. The night's schedule and companionship did. 

While Skye checked his hair in the bathroom mirror and reapplied a smooth-smelling layer of Axe Excite, the remaining three of us - Stross, Mark and me - continued to sit on the floor in our self-assigned spots around a lavender-flowered vinyl table cloth. For more years than I can correctly recount, either that cloth or its purple-and-white checkered cousin has helped protect the plush beige carpeting of The Big Room. It defines the space we use for our Family Friday Pizza Picnic, a weekly communion of breading, sauce and soft drinks. 

Regardless of season The Big Room is always warm. In cold months, the heat of our fireplace permeates memories of paper-strewn Christmases after the boys have slept feet-to-head on our over-sized sectional, sleepovers where other families' sons have joined ours to sleep the same way, movie nights with only the light from our television and the world’s moon shining through a wall of windows, and game nights when the room itself has become home base.   

As Mark leaned against the slate of the fireplace ledge and Stross leaned against the cushioned checkered footrest of the chaise lounge, I watched from the purple footstool. Skye, his prepping complete, strode back to us. He cruised down the contoured angle of the ramp until coming to its platform intersection where - had he turned and continued following it - he could have gone directly to the garage door and the van of waiting friends. Instead, he stepped down and walked toward me on the purple stool. Leaning down, he softly kissed the snow-colored top of my head.

"Mhmmm ... I love you. I will miss you when I'm at college." The sound of his introductory sigh prefaced pure and unguarded emotion.

Drink this moment in, Joy. Do not let it go.

I watched him turn 90-degrees to the left and move to Mark. Leaning down, his lips found the top of Mark's dark-haired head. Mark closed his eyes and consumed the same gift I had received. 

"I love you, Dad. I'll miss you."

Before the words had finished being spoken - before Mark could respond with "I love you, too" - Stross raised his chin and extended the trunk of his body toward the ceiling. He stretched as tall as he could make his body while still seated on the floor. His Cheshire-smile face invited attention, and Skye rewarded him with a pivot his direction and a kiss at the top of his forehead.

"Mhmmm ... I love you, Stross. I'll miss you next year."

While never spoken, I heard the whisper of Dorothy to the Tin Man as Skye brushed his fingers through his brother’s ash-brown hair: “I think I’ll miss you most of all.”   

“I love you, too, Bro-bro,” Stross chirped, adding a satisfied purr. “Hmmmm.”

The sound of Stross’ contentment matched the delicious preface of Skye’s holy kisses. “Mhmmmm. I love you,” he had told us, and then he was gone – out the door and into the driver’s seat, sharing a journey with friends who have already traveled the path he will soon take.

It’s happening – just the way it should and just the way I hoped it would – even if it hurts.

Three kisses.

Holy kisses.

Blessings that hold you close and never let go even when the one who blessed you has gone.

Mhmmmmm … I love him.

His Hope Springs Eternal

Faithful readers know that one of my personal holy days is fast approaching: Stross’s birthday. As usual he began his countdown immediately after Easter. Actually, he began counting down the days to May 5 right after St. Patrick’s Day, but I told him I wasn’t ready to hear of it until after Easter. So, he counted quietly – but not privately – until this past week.

Part of Stross’s countdown ritual involves making a list of presents he would like to receive. Mr. Digital Savvy is a fierce online shopper who regularly sends me gift ideas. If the date on the calendar is between May 6 and December 24, the email subject line is about Christmas. If the date is between December 26 and May 4, the subject line is “My Birthday.”

Most interesting are the conversations about his plans for the big day. There is always a theme and always a need for pomp to go with his happy circumstance. When he turned 18, his special day was all about registering to vote and registering for the draft. This year he turns 21. You can imagine the plans he has in store. We have talked him down from a trip to Las Vegas. But I have a feeling if there isn’t at least one game of “21” happening for him sometime that day, he will feel cheated. Mark and I also know we will have to deal with that other rite of passage that so many 21-year-olds grab onto with fervor. My parents treated me to a classy dinner with cocktails. I hope something similar will suffice for him as well.

No one can grasp the magnitude of this annual celebration unless you spend time with Stross regularly. Birthday plans punctuate his daily life each Springtime with conversations sprouting like fragrant buds. This one happened this morning. I was driving him to an appointment, and he was seated in his spot in our van – middle seat, passenger side.

S: Hey, Mom, did you get the email I sent you today with the birthday gift I want?

J: Yes. I saw the link, but I did not open it. What is it?

S: A video set. "The Adventures of Sinbad."

J: You have already sent me a lot of links for gifts to buy, and you know that I have bought some already. How many gifts do you think you should get for your birthday?

S: 21.

J: Oh, really?

S: I will be 21, so ...

J: One for each year, huh?

S: Umhum. (His smile can be heard in his hum.)

J: (pause, then) So, will you get me 48 presents this year?

S: (pause) Oh, crap...

J: (smiles that her point was seemingly made)

S: (a bit longer pause than before, then a breathe of resolve) So, Momma, do you think we can try that sometime?

Ah, Stross. The wonder of him; the eternal hopefulness that eeks from every cell of his being.

He will not be getting 21 presents from us this year. But no matter how long his life, I am certain that he will continue to lobby for new ways to celebrate and new gifts that he “really needs. I do, Momma. Come on … ”

Oh, Stross. What will we do with you? What would we do without you? In all times, in all places, in all days, in all ways: Celebrate life!

Slow Motion Motherhood

There is a phenomena I recognize because of Stross that I have come to think of as Slow Motion Motherhood, or moments when life operates in real time for everyone else yet circumstances have slowed to a frame-by-frame pace for me. As I share in Involuntary Joy, they aren’t limited to hospital waiting rooms or other moments of stress.

With Stross, they have come on the most ordinary of days in the most ordinary of moments. His extraordinary life circumstances simply focus life in a way where contrasts to ordinary are keenly noticed – like when he, at 20 years of age, lumbers across our home on all fours to complete a simple errand because crawling remains his only form of independent mobility. In those moments, simple errands appear complex yet breathtakingly beautiful, courtesy of Slow Motion Motherhood.

While I am certain I have likely had such moments with Skye as well, I regret to admit that I am not as attuned to his slow motion moments. I wish I were.

Thankfully, I found some footage he took with one of our Flip cameras last weekend, and I was able to relive a breathtakingly beautiful moment that I missed. I am so thankful I have this moment, as belated as it is.

When I played the clip the first time, my heart clenched with breathlessness. So much had occurred in :29 seconds, and I had missed it all.

I have now watched this clip nearly a dozen times (and likely it will be many more by the time I post this). I have choked with regret each time: Why did I not stop in my tracks, grab Skye in a quick-but-tight-big-momma hug, then pull back to look up at him (for he is now taller than I) and say, “God, you are a fantastic young man. I am incredibly proud of you, and I love you so much it hurts.”

Why didn’t I do that?

The cliché answer: I take his life for granted.

The sociological answer: I would have embarrassed him.

The regret-filled answer: I didn’t really see what was happening in those precious seconds – 29 of which are captured here.

Before you watch the clip, I want you to know these things:

• I was in a hurry, trying to accurately locate the place on the Morningside College campus where I would line up for the processional that would lead me to my master’s degree.

• I was chewing gum – something I rarely do – to wish away possible coffee breath before meeting people for the first time. Skye despises the smell of chewing gum, so I try to hide it or keep my distance when I am chomping and he is around.

• I had only become aware of Skye’s presence behind me about 10-15 seconds prior to the beginning of this footage – after he had called out for me to slow up because his dad (waiting in our van with Stross) had sent him with our back-up Flip camera to take images of me crossing campus. I wasn’t sure how I felt about becoming the featured actor in a family epic, for I am usually the one capturing the footage. I love acting, but not in real life, so I when I heard Skye’s assignment, my instinct was to not slow my pace, as that wouldn’t be “real.”

• Because I am all about “real,” I managed to think of something I could share that I regarded as authentic. I chose something about having lost our primary Flip camera earlier that day.

• Finally, I was perplexed about why Skye would run across campus to take footage, because he doesn’t like being told what to do and doesn’t like it when I pull out the Flip camera. He is his own person. I remember a flash of wonderment: “Why is he doing this? Simply because his dad asked, or does he really want to?”

What I can see now, if not in slow motion but through constant playback, is that he did want to. He was proud of what I had accomplished, and he had responded to his father’s request to get footage as a gift to me. He believed I would like having parts of this special day captured for me. And I did … I do.

Skye: “Good thing you are graduating, and that’s what we're talking about.”

Ah, there it is: Slow Motion Motherhood in Skye-time.

Yes, Skye, that should have been what we talked about, as well as how insanely proud I am of you. I love your humor (the sound you made of footsteps “domn-domn, domn-domn”), your capacity for compassion, your creativity and your willingness to put others before yourself. I admire who you are becoming and how you are getting there. And when I mess up and miss some of your best moments, I love how you offer me generous portions of grace – often at your own psychological detriment.

Skye, these are things I would like you to know about this portion of a minute that we shared, but I missed:

• When I heard your voice, I felt excited. I love hearing your voice, especially when you say, “Hey, Mom!”

• When you chuckled, I hope it wasn’t a response to my inattention. I know that you – like me – chuckle sometimes when you are not comfortable and not sure how to react. I don’t ever want to make you that kind of uncomfortable.

• When I offered you a bemused look, I wish had conveyed more appreciation than bemusement. I also which I had not said something that probably only made sense to me; for even though we have lived in the same home for almost 16 years, I bet you weren’t able to interpret the nuance of my flippant remark. I intended it as a compliment, not sarcasm. Every graduate does need a son like you. They would be greatly blessed to have such a person to share life with.

• I also want you to know this: I should not have crossed the street without regard to what you might do next. You likely felt out of place even more than me; therefore, I should not have left you as the one to take the lead when saying “good bye.” Instead, I wish I’d have done exactly what I described above: grabbed you in a quick-but-tight-big-momma hug, looked up at you and said, “God, you are a fantastic young man. I am incredibly proud of you, and I love you so much it hurts.”

I am you know, and I do you know.

And one more thing: I cannot imagine being more proud of you than I already am. Still, I look forward to each day we get to share together, because I know I will be blessed with even more occasions to take pride in who you are.

Good thing someone found that other Flip camera for us, for I plan to continue using it for years and years to come.

“Hey, Skye, wait up! I want to get a really good look at you.”

I love you.

Mom
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More Dot Connecting - and on a Sunday!

It's how my blog works, I guess.

I don't know when I'll be moved to post something, or even what it will be about until something - or really some things - happen and my mind starts ascribing meaning to the individual events as they lead to some bigger picture.

That's what happened today with these events:
• hearing a comment made by a broadcast journalist on a Sunday morning talk show,
• wearing an animal print sweater that Stross gave me for Christmas (chosen, purchased and wrapped himself),
• wearing a bracelet my parents gave me for Christmas (purchased because of a car accident and chosen because it looked like me),
• receiving a comment (compliment?) made by a gentleman who greeted me in church, and
• having a conversation with Skye about such comment and other things it brought to mind.

Do other people connect such dots or is it just me?

I can't seem to help it, and, once again, the assembling of the dots into my personal Rorschach drawing seem to keep me musing about my basic life question: "Who am I now?"

Since that's my question to answer, I'd love to hear what you believe your life question is. And how are you being led to answer it?


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