No Crying in Baseball

For those that truly know me, you know that I always put Elijah first in my life.  I pride myself on being the kind of parent that I want to be.  I do not strive for greatness, but just to be a good parent for Elijah.  Sacrifices are never easy.  Elijah is fortunate enough to have 2 parents that never ask him to sacrifice much.  If Elijah wants to do something, we try and make it happen.  This is what has led us to play all three sports: baseball, basketball and football.  After all, he’s only going to be a child for so long.  Tonight was a particularly rough night in our household.  We had a wonderful church service, where Jason and I were invited to assist in the youth and it was a blast!  We visited with our church family for an hour afterwards.  After we returned home, we looked at our schedule to plan our Memorial Day weekend.  It was at this time that I decided to write Elijah’s baseball schedule on the calendar, along with our Foster PRIDE classes. Both of these events only last through the month of May, but I had never considered that they would conflict with each other.  I never dreamed that with only one child, our lives would become hectic and someone would have to sacrifice.  After everything was laid out on the calendar, I noticed I would only be able to attend four of Elijah’s games. Four? What?

I shook my head. This can’t be right.

I was right.  With Jason’s work schedule, he could only attend one. I swallowed hard. Something was about to give.  I’m not the kind of parent that drops my child off at the sporting event and meets up with them afterwards to hear all the details. I’m always in the stands, cheering him on. 

The choice was obvious.  Our Foster PRIDE classes are a one-time event that will forever alter our future.  We will be opening our homes to children that have been ripped from theirs.  We will have high hopes of adopting at least two of these children.  Jason and I discussed it in detail before Elijah appeared in the dining room, asking for a drink. I looked at my son.  Five years, he has been a part of this team. Five years, he’s looked forward to baseball. Five years, he has never had to sacrifice this sport, or any sport, for that matter.

I asked Elijah how he would feel about quitting baseball this year, this ONE year. He began with his usual, “what do you mean?” How did you get to this point, mom? When did you think it would become okay to ask me this? His big, brown eyes stared at me in confusion. I brushed over the details quickly, and tried to make baseball seem minor this year, to soften the blow that I wasn’t actually asking him. He took a sip of milk and nodded that he could do that. He put his glass up, kissed my cheek and went back to bed. It can’t be that easy to ask your child to give up something that they had been involved with for so long? I went to Elijah’s bed, crawled into it and hugged him.  I explained in detail what was happening, how I didn’t want to ask him to do this and I sniffled.  The thought of letting down my child broke my heart.

“Don’t be sad, mom. Baseball is always there. It’s no big deal.” He touched the beams of the top bunk above his head. “You only have this one time to get a new kid in this house.  You have to go to those classes.  Besides, there’s no crying in baseball.” He knew there was no other option and I wasn’t going to be an absentee parent.  But I was wondering if I was being selfish, if we were being selfish. We have prayed about this, planned for this, had our heart set on this for so long, talked to Elijah for hours about this but was he truly prepared?

In a word: yes. 

My son handled the news magnificently.  He basically, shrugged and went on. He knew it wasn’t a big deal. In that moment, I realized I was being selfish as a parent. I was more concerned how I felt about my parenting skills then how Elijah actually felt. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to admit that you have too much on your plate. It’s okay to sit out a season. We are doing what’s in the best interest of our family, and baseball isn’t going anywhere.  Once again, I was reminded that our trials and tribulations do not define us, how we react to them does.  I felt silly as I went to bed.  If facing a baseball disappointment is my only trial today, then I am blessed.  And I am ~ very blessd.  Thank you, God, for all the blessings, and I apologize for not always seeing them.

As of today, for the first time in five seasons, Elijah is no longer a Mud Dog.

Blessed Beyond Measure

Tonight, as I watch one family prepare to say goodbye, I think about our journey. Our journey that continues.  Our journey that we celebrated over the weekend. Jonah’s short life. When I saw Dr. Eble out of the corner of my eye at the  Heart Walk, I prepared myself to reintroduce myself to him; he smiled at me as I approached him, “Wendy!” And he gently hugged me.  He asked questions about our life now. He talked sweetly about Jonah, about our precious little man. He asked how we were doing now, with genuine concern.  He talked about seeing me get the trophy for Jonah. He was proud that Jonah had affected our lives in a positive manner and that we, my family (all those dancers over there,) were honoring him. This man was such an important part of our lives, an important part of our last 15 minutes with Jonah, and the hours afterwards, that he never left our side. We’ll never forget him and for him to remember us, warmed my heart.  I haven’t talked about it much lately, about the people that entered my life through Jonah or even how my life changed afterward.

I see many people that become discouraged and bitter after losing a child. I understand that. You are allowed that and yes, I had my moments, too.  It wasn't all perfect.  It was never perfect. I buried a child, I never expect perfect.  I remember praying in the weeks of Jonah’s life for his “miracle.” Always, I wanted Jonah’s miracle to happen.  It only took me a few days to realize that Jonah, himself, was the miracle.  He was amazing from the very beginning.  Beautiful and courageous.  I changed my prayers to healing. I wanted him to be healed.  I never once asked for God’s Will to be done in Jonah’s life. Never. I don’t know why.  Even when they sat us down and told us the end was near, I prayed for healing. Jonah even had the best day ever.  That evening as I went to bed in the waiting room, I prayed for God’s Will to be done in Jonah’s life - finally. I was ready.  Jason was ready, too. He told me he wanted Jonah to go to Heaven and be with God. I hadn’t been so open to that idea until I laid down in prayer that evening. I asked for it – God’s Will – in Jonah’s life. I felt someone near me, and soft whisper, “Wendy.” Dr. Eble was above my head. “You need to come hold your baby.” I swallowed hard. I had never been allowed to hold Jonah so I knew it was happening. I shook my head, wanting to take my prayer back. I was wrong. I wasn’t ready.  I take it all back.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. I ran back there, in time, to hold my baby for the last 15 minutes of his life. I didn’t know if I could.  I remember repeating to Dr. Eble that I felt numb. I didn’t feel like myself. It felt strange in the room. I felt out of place. I was overwhelmed. When Dr. Eble looked at me, his eyes were screaming, “Your boy is being healed right now. In this room. Healed. Now.” And he was.  While we were grieving, and I prepared to hold him, God was right in that room, healing Jonah’s broken heart. Dr. Eble had to bring me back to reality, have me focus and hold my soon-to-be angel. I knew instantly when Jonah was gone. I knew it. Not so much with my eyes, but the room changed.  No machines beeped, his ventilator never stopped, but I knew I was only holding the shell of my son. I felt hands on my shoulders, hands holding my head; they were Jason’s and Dr. Eble. I heard weeping sounds and tears falling onto my shirt, not just from my own eyes but from the two men hovering behind me. I could only press my lips to his face and stay in that moment. You never want to leave that moment.  The last moment when you feel your child’s skin warm.  You still pray that you’ll feel his warm breath one last time.  You never give up hope. Never.

People don’t understand my faith.  Some people don’t understand how I can still love God.  Please remember Jonah was HEALED. He wasn’t healed the way I would have chosen but his heart is whole now.  He has no pain. His suffering ended.  Jonah is in eternity and he doesn’t know the trials and tribulations that we face here.  Also, I knew in that moment with Jonah, that I was going to be there, too.  I was going to see my son again someday.  There isn’t anything of this world that is worth seeing him again. I would not trade eternity with Jonah for anything. When you question my faith, please understand, not only are you questioning my love of God, but my love for my son.

This last paragraph did not make losing my son any easier. I still have to grieve. I still fall into despair. I still have to pray for my sanity and for comfort.  Just last week, I was screaming, "I want my son back!" Several days, I cried my eyes out for him. I stared at the shirts I had made for him, and lost all control of my emotions.

But I always know there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Even the most terrible events always contain hidden blessings.  When you count your blessings day by day, you become a person who is filled with gratitude. Being in a state of gratitude leads to peace of mind, humility and harmony. 'Thank you' is one of the most powerful words in the world. When you are grateful, you become a giver...you give compliments, you give blessings, you give appreciations, you give your time, you give love, you give kindness and most of all you give yourself. You’re very best.

        I hope you all know how special you are to me. If you’re reading this, thank you.  Thank you for thinking of us, taking time out of your life, praying for us and for always, remembering our son. And always, thank you, for your kind words…I received them tonight at church. She caught me off guard and I couldn’t carry out the pastor’s mission but thank you!

       *And remember – next year – you’re walking in the Heart Walk with me in Little Rock. I’m taking everyone. Jonah’s Journey set the bar high this year and we’ll continue to do so!*

Pray for Liam Lyon!

Always pray for my little buddy, Wyatt. He turns a year old next weekend – he has a new heart! Wyatt the Warrior! I love him!