Remember

Thirteen years ago.

I was driving to my first day of training for my new job in my orange 1979 Mercedes with the sunroof open. Listening to Oldies 101.7.

A glorious day.

Clear blue sky. The likes of which only comes after summer finally begins to relinquish its grasp and fall starts to cut in on the dance.

Delicious and crisp.

An announcement cuts in. A plane hit a building in New York.

Ooh. That's too bad. It must have been an accident.

Not even a blip on my radar of what was to come as I zipped down the road, a happy newlywed, on my way to a new job.

Then there was another announcement.

Another plane hit.

Oh Jesus.

I still can't fully grasp it.

I get to the training center and everyone is huddled in the break room. Glued to the 19" Panasonic.

Images like this assail my brain as I tried to reconcile the world of the day before to the world I was seeing play out in front of me.

I could go on and on. I could describe that day in perfect detail. How I thought the world was ending. How I watched the news coverage until I could watch no more. How the only thing, besides coverage, was on TV Land and it was the Brady Bunch (where the girls are grown up and sharing a house). How Garth was working late. How I sat on our garage-sale couch, practically catatonic.

And really, we all have those stories. That day brought us all to our knees. Drew us all closer to those we loved. 

We all said we wouldn't forget. And we haven't.

But life has a way of going on. It can seem callous that we can move past the tragedies that are as surely a part of life as is living it.

Yet, there is a beauty in the forgetting. A beauty in the meal after a funeral. A beauty in the new lives that are born into the world that don't even know of the tragedy, except for the stories.

Because all of those things offer the proof that life goes on.

Life goes on and you can't remember so much what it was like before, because all of those hurts remade us a bit, and we walk on. And we smile again. And we laugh. And we have new hurts that we don't think we can get through, but we do. And we remember. 

Down through the ages. Thousands of years. The groaning of the Israelites for their deliverance from Egypt. The crying out of those who trust in YAHWEH, calling out for deliverance, even now. The wailing of those who don't even know who they are summoning. "Come." Over and over. Thousands of times. Ten thousands of voices.  Millions of reasons. "Come. Save." The words encapsulating all the pain and questioning and hope in the midst of it. "Come. Save. Deliver." 

We were made for so much more than the most beautiful, perfect thing that this world has to offer, it is no wonder that our souls shy away from the pain.

Heavy Stuff

Last night Daniel told me another Secret.

Secrets are how I have come to refer to the awful stories of his past.

I know that I have made posts about this sort of subject before, but it floors me every time.

I mean, look at Daniel…

You would never know. 

The memories that camp out in his brain. The awful, despicable treatment he received at the hands of "caretakers." 

I am talking "A Child Called It" kind of stuff.

I have, personally, never felt too much anger or contempt for the people who were in his life prior to us showing up, but after last night's story… Ugh. Help me, Jesus.

But then I remember that Jesus was angry too. Righteous anger. And so maybe my anger isn't wrong. 

I sat on my bed last night. Trying. Trying to let go of the emotions that Daniel's tale had evoked.

Thoughts of "If only…" plagued my mind. But I believe and know that we got Daniel in God's time. 

Why God???? 

I don't really have a tidy way to wrap this post up, as I set here with tears running down my cheeks.

I think of all the people who KNEW what was going on. I think of all the family that didn't step forward to care for him. I don't know any of them, but a child isn't born in a vacuum. Even if a mom can't care for him.

How do you teach a child worth? We try day by day. And he fits in so well. But he will always know that he was systematically neglected, abused. And I don't have a beautiful thing to say to bring closure and explanation for that. Because it is sin. Sin in its darkest, tarriest, most demon-filled form.

And why does he tell me? What stops him from sharing with Garth? 

I am glad that he can share. And I never want to shut him down. And I suppose there is a dubious honor to being the Keeper.

People, I have heard two Secrets this summer (since June) and both have WRECKED me. And to know that my baby has those and more to share. If just one of these things had happened to me it would have been the worst event in my life. 

That is all.

Happenings

School began in Sponseller-land on the 18th of August.

Daniel is now at the same school as his siblings which has, so far, proven to be a much better fit for our family.

Some of the strategies that we have incorporated this year (for those who are wondering) are:

• Garth is down as the point of contact for naughty behavior. I got called way too much over way too piddley of things last year and it about gave me a breakdown. And it was totally my own fault that I let it happen. Because I was so worried about having a perfect child that I was trying, by the force of my will, to make it happen. Garth has a better perspective on the minutia than I do. Things that leave me wiped out often just make him laugh.
• I will not go into his class to help him behave. Daniel is fully aware of what is expected of him. He quickly grasped the fact, last year, that if he was rotten, I would be called, I would come in and that is what he wanted: mama. This year I told his teacher that my presence in the class should be a reward rather than a "punishment." So now he is working towards me coming in to help rather than a trinket or toy. I think it is a much healthier bribe.
• I have contacts on the inside. Grace, Claire and Wyatt are there to help Daniel make good choices and rat him out when he doesn't. For example, he was taking forever to eat in the cafeteria. I was not aware of the problem and I think that the teacher didn't realize that he was intentionally lollygagging. Claire snitched on him and so we told him that he couldn't eat breakfast at school unless he got to class on time. (He eats breakfast at home either way about it, he is not deprived.) I spoke with the teacher and she told me that he had suddenly began getting to class on time. After a week and a half of not.

We have come a long way, baby!

This is a one year to the day difference. So much more centered.

This is an "after school" shot.

Hope things are going well for all of you!