By Ellie Braun-Haley
Remembrances last longer than present realities.
~Jean Paul Richter
"Stop! Mom! There's a car beside us!" I was about to change lanes on a busy highway when my son called out a warning. I looked over my left shoulder and sure enough, in my blind spot, a vehicle loomed.
Jason had an innate understanding of humans and a sense of timing to deliver the right words at just the right time. His sisters were seven and twelve years old when he arrived on the scene and I thought I was an old hand at child rearing. But Jason came with a guarantee, to teach each of us something new, or at the very least to consider new ways to look at life.
One afternoon he was bouncing his soccer ball off the outside of the house. The neighbor had already mentioned it was irritating her. Despite my earlier request to stop, he was back at it again; maybe he wanted to see how far he could push. Quite irritated with him, I shouted, "Jason, stop with the ball already!"
He grinned at me, which further fueled my anger and I shouted again. Then my skinny, 6' 2" muscular athlete walked over and picked me up! Exasperated, I tried to continue my lecture but the annoyance was soon overridden by a rush of warmth and his winning smile. My frustration evaporated as he teasingly held me. I could feel his love for me. At that moment I saw things through his eyes. I laughed, appreciating his goofy sense of humor.
Another day he went to school in a yellow sweatshirt I'd been given. It bore the emblem of a rival school's football team.
"Surely you didn't wear that to school today, did you?"
"Yes I did."
"Oh my goodness. What happened?"
"Well," he responded calmly, "some kids threw me up against the lockers and called me names."
"Oh Jason, I guess you won't be doing that again!"
"Yes I will," he promised. "Why not, Mom? It builds character!"
The day Jason was to compete in a track and field competition he hugged me just before he left. It was our last hug. Just an hour later, he lost control of his car and within minutes he was dead.
After losing him, trying to find balance, meaning and comfort was a slow, arduous and complex process. Five years passed.
Out of the blue one day, the pain of missing him was suddenly so sharp I broke down sobbing. Between huge gulps I begged, "God give me a dream where I can once more see my beautiful son." I pleaded. "It's so simple for you God. Please, please give me this dream. I miss him so much. All I ask for is just one hug in a dream." I cried and begged as if my life depended upon this one thing.
That night I dreamed of Jason when he was about seven years old. I was chastising him for something he had done. "Don't do that. Do you want to get killed?"
He looked at me, then spoke the most compelling words he ever uttered: "But Mom, death isn't forever."
I awoke, upset. I hadn't received my hug. As I became more fully awake, it dawned on me I'd been given something far better. Jason's words filled me with hope and reassurance for tomorrow. Even after death, this son of mine gave me another lesson, better than a hug -- until we embrace again in heaven.
Remembrances last longer than present realities.
~Jean Paul Richter
"Stop! Mom! There's a car beside us!" I was about to change lanes on a busy highway when my son called out a warning. I looked over my left shoulder and sure enough, in my blind spot, a vehicle loomed.
Jason had an innate understanding of humans and a sense of timing to deliver the right words at just the right time. His sisters were seven and twelve years old when he arrived on the scene and I thought I was an old hand at child rearing. But Jason came with a guarantee, to teach each of us something new, or at the very least to consider new ways to look at life.
One afternoon he was bouncing his soccer ball off the outside of the house. The neighbor had already mentioned it was irritating her. Despite my earlier request to stop, he was back at it again; maybe he wanted to see how far he could push. Quite irritated with him, I shouted, "Jason, stop with the ball already!"
He grinned at me, which further fueled my anger and I shouted again. Then my skinny, 6' 2" muscular athlete walked over and picked me up! Exasperated, I tried to continue my lecture but the annoyance was soon overridden by a rush of warmth and his winning smile. My frustration evaporated as he teasingly held me. I could feel his love for me. At that moment I saw things through his eyes. I laughed, appreciating his goofy sense of humor.
Another day he went to school in a yellow sweatshirt I'd been given. It bore the emblem of a rival school's football team.
"Surely you didn't wear that to school today, did you?"
"Yes I did."
"Oh my goodness. What happened?"
"Well," he responded calmly, "some kids threw me up against the lockers and called me names."
"Oh Jason, I guess you won't be doing that again!"
"Yes I will," he promised. "Why not, Mom? It builds character!"
The day Jason was to compete in a track and field competition he hugged me just before he left. It was our last hug. Just an hour later, he lost control of his car and within minutes he was dead.
After losing him, trying to find balance, meaning and comfort was a slow, arduous and complex process. Five years passed.
Out of the blue one day, the pain of missing him was suddenly so sharp I broke down sobbing. Between huge gulps I begged, "God give me a dream where I can once more see my beautiful son." I pleaded. "It's so simple for you God. Please, please give me this dream. I miss him so much. All I ask for is just one hug in a dream." I cried and begged as if my life depended upon this one thing.
That night I dreamed of Jason when he was about seven years old. I was chastising him for something he had done. "Don't do that. Do you want to get killed?"
He looked at me, then spoke the most compelling words he ever uttered: "But Mom, death isn't forever."
I awoke, upset. I hadn't received my hug. As I became more fully awake, it dawned on me I'd been given something far better. Jason's words filled me with hope and reassurance for tomorrow. Even after death, this son of mine gave me another lesson, better than a hug -- until we embrace again in heaven.
http://www.chickensoup.com
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий