I am the seesaw on the playground
{Grief in the everyday}
My eyes keep landing on the little girl.
She looks like you when you were 3 or 4.
She surveys the perimeter of parents and her eyes light up when she finds her mom.
I remember that look from you. I remember the smile I would return.
Her hair, dripping blonde tangles down her back, looks just like yours used to.
I would brush and brush. You were so tender headed. I can almost smell the shampoo mixed with sweaty head scent of your scalp right now; my eyes and nose tingle.
I stop myself before a tear erupts.
She walks on her toes, like you did. Each of her little, deliberate steps exudes joy and confidence; her arms splayed out to her side with a bend in her wrists; a ballerina’s walk.
Or maybe a penguin’s.
I suddenly remember I’m there to watch my sons. Where are they?
Over there, not needing me.
I remember a time where I longed for days when I wouldn’t be needed all the time; for the reprieve of ‘mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy’; just a few breaks in the day, to breathe. It felt like they would never come.
They still need me, but not like they used to.
I need them, though.
My eyes close for a moment and I inhale. I picture their faces in the morning when I go to wake them up. Their eyes closed. Peaceful. I exhale.
My sleeping boys are precious, like gold to me…sleep boys, become renewed, dream your dreams, see angels and Jesus in them. Lord, protect them, please.
A fleeting moment of gratitude surfaces.
I open my eyes and immediately the girl is running past me, her laugh, giggle-like, a symphony of innocence and goodness. A smile breaks through.
I remember wanting to bottle those up; an untainted innocence-moment captured in time, in a bottle. Innocence and goodness.
My smile disappears: two things stolen from you; you won’t get them back.
She summons, “Mommy, Mommy! Look at me!” as she climbs with steady steps. Her mother smiles lovingly back and gives her a thumbs up.
I really am grateful for this observation.
Then, my mind deflects and my thoughts switch directions like they so often do in moments like this.
‘What if what happened to you happens to her? Or any of these little girls, or boys on this playground?’
I quickly scan the playground to find her mom. ‘Oh momma, what lies ahead for you and this child of yours? The sweet innocence of now turns into tomorrow’s anxiety, depression, self harm and suicide attempts…’ I was once that mom, not knowing what was ahead for me...and for you, my daughter…
longing for the day when I wouldn’t be needed so much because the weight of motherhood sometimes felt so overwhelming.
Oh what I didn't know.
I want to go back.
But I am still needed now.
Not in the way I thought I ever would be.
I am needed to fight for you. To find the right care for you. To tell you over and over and over again how beautiful and worthy you are. To tell you over and over again that God has a special purpose for you and for you to just hang in there and wait to see the glory He has waiting for you…
but you just have to hold on.
My thoughts wrap me up in that comfortable grief blanket; the one I’m all too acquainted with.
The one that makes me feel hot and bothered and smothered, yet it’s so familiar that I don’t bother to take it off. I just sit, wrapped up in it, again.
And then, I hear, “Mommy. Look at me!”
The voice is familiar.
Like a snap of a finger I’m pulled out from under the blanket and reminded that I am needed here, too.
He smiles at me and I smile lovingly back at him and give him a thumbs up.
I am the seesaw on the playground.
Not just now. And here.
All the time.
Up.
And down.
High.
And low.