Enough

Things are hard right now. Really, really hard. And I'm not just referring to the loss of our son. Yes, that is our deepest and most poignant loss. But it seems that 2011 has delivered our family heartache after heartache. And in the last couple of weeks, I have begun to question how much more I can take.

Tonight - after some additional news that caused hurt and frustration - I ran away. I jumped in the car and drove. For hours. I didn't have a destination, I was just trying to run. Run from the heartache, run from the uncertainty, run from the hurt and run from the unknown. The problem? There was no place to drive that far.

When darkness came, I decided to turn Homeward. As I walked into our rental, I was greeted by my three year old calling my name as he threw his arms around my legs. Truthfully, I was annoyed that he was not already in bed (it was after 10 o'clock). So I instructed him to get in his bed and promised that I would come tuck him in after I took a hot shower. He complied.

Under the hot, pounding water, seconds turned into minutes and the minutes multiplied quickly. In my mental anguish, I forgot my promise. I readied for bed, thinking only of the weight of the decisions we have ahead. Was God aware of us? Did He know of our suffering? How could He forsake us in our darkest hour? I felt so alone.

Then came a voice. A little, tender voice.

"Mama, can you come tuck me in and hug and kiss me?"

It was my little Ashton. I had forgot! Oh man. Just another bullet point to add to my "falling short" list.

I tiptoed down the hallway, careful to not wake the slumbering girls. On the bed I went, hair sopping wet and smelling heavily of shampoo and lavender soap. We cuddled and then sang Ashton's nightly song.

Then this spontaneous conversation ensued.

Ashton: Mom, I don't like Bennett with Jesus.

Me: I know, Ashton. I know.

(Could my heart possibly be more heavy?)

Ashton: Mom, I want Bennett to come back to our house.

(Silence. What to say? Haven't we covered this topic a million and one times?)

Ashton: Jesus likes trains and trucks. He is funny. Bennett comes to play with Jesus.

(Pause . . . WHAT?)

Me: He does?

Ashton: Yeah. Jesus is funny. He is very, very funny.

As quickly as the matter-of-fact comments came, the conversation shifted to his favorite truck of the day. I laid there dumbfounded. Did Ashton really just say what I think he said? Did he really just casually state that Jesus and Bennett came to play trucks and trains with him? He had mentioned visits from Bennett before. A handful of times. But this conversation was different. He stated everything so clearly and succinctly. As if I already knew. So curious. So, so curious.

And so I prepare to (hopefully) go to bed with this conversation on my mind. Do I still feel burdened with the weight of the world? Yes. But is Heavenly Father - in His own way - meeting needs that not even this Wife and Mama can see? Perhaps. It doesn't change our situation and it doesn't "fix" anything. But my little boy unknowingly gave me a Gift tonight.

The Gift of Hope.

Hope that it will get better. Hope that there is Light ahead of this awfully long tunnel. And Hope that it won't be another train.

And for now, that's enough.

It's enough.