Over And Over Again

It was a loud drive home from our play date today. Ally, exhausted beyond words and constipated to boot, was screaming bloody murder from her car seat. Ari, exhausted beyond words and frustrated, his sensitive ears ringing with Ally's screams, was trying to tell me something but each time I asked him to speak louder he only softened his voice. Eventually he fell apart with a strangled sob of grief and despair.

That sound stopped me in my tracks.

Because I had experienced it myself. Over and over again.

But I'm an adult with almost 35 years to my credit. He has been on this earth not even three and a half years.

"Oh, Ari. Hon. Would you like to hold my hand?" I offered from the driver's seat. "Yes!" he gasped with desperation and sobbed as our arms reached across the chasm between our seats. I never do this anymore...hold his hand while I'm driving. It's something I haven't done for two years. But I could see he was desperate for a base to hold him down from his outward spiral and, for once, I could be his rock with only compassion in my heart. That doesn't happen very often now that he's a preschooler...usually it's frustration and exasperation tinged with just a hue of compassion.

As Ari quieted down and Ally fell asleep, I started thinking about that sob. When that desperate sound has passed my own lips, it was at times when my broken spirit pooled around my feet and I believed I just couldn't take one more step...times when I would rather die than try anymore. Death, however, doesn't entertain ridiculous invitations and I know that. So I keep on breathing and eventually learn how to take one more step. Over and over again. That's the base of experience a 34 year old holds. A three year old, however, can't fathom the fact that life will go on after this most wretched moment. For him, the world really is ending...even if it's only due to a loudmouth baby sister. And so he needs a hand to hold, a rock to anchor him to the earth.

Luckily, a hand and a hug (and maybe taking a break with Curious George) are usually all he needs to pull through these moments. The hard times are when I cause his heartache...when something I did or something I said or the way I said it makes his little lips clamp shut, his face turn red and his eyes well up...trying so hard to hold it inside until it slips out in a little whimper and then a little sob. I wasn't the cause of the sadness today. But tomorrow, I might be.

We try and we try and we try but, ultimately, we fail. And we break their hearts. Over and over again. And we tuck them into bed with a kiss and then climb into our own beds and cry and then get up again in the morning and try all over again.

But their grace and unbounded love save us. And they forgive us. Over and over again.