I woke up to a small sound at five in the morning, my mother sensors detecting something is not right. There it is again–a soft sniffle, a low moan. Is someone crying? I shuffle into the hallway, squinting from the scant hours of sleep and still half in my dream.
Markus is crying–a soft, forlorn sob that breaks my heart. I scoot over a bit to sit next to him on the floor in front of his closet. I fit my legs into the angle of his (and note for a second how his legs have stretched longer in the last few months) and wrap my arms around him. He spills out his worries and disappointments that have been building under his cheerful 8-year-old exterior. Loneliness, at the thought of Max being in Jr. high school this year and not being around before school to play with (harass) him in the mornings. Fear, that Max will have so much homework he won't have time to play with him after school anymore.
There was a time when my night time ministrations were easier, when, bleary eyed, I could provide milk and nearness and that was enough to satisfy his nighttime needs. Now my role isn’t resolving or satisfying but simply witnessing & waiting while he resolves for himself. Now, I can only keep these things and ponder them in my heart.
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| {Markus' first day of Third Grade} |
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| He wanted to go school shopping last week |
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| and this Cubs shirt is the only thing he wanted to buy. |
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| {He was soooo excited to see his friends in his class line!} |
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| {Morgen on the other hand...wasn't too excited for his first day of being a Junior in high school. But what did I expect?} |
Since Max had his first day of school last week, he wasn't nervous today. And since Markus woke up early enough, he came with me to drop Max off. Then he and I went to have a bagel and egg sandwich before his school started an hour later. I was just thinking why didn’t I do this with my older boys and spend a little more time? What’s so difficult about that? I sigh, stretch my ear to my shoulder and wish for a do-over.
