Faithful Paradox

My boys are low on toothpaste. The kind of low where they dug through the linen closet and found the bubblegum flavored toothpaste samples the dentist sent home with them a decade ago that were shoved behind the towels and seemingly lost forever. Now they are brushing with pink-sparkle-bubblegum toothpaste. Needless to say, a run to the store was necessary today.

I ran to Super Target since I was in that neck of the woods, grabbed the toothpaste, along with a few other needed items, and wove my way to the front of the store. For a split second, my mind told me I was at Super Target getting items for Ezra. It was a moment of deja vu and flashback all married into a blink.

Of the 14 months he battled cancer, Ezra spent 10 of those months in-patient at Children’s Hospital. There was a Super Target near the hospital and every week, when my four day shift arrived and I would once again take up residence with him at the hospital, I would go to Super Target to re-stock snack items for him. I’d lug the boxes of sparkling water, cheese crackers, popcorn and any other snack that seemed palatable to him that particular week up to the 7th floor.

Super Target always felt like a small place of respite. It was a break from the 7th floor prison of anguish that we inhabited. It was also a treasure hunt; my weekly attempt to try to find even the smallest thing that could delight Ezra, if only for a moment: A small snack, or the ridiculous t-shirt I found, or the tiny Christmas tree I brought back for his room. I always tried to find something that brought a wee glimpse of the outside world and a little laughter that lightened his suffering for a second.

Today, as I walked through Super Target, my mind sped back to those days four years ago and I felt wildly disoriented for just a moment. In a split second, I felt overwhelming grief for all that Ezra endured, a moment of sadness for all that he lost, a moment of sorrow as his mom that I can no longer search for small things to delight him. It was a sacred second of sorrow; gone as quickly as it came. But then again, it was much more than just that second.

I think this is the thing that is so very difficult about the long road of loss and grief. It can come so suddenly; so unexpectedly. There are flashes, moments that were intended to be quick errands that turn into emotional memorial stones. These are moments that happen so frequently yet rarely do others realize they are occurring. They are battles of sorrow and loss occurring in split second increments. Walking through a Super Target to get toothpaste and all of a sudden I am battling tears.

These unexpected moments tell a story. In many ways, they are sacred seconds because they tell about profound memories of love and connection. They are moments that often cause heartache, demanding so much to simply keep going. Yet strangely, I would not trade these sacred, sorrowful seconds because as painful as they are, as hard as they are to endure, they remind me of my son. They remind me of a time that I was with him. They remind me of the delight we had in the midst of a terrible time. They remind me of joy in the midst of sorrow. They remind me of his smile and his laughter when I’d bring some junky treasure that I mined at Super Target just to make him laugh. These sacred seconds hurt, but I think somehow, even if I don’t understand it, they also strangely heal.