Mother and Son

I’ve often said that Corrie loved all the people in her life, but …

… I truly believe she loved her brother, Hayes, more than anyone else.

When we lose someone we love, we release a part of ourself.

As time trudges forward, one challenge a parent of two or more faces is:

How do I rebuild with my other child?

The key is for any parent who has loved, lost, and still has a blessing to care for is:

Be easy on yourself.

This is easier said than done.

There are days where I feel I am on point with my son. We are cleaning his room together, or we’re reading side by side.

Then there are days where the loss of my second one overwhelms me even if I do not show it. I am tired, and cannot do more than what I’ve accomplished in a day.

But, on Friday, Hayes came home with a new shirt and shoes he had received from the nurse. Shoes I’d bought him on Amazon were too big because originally I did not want to go into stores because of COVID.

He wore a shirt he knew was torn from our pup‐nager chewing the back of his shirt.

Why wear it?

“Because I like it,” he says.

We’re at the age where Hayes is hard to fit because he is out of the boys’ section. We are out of Target’s amazing Cat and Jack brand. Part of his autism, he doesn’t like certain material.

I was so embarrassed, depressed, and anxious over the fact he’d been sent home in different items. I missed the fact:

he’d worn shoes too big,

and a chewed up shirt,

How could I miss it?

Simple.

From the time Corrie started getting older and her hair longer, I spent a good twenty minutes every morning having strongly worded discussions about what she could wear and what she could not wear.

While she is our guardian angel and had moments of an angel on Earth, my daughter could throw her tamtrums at home. She was not a morning person. She cried almost everytime I brushed her hair, because I would not let my daughter out in the world looking unkempt even if she wanted to wear the soft pink leggings with the hole in the knee … again.

Now I have a son at the age where pants are long enough, but they don’t fit around the middle. The pants fit around the waist, but they’re too short. We spent almost one hour and a half at the Old Navy at the beach in December in the dressing room.

My son said, “Are we done now?” after every adjustment and trial run of pants. I raced around the store to get a different size. I also bought him shoes that fit, since the ones on Amazon were too big.

As I left, the woman told me, “You’re a great mom” and I needed to hear it.

After I experienced depression in the New Year, my grief nearly wiped my memory clean of the new clothes we’d bought.

But, after Friday, my son endured more suffering. We bought more shirts and shoes. Today, we went through every drawer and every shoe to organize what fits, and donate what does not.

Just as a tornado came through our farm one year ago this past Friday and we had to rebuild, mother and son are doing that now.

We have to take a chain saw to the fallen trees, and together, move them.

We must find the plants we can save and replant them.

Because the other struggle I’m facing is watching my son grow up too incredibly fast.