Crying over You

Tonight my middle guy cried his own bucket of tears.

We're talking crocodile tears. The kind that are accompanied by a soul-retching sobbing sound. The type that make your body shake uncontrollably.

Mike was lying in bed with him and shooed me off when I asked what was the matter.

So, I went in to tell The Babe goodnight. We started playing "kiss this". I'd kiss his nose, he'd kiss mine. I'd kiss his ear, he'd kiss mine. Then, he asked me to kiss his armpit. After that, the game ended. But, it was fun while it lasted.

Meanwhile, bawling son seemed to be going up the tall side of the world's longest roller-coaster of a cry. Even the front seat of the coaster was no where near the peak.

Being unable to listen to a child of mine wail without knowing WHY, I started noodling this issue. Had Mike finally admitted they weren't going camping with the Boy Scouts this weekend? Had my boy remembered his friends are moving to Italy soon? WHAT???

The suspense/crying was killing me, so I told The Babe I'd be back.* And into middle son's room I went. Again.

This time, I decided to play it cool and not ask about the issue. Instead, I told my son I was sorry he was sad. Then, he rolled over and said, "I'm sad about Don."

At that moment, I was a little confused. I wasn't sure if I heard the word correctly, so I asked Mike. Sure enough, he said Don.

Great-Grandpa Don, that is. Who married Mike's maternal Grandmother after his Grandfather died. Don was the only Great-Grandpa my guy had ever known.

When I snuggled in next to him, I asked what his favorite memories of Don were. After thinking about it for a few seconds, he said "I don't know." And started crying even harder.

After a Kleenex break, I said "Grandpa Don really liked it when you visited him."

He said "Grandpa Don was always nice to me" and "I liked visiting him."

Though his memories of specifics were vague, I completely understood. Years after my Grandpa Robbie died, I couldn't tell you a single conversation we ever had. The specifics were never important. It was the TIME that mattered. And, for my son, time with Grandpa Don had come to an end. Before my boy was ready.

As well, at the tender age of seven, he was beginning to understand the permanency of death; that there are no more do-overs, hugs and kisses, or "See you next time".

And it brought great sadness to him that Grandpa Don had forgotten who has was the last time they saw each other. Parkinson's had taken it's toll. But, being so young, my boy just couldn't understand.

I prayed over him that he would continue having a soft heart and that his future wife would see his tenderness as a strength.

After I prayed, a wonderful thought came to mind: he's not just my son, he's a little bit of me. And he's so much like me that it's scary.

Thank you, Lord. I'd have it no other way.




*But, like Mom, not The Terminator.