In a Heartbeat

You know how sometimes you look at your children’s lives and you wish you could do a little something—maybe even a big something-- to make their lives easier. There were countless times when Melanie was struggling with cancer when those thoughts consumed me . Thankfully now she and her hubby are in a good place in their lives—exciting career opportunities, a life of friends and the outdoors in Seattle. But for number one son, it has not been such a smooth year.

In fact, 2011 was a challenge for Justin and his wife, Farracy with Justin slogging through crunch time as director of a video game that was released on November 1. (Uncharted 3—check it out!!!)  Who knew producing video game means working seven days a week, 16-18 hours a day for months on end? When the project wrapped in mid-October, Justin had had only had one day off since Melanie and Ben’s wedding in May.  Only days after the wrap date, he left for a two-week European publicity tour adding more alone parenting time for Farracy. Don’t get me wrong, Justin is a great dad; even when exhausted, he’s up early playing with the boys before leaving for work.  (When you get up at 6:00 there are actually hours of time.)

On top of job stress, last spring Farracy’s mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. And as our family and so many others know well, even with the best medical care, cancer means stress, and worry, and uncertainty all around.  Making several trips back to Texas to cheer her mom on gave the boys got lots of cousin time and Justin unrelenting work. (After months of totally debilitating chemo and radiation, happily she is currently tumor free. Shout out to Nancy!)

All this to say that when Uncharted 3 received an award in Spain and he was designated receive it, he agreed only on the condition that Farracy could come along-- a bit of R&R for the weary couple.  The only thing holding them back was someone to stay with the boys, Jackson, 3 and Cooper, 1. The call came, could we possible go to California? Even though Chris and I had just been there, I jumped at the opportunity to help, but work obligations for Chris meant I’d be flying solo on grandparenting duty. It would definitely be a different experience because those boys do love their Papa— endless source of activities and fun. Even with just about everyone questioning my sanity, I remained determined to go. (Do you have any idea what you’re getting into? You know, you’re not as young as you were when you did this before…”) Not wanting to admit it, having a bit of trepidation about tackling this alone, I reasoned it would only be four days and I had a pretty good track record. When Justin and Melanie were small, there was a lot of single parenting while Chris worked long hours.  How different could it be?

Still as the trip approached, my confidence waned. The four day trip morphed into six,  AND I realized the time change would happen the day they departed leaving me with chirpy voices used to getting up at 6:30 beginning to peep when the clock said 5:30. Okay, I told myself, you can do this, even if it meant eight o’clock bedtime for me.

Then the day before they were leaving, one of their two cats who had been in the boys’ lives forever, died. Hmm…not the perfect timing for children who had never been away from their parents for so long.  But it wasn’t until the man who was plunked down next to me in a middle seat on the plane (put there at the last minute to “redistribute weight”) began to throw up on take off that I began to panic. There I was on my way to care for two small boys wedged between a window and a sick person for six hours. (Mortified, the poor man apologized profusely saying he was sure it was a “bad breakfast sandwich.”  While feeling for him, I was not a happy camper.)

Suspended in mid-air cross the country, I worried and fumed imagining a week of worst-case scenarios until I completely exhausted myself falling asleep for the last hour. Upon landing while maneuvering my way through the terminal, seemingly from nowhere, a peace settle in me. There was a reassuring clarity that no matter what came, it would all be ok. I’m not sure where that assurance came from; maybe simply from living sixty–two years. After being a mom for thirty-four years, surviving the death of a parent, and cancer of a child, sitting at countless sickbeds, presiding at funerals, and listening to breaking hearts,  a certain understanding gradually seeped into my soul.  No matter what, life goes on and yes, “All shall be well…”  Six days with two little men? Imminently doable.

So how did it turn out?  It was not hard in the usual sense of the word, but it was exhausting. Exhausting, challenging, and extraordinarily GOOD. Knowing that it was just six days, I could immerse myself into a child’s world knowing I would be leaving it soon. But the child’s world of wonder also came with a black eye as Jackson and I collided with a bucket on his head. (Don’t ask. All you need to know is that “bucket head” is a hilariously funny game at 6:00 at night) And I did have companions making life easier: Farracy’s friends who drove Jackson to school and invited him over for a play date along with the lovely ladies at Mother’s Day Out who took a cranky Cooper on a day when his life seemed hard. Melanie and Ben via Skype had the boys laughing hysterically and letting off steam in the evenings while Chris sympathetically listened to my tales. But mostly, I was on my own just letting the days unfold, resting when the boys napped, going to bed early—very early—every night, taking walks and watching the world through child’s eyes.

In so many ways, it felt like I was getting the gift of a “do over” as a parent. Unlike the days when I was exhausted and nervous as a first, and then second time mom, there was a perspective of wisdom and the grace to take in the goodness of the days as well as the hard times. For six days, I did not have to worry about a single thing except being with those boys—listening to them (and yes, Jackson requires a lot of listening), seeing the world through their eyes, giving into fits of giggling and silliness, kissing fingers smashed in a door, endlessly reading books, and battling bed and nap time every single day, getting to know the little men in a deeper richer way.

The gift of remembering flowed as well. My now grown children came back to me with their goodness and their trials.  The memories of the young mother I was  flooded back. The days when impatience ruled and loneliness hung on me like a shroud—days when I would hunger for adult companionship or just the chance to slip away on my own for a few minutes, or delve into a book that would take me to a more exciting world. There was a newly found compassion for the younger me, for Farr, and all who care for young ones.

Seeing the returning relaxed faces of Justin and Farr was simply a bonus. Knowing they could begin another year together remembering what if felt like to stay out late and sleep until noon. Homecoming for them was joyful as was my coming home to Boston. Both felt right and good. I was exhausted, and exhilarated, and blessed by those six days. Would I do them a “favor” of taking the kids again? The answer is  simple because “favor” turned into blessing for me. (As favors are wont to do.) Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.  (are you listening J and Farr?)—in a heartbeat.

 The little men