August 5: Childish Things, a Son and Daughter, Prayer for Mothers

As time went on, and the months and years came and went, he was never without friends.  Fern did not come regularly to the barn any more.  She was growing up, and was careful to avoid childish things, like sitting on a milk stool near a pigpen.  But Charlotte's children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, year after year, lived in the doorway.  Each spring there were new little spiders hatching out to take the place of the old.  Most of them sailed away, on their balloons.  But always two or three stayed and set up housekeeping in the doorway.

Yes, time takes away children.  Fern grows up, stops coming to Zuckerman's barn to listen to the animals talk and keep Wilbur company.  She probably even forgets that she could once understand animal speech.  Wilbur's endearments of "Fern" and "I love you" become "oink!" and "snort!"  Like all childhood experiences, Fern's time with the sheep and geese and cows enters another lobe of memory, where fairy tales and myth reside.

As a parent, my biggest joy/heartache is watching my children grow up.  My little girl is almost as tall as me now.  And my little boy can read books to himself.  My job is to teach them how to be compassionate, independent adults.  I'm parenting myself out of a job.  If I'm successful, my children will be able to function without me being there to catch them when they fall.

While letting go is a necessary part of child rearing, losing children is any parent's biggest fear.  I know of two mothers right now who have lost their children.  One mother has a son who suffers from a mental illness.  He's unstable and, at times, out of control.  This mother had to kick her son out of her home.  The other mother had a daughter who went in for simple sinus surgery.  Her daughter had a stroke in the operating room and never woke up.

I can't imagine the pain of either of these mothers.  I've seen what losing a child did to my mother and father.  It was not an easy thing to witness.  The sorrow.  Emptiness.  My father sitting at the dining room table, staring at a photo of my dead brother.  My mother, whose memory isn't always the greatest, suddenly remembering that my brother is gone.

This week, I'm asking for prayers for these two mothers.  They are truly hurting.  They raised their children, let them fly, and saw them fall, like Icarus, from the sky.  These mothers need some grace and strength.

Saint Marty will give his son and daughter an extra kiss tonight.  Ask God to watch over them.  Keep them safe.

You can't always be there to catch them