HOLD HIM ANYWAY

“My chest hurts,” 11-year-old Issa complained upon waking. He’s holding his hand against the center of his chest like it’s real. “I’m SO loved, I can’t take it. My chest hurts.”

 

We were approaching the third death anniversary of my husband who died in a traffic accident. My son Issa and I have been grieving, growing, and learning to love through it all.

 

Yesterday sucked, though. We got off on the wrong foot. Issa was scolded, and I scolded, and neither of us felt good about it. I had him write a journal to reflect on what he did wrong, what the repercussions were, and how he intended to change certain habits. He doesn’t like to journal like I do, so it’s a double challenge for him. But this method works for us; encouraging self-reflection while also giving him a chance to work on his penmanship and constructive writing.

 

This journal turned out to be a masterpiece. It was supposed to be about the little things: making your bed, eating breakfast, brushing your teeth, and straightening up before opening your computer to find your friends online. Filled with an innocent child’s outlook on the nature of his life, Issa made it into an essay about how he needs to recognize order and priorities in living a quality life. He opened with a repentance. Then, as if he were Greta Thunberg taking on climate change, he broke into a refined discussion on how he believes he can modify this problem by “finding immediate beauty in things other than electronics in my life.” Honest and elaborate, it made me laugh out loud. The laughter was just what we needed to let it all go.

 

As we lay down to sleep, Issa and I remembered our Daddy. Love and laughter always have us thinking of him, for he was the big warm embodiment of these elements. We said goodnight … but then I heard Issa start to cry. At first a small shake; then, uncontrollable waves of wailing.

 

“I miss him … Mom, why did he have to die? Why did he have to die?” Issa repeated as the tremendous emotion took over his whole being.

 

I held him.

I let him be.

These emotions need to be allowed. Permitted. Free to move and move out.

 

I stroked his back.
I let his head rest on my arm.

And reminded him over and over again how loved he is. How Daddy is SO proud of who he is.

 

I have developed eternal patience for grief. In Issa and in anyone else, for I know that’s what I needed for myself.

 

I have also come to know that there is an eternal, timeless space inside my heart for this and any other emotion that shows its face. Some are more comfortable than others, but when you let them be in acceptance, I have found, I don’t need patience, for it takes me to a timeless space. There in that space, the emotions have a role. They help to turn the page and propel you forward. So, I’ve learned not to resist what the emotions are here to do.

 

A sense of whole awareness enveloped us as we lay there; but Issa’s grief persisted.

 

“I want to die. I want to die, Mom. Can you kill me?”

 

This did not budge me.

I allowed this thought. I knew it all too well.

 

I did not ask him to be another way. Why resist something that is real to him in the moment? I can love him regardless. I have learned that as much as I would like to, I cannot take the pain away for him. It is his road, his passage. I continued to hold him and say silent prayers in my heart.

 

I kept reminding him:

 

“I love you.

You are SO loved, for just being you.

You matter so much.

 

Why? is not the question right now.

Maybe one day, you’ll find your answer … just not today.

 

I love you.

You’re SO loved.”

 

“Before you go to sleep, take ALL your pain and everything you’re feeling and give it up to the angels and gods and to Daddy in heaven and let them take it for you while you rest, okay?”

 

Issa nodded.

A couple sob-nods and he was off to sleep.

 

It was not a surprise then, that Issa awoke with a peaceful smile the next morning. A child lives in the moment and flows in the now. As for his aching chest, “I know exactly what to do with that,” I smiled.

 

I took him out to our terrace to face east toward the rising sun. I wrapped my arms under his. I touched the spot. “It’s here, right?” Then I opened his chest to give him a wide stretch. “Those are growing pains. That’s your heart expanding because you’re so loving and you are so loved. And you’re becoming bigger and bigger to love even more.”