It feels like we have been moving for months. Because for the first time in my existence, I didn't procrastinate. Instead, I started packing packing us up weeks ago, knowing that it would be much easier this way. And it is easier now that we're down to the wire, with less than a week until the truck comes. And I maybe have 6 more boxes that need to get packed. The last load of rugs is in the wash. We are down to camping dishware and a suitcase of clothes. It is nice to not be stressed this week that there is so much to do, because there isn't.
But having everything packed up and living with boxes and ugliness for such a long time takes it toll, too. Especially at the tail end of school. Little Man is supposed to bring games to school one day, books another, toys for a classroom garage sale.... At first I would sigh and unpack a few boxes until I could find what he needed, but I drew the line this morning and told him sorry, it's all packed up and I'm sure your teacher will understand. He is such a good kid and he really does roll with life rather well for such a young man. But this move is taking its toll on our Little Man. He's worried about making friends, sad about leaving friends behind, missing his grandparents, sick of having all his stuff packed up. It's been too much for him, I think.
Yesterday, we took some old greenware pots that I made years ago on my wheel and never fired, and we threw them in the driveway and watched them shatter. He threw them with all him might and then went and stomped on all the pieces big enough to break more and ground them into the asphalt. And then we took the hose and watched the red clay run into the street until it was all clean again. I wish his anxieties and fears could all be broken and washed away that easily. It was a good release, a good reset for both of us. And it worked in the short term.
But I can tell he's still hanging by a thread in some ways. This morning, Little Man was talking about how much he is missing his brother. He was talking about how awesome Heaven is and what Jameson is probably doing on this fine day. And then he just threw it out there and took my breath away. My first grader looked me square in the eye and told me he can't wait to die.
A part of my heart shattered on the kitchen floor and I had to work hard to keep my cool. He went on to say that he likes Earth and he wants to live long enough to have kids, but he wants to die when his kids are 12 so he can finally be with Jameson again. Ahhhh.
We have all been given an amazing gift through losing our Jameson; the three of us he left behind all have our hearts and eyes on Heaven so completely that we long to go there. And that is a gift! To see it and want it and know that we will have it someday, that is a gift. In that sense, the hole in our hearts is a gift.
But the other side to that coin is the pain and loneliness that comes with that loss. The pain so great that my seven year old looks forward to dying. He feels that desire to push the fast forward and just be done with it all just like I do. Let's just get this part over-with and enjoy eternity and let's just do it now.
I get him. My Little Man, who doesn't seem so little when he talks so big. It's hard to be here. There is a greater pull, a yearning we cannot ignore. And it makes it hard. To just live. Just to be.