HAVE HOPE

Hard days. We all have them. But I've learned, finally, that what I have , more often, are hard chunks. Sometimes they are divided by sunsets and sunrises, but sometimes they are on the other side of a Dove ice cream bar, or a stubbed toe, or a call from a friend.

Yesterday I let my head go down the rabbit hole, thinking about my Littles, the kids who belong to my kids. In real life, before this situation called global pandemic blurred my vision like a bad dream, I spent nearly every day, or at least some portion of it, in the presence of my grandkids. I recognize this as a blessing, even moreso now that it's out of reach. I crave their touch. I ache to feel the warmth of their skin, the energy of their arms around my neck. I even miss changing little Tessy's diaper, patting her soft little tummy, drawing her up to my chest, smashing her with a giggling embrace, then throwing her on the mountain of down pillows we piled up on top of the bed. I miss baking with them, and coloring and just sitting and talking, or playing guitars and ukuleles and kazoos. 

I think this current lump of sadness started the night before last, when Annie and the kids stopped over for a minute. We keep ourselves apart, but cannot resist the magnetic pull to at least be within six fet of each other now and then, if only to exchange a loaf of bread or batch of cookies. But it is a double edged sword, because being that close and not touching is almost harder than not seeing each other at all. Tessa was on the swing in our yard, and her two year old legs do not yet know how to pump. She called to someone to push her. It sounds overly dramatic, I know, but it nearly broke my heart. I started to move toward her. David and Annie both insisted I stop. Meanwhile two year old Tess and 62 year old Gummy just stared at each other, tears welling in our eyes.

So yesterday morning I woke up with an overwhelming sadness. I'm not prone to tears, thanks to medication, but they came anyway. I've lost enough people to know this is what death brings to us. I am grateful this is not death this is just a temporary separation... with an unknown end date. I sent a text to my kids:

Immediately John called on FaceTime and each of his kids, and their parents, just walked around with the phone talking to me.Thank you, Dear Lord, for smart phones! Annie and Sarah both sent pictures. All sent love, and I suspect little prayers. And the nap I took helped, so that when I woke up I was able to record my daily scripture and joke and send out to all of them.
Today, when we drove over to the kids houses to deliver our traditional Sour Cream Conference Cake, eleven-year-old Ruby handed me a letter.  The outside of it said, written in artistic lettering:

HAVE HOPE

And this was the letter she wrote me:

I hope you are able to read it, because it is so beautiful and so dear, and besides being well written, it is so representative of my Roo. Ruby has always been an old soul in a young body. One day the body and soul will be in sync with each other, but until then I am afraid she is destined to be strapped into a roller coaster of emotion. But when that synchronization happens, watch out world, she will be a force beyond compare. 

For my birthday last month, Ruby gave me a stack of envelopes, each one with a hand drawn title. They are amazing! I taped them to my locker, so I can see them every day. I have waited until I felt the exact need to open each one. Here's a picture of the set, and just so you can get a sense for what is in each one, there's also a sample:

Each envelope says: Open when you're...
(pick an emotion)

Here's a sample of one envelope.

Sometimes we confuse sad with mad,
and what we really want is to feel loved.

She laminated these little notes of encouragement.

Isn't she just so cute?

I'm not sure why Ruby included this picture of her dad,
my firstborn, dressed as a wiseman. Maybe she thought it would
make me feel happy. Or maybe she wanted to remind me that I have
already learned about dealing with feelings of frustration and
anger while raising him as a teenager.

Before this craziness, when days were chock full of  calendered events, so many that I had to have little reminders ding at me through my phone, and my gas tank emptied twice a week, and my guitar went in and out of its gig bag on a regular basis; when I sifted, without thinking, in and out of stores and houses and church pews... back in the old days, Ruby invited me to her "Lunch with someone special" at Knowlton Elementary School, where she is in 5th grade.

A little sashay in the school parking lot.

I stopped at Subway and got us sandwiches and chips and her favorite lemonade and we sat at those squatty little cafeteria tables just tall enough for first graders. I had brought enough treats for her to give away to friends. I love that being with Ruby is wholly comfortable for me. She makes me feel important, and she makes me feel at ease. It's one of her gifts. I just love her so much. Even now, as I type this at 2 in the morning, I feel warm love dripping from the corners of my eyes because I love her so much. And then my mind goes right on down that holy list of names belonging to my posterity, from sixteen-year-olds down to two, and I am a blubbering mess. I just miss them so much.

God granting we survive this, I inhale slowly, imagining the day we first get to embrace again. It seriously feels like I have eleven missionaries out at once, and I am going through withdrawals.

I write this tonight so that I might remember: How it felt to be kept apart. How it felt to be mature and responsible in spite of overpowering emotions. How love looks from far away. It is a test, for sure.

My heart is sifted through my sacred four; John, Sarah, Kate and Annie... then further down into eleven beautiful, gifted, loving, intelligent, striving, delightful souls I claim as my own. Thank you, Lord. With everything that is in me, thank you.

(Coronavirus deaths to date: 64,787)