Brave Love

i couldn’t tell you what song it was

but i am driving home from work and i am so aware of realizing that I want to turn the radio louder, and even more than this, I want to sing out loud.

i haven’t had this feeling of wanting to sing out loud since Brave died.

i guess it happens to all of us, who keep on living, time passes and we mourn long enough that life creeps in and surprises us…that we actually feel alive.

and when that happens, what do we do with it?

it happened today. lyrics fell from my lips.

words I honestly meant.

and there were still a few words in the song that I couldn’t bear to sing aloud, and moments when my voice cracked and tears sprang quickly to my eyes.

there were moments that I remained silent as the melody played on, because i could not sing what they were saying

but

there were more moments that I sang. and moments where God was acknowledged and even felt kind.

i don’t know if I passed whatever test this was. i am not even sure it was a test.

i don’t know if God believed my response to Brave’s death to be faithful, if i would be called good and faithful.

but today i didn’t hate God, today, for a moment i liked, maybe even loved God.

and it brought tears to my eyes, that i could not only believe in but still love a God who allows death to steal my child from my womb.

i don’t know if good, faithful Christians respond quicker, less honest or kinder than I did but I am so grateful for a glimpse, a second, to feel life and love still resounding deeply between my beating heart. i was afraid all of it had died with Brave.

i can now have a conversation with death. 

the sixty-something cards, letters, text and voicemails flooded my exhausted heart on Sunday,
mother’s day.
even i didn’t know I would battle like hell on friday and saturday.
and little sunday would be sad but peaceful.

oh, my aching heart,
oh, my aching mind,
i long to soothe you,
even with such little time,
shared time.

maybe sunday was so much easier because so many people noticed,
carried me,
my pain,
my heartache.

yet i realized Mother’s day was no different than any other day,
it is everyday i learn to be a mother without a child.

so somehow it is getting out of bed on this monday that calls me to all my strength.

seemingly, everyday is a Brave Mother’s day.

andrew is working all weekend,
i start to clean the house,
though my bike and the sunshine are beckoning me loudly
but not as loud as this messy, empty house.

these moments I miss Brave,
playing on the floor as we listen to music and I clean the house.

i miss him when he is supposed to be in my care.

the phone rings,
a college area code number so I answer.
an old, precious friend,
who calls every two years with big milestones to share with me,
good and bad.

he tells me he is a father,
his son is three months old.
that he spent the morning dancing and singing with his little one.

i reword again again in my mind how i will tell him about Brave.

it’s when he asks me if he can send me a picture of his little boy that I must interrupt.
i tell him we lost Brave five months ago.
he tells me he is so sorry, and we must trust it is all part of God’s plan,
that we don’t understand why and God doesn’t promise only good times.

i tell him that he doesn’t have to trust anything because his little boy is in his arms and not in the ground.

well, I wish I told him that,

instead I just listened to another christian who is kind, but naive to suffering.
i thank him for calling and say goodbye.

it’s enough to break me.
well breathing is a task most days,
so you can imagine.

i keep cleaning,
and crying,
i start breaking things instead of putting them away.
i demand God to comfort.

i think of what I hear about God versus what I know of God.
His most beloved battled demons their entire lives and buried their own dead.
the God I know asked the mother of our Savior to birth Him and stand by as He was crucified.

so, i tell God not to worry about it,
don’t comfort me,
just stop requiring me to be chosen.
i don’t want to be Your favorite anymore.
because it cost to be used by You.

everything tells me to say, all is well...prove my faithfulness.
to hold onto hope, to peace and rest in what I know is true.
what i know is true is the emptiness of my house,
the emptiness I feel when I read that I should say all is well.

the phone rings,
it’s my best friend,
my answer is my weeping,
she is kind,
she is silent.

when the tears quiet,
she says she loves me,
she tells me not to stop crying.
finally, some comfort.

Vigilant.

That’s how I am when I take the scooter to work.

Always aware and looking.

Occasionally, at stop lights, I see rainbows reflecting off car windshields,

through my helmet, if I catch the sun’s light just right it separates into colors,

and colors stare back at me.

A rainbow.

Brave’s sign.

The sun and rainbows,

the things that remind me of my little boy,

even more than that,

somehow they become his communication with me.

But now I see them everywhere,

I didn’t notice them before,

now,

without warning,

these reflecting colors always catch my eye.

Spilling into my life through prisms hanging in my living room.

My car mirror.

or the sun shining on the edge of my glass of water,

or reflections on street signs.

rainbows.

I am starting to look like a new age, zodiac woman attempting to cover myself in this mystical belief that Brave is communicating from the heavens, through the sun, with these rainbows.

I stare back at the rainbow cascaded on the car glass in front of me, wondering if it is too much to believe it could be a sign.

As if God sending Noah a rainbow after the flood to bring him peace,

Brave floods my days with colored promises of his safety.

After the flood.

When devastation rained down and we wrestled to stay above water until the storm subsided.

And now we squint as the sun shines without our consent and rainbows pierce our anger with some angelic notion of hope.

Maybe that God will never allow our family to be destroyed again to the level He did when He allowed Brave to die.

Maybe that is what the rainbow means.

Somehow the depths of this loss will be our greatest.

But that can not be promised.

He does not promise that.

These rainbows mean something else, something braver.

And for a second, it is as if I can hear Brave yelling from the clouds,

“momma, I am okay.

Far from you, yes.

And missing you desperately yes,

but I can see you

and your beautiful

the most beautiful momma I have ever seen

and your mine,

and nothing can change that.

Nothing.”

maybe that is what these rainbows mean.

and the light changes, and as I drive on, the rainbow disappears

and those words as quickly as they flew into my mind are gone.  

Today I turn 27 years old
…learning how to live Brave.
He should be turning 5 months old
…learning how to make bubbling sounds.

I am aware.

And every time those three damn words are spoken, weight is added to my chest, water to my eyes.

They sing,
Happy. Birth. Day.

I scream, louder, for peace.
For resurrection.
For you.
For Brave.

I am aware.

it’s almost 9pm. I head to Target for some therapy. 

mindless, superficial therapy. 

i buy a lot of greek yogurt…it was Brave’s favorite. 

it is five months today. 

we held him in our arms. 

i tell myself to turn toward the cemetery, i make myself go.

why?

i can’t explain why.

no one can really describe what it feels like to be a mother. 

how magically your heart got multiplied and it resides in a younger creature that resembles you. 

i park the car and stare up the hill at his plot. 

i am his mother. 

i sit there and weep like his mother. 

the hollow echo of my bitter cry sounds familiar and appropriate.

one, two, three candles i light. 

i croak out one of his favorite songs through my tears.

kiss the ground and then listen for sound.

quickly i fill the silence with my words to him. 

“we’ve been so brave little one,

we’ve made it five months apart,

and now we are that much closer.”