He Turned 16 - Driver's License

My big boy turned 16 in February.  Today, on my 46th birthday he tested and passed his driver's license test.  How did he grow up so fast?  Sometimes I have to wonder if I was present the whole time?  Obviously, I know I was; but it seems as it went so fast.  

I remember the night he was born... stubborn and upside down they decided he would be born via c-section.  Bastards, cut his precious little face when they cut me to get him out.  Now that little tiny scare is barely noticeable but when I do see it I'm swiftly  transported back to the moment I first looked into his precious eyes.  I instantly knew what a gift the Lord had placed in my hands.

I remember when he was just crawling; which he didn't do long enough, so I pushed him back down like any good teacher would do.  He still can't believe that I actually did that.  Reading needed to be easier for him that it was for me... longer crawling = easier reading.

I remember his precious face when his sister first came home from the hospital and he held her for the first time.  He was so fascinated by her.  

I remember him building space ships on the living room floor out of pillows and blankets.  

I remember his first experiment with baby power, of course, how can anyone ever forget the cloud of white?

I remember him playing dress up and he and his sister dressed as faeries, living in a fantasy place that almost all adults stress no longer exists.

I remember him over flowing the pool and being afraid to get out of the van when we got home because his father had threatened to kill him.

I remember him playing in the mud by the roses as I planted more.  He always loved, loved, loved mud - still does, but don't tell anyone.

I remember forgetting my sun glasses and coming home to him getting a spanking with a belt because he was crying because I left. He was 2.  I found a new kind of crazy in my soul that I didn't know existed until that day.

I remember his 8th grade promotion and how handsome he looked. He had worked so hard in school and it suddenly all made sense to him that year.  Thank you, Mrs. Hale.  My gratitude is unmeasurable.

I remember driving on a flow trip and he falling asleep in the back of the van twirling Kelsey's hair.  How free and precious they both looked.

I remember coaching his first soccer team "The Leaping Lizards"

I remember his first day of kindergarten and the "I Love You" way to hold hands.

I remember his first asthma attack and laying in the emergency room hold him because they said I could.  I remember going back the same night 3 times.  I remember spending the night admitted.  I remember his fascination with the hospital bed when he woke up in the morning and all the rides we went on.  I remember coloring and playing cards.  I remember my relief when they sent us home.

I remember him getting his quad, riding his quad and yes crashing his quad.  I remember thanking the Lord all his parts stayed in tact.

I remember the first time I saw him kiss his girlfriend.  The rule of no kissing until you are married is unrealistic - who knew?

I remember the forts built, even still being built.

I remember the constant kindness he shows his little brother as they still share a room and the mess isn't his fault.  Patience I could only wish to possess.

I remember him soaking his face in the cold stream water on the day we climbed "Grandma's Mountain" to scatter his ashes.  One tough boy who walked and climbed the whole way.

I remember when we flew to Maine to see Uncle Robert and the pilot letting him into the cockpit.  His eyes wide with amazement.

I remember him sitting next to the river in Maine where we were all fishing.  A Grandpa and a Grandson stopped in a moment of time in my heart forever.  What a gift.

I remember Aunt Nancy turning him upside down and tickling him and his laughter that went on and on.

I remember holding him when he is sobbing crying.  Just as I remember him laughing and laughing.

I remember him crying and telling me I needed to stand up for myself... words of a 16 year old son to his mother - I learned that day that even he saw what I continued to allow to my soul.  Now I'm working on standing up for myself.  A gift he has given me - and an important moment that stopped my heart and filled my eyes with tears because I knew how right he was.

So many, many memories... more each moment that I sit and reflect... something to keep pondering and writing about.

Peace my son.  I love you with all that I am.

Libya - Friends

I have come to realize that a group of people whom share an experience, such as living in Libya, are forever connected.  Although those times are now decades in the past the memories are always simmering in my heart.  When I hear from someone I knew so long ago it is not just a "someone I used to know" connection... it is an instant heart connection.  Something deep in my spirit and soul that shakes me in some way.  I don't remember all the details of those days, but I do remember the people and the footprints they left that I still walk beside.  I wonder if they all feel that way?  Not necessarily in regards to me but in regards to someone that they knew at that time in their life.  When communicating it seems as if no time has slipped by, yes, we have aged but in a way that childhood connection is still there.  A stand by each other no matter what feeling.  The desire to instantly be next to someone in their hour of need.  The ability to give them a hug or hold a hand during rough waters.  The chance to hold them and say - it is alright to cry right now.  Those tears of secrets never shared or tears to be shared with the world because of the ache deep in the soul.  For some reason the touch of Libya changed us all in ways I certainly don't understand to this day... but they are good ways.  I don't much remember anything "bad" from those days of my life.  We lived where we lived and I cherish those days.  Even in such a country with some limits there were the childhood freedoms of playing and dancing and singing to one's own song. Perhaps more so there than if I had been in the U.S. during those growing years.  The cultural experiences so diverse and communication often beginning in something other than a shared language.

Yesterday I was told that one of my dearest friends from those days had passed on to heaven.  My heart stopped and skipped a beat.  It even took a moment for me to process.  We hadn't talked since I was a teenager when they had come to visit us in Wisconsin.  A few brief notes on facebook... but still in my heart there is a sadness that the world has lost a soul so few will ever know.  What a gift I was given and I grieve for the years that we could have shared but lost over time and distance.  Separation.  When we all left Libya there was very few ways to communicate long distances.  Calling was obviously out, no computer, all that was left was pen to paper... I can't think of many children then teenagers who valued the effect of a hand written letter from anyone.  How I wish it was different even then.  That connections with people were so strong it would be impossible to exist without communication.  The technological age has made that different; we can communicate more easily... but the magical touch of a hand written letter in my hand can never be matched.

Zoe, my love, thank you for the footprints you have left by my side all these years.  I'll miss knowing you are here.

Peace and love my friend,

Gretchen