The memorial service was both heart-wrenching and inspiring in many ways. There were probably 300 people there, and at least half of them were friends of his. He had a ton of friends, friends who clearly loved him very much. The slide show playing before the service and the pictures that were everywhere through the funeral home spoke of a little boy who was deeply loved by his parents and siblings and who was surrounded by people who cared about him. I don't think there was a dry eye in the place as his "crew" of friends (just like my dh's in high school) came up one by one to tell a (clean) story about him. Clearly he was quite a character and kept his parents on his toes--full of mischief and just fun to be around. Over and over I heard person after person from all over his life, from the headmaster of the school he attended in middle and high school to his neighborhood and college friends to his own family saying that he had an incredible laugh and was kind and generous to an extreme. I kept thinking that I hoped that these would be the kinds of things that people might all say about my own children when they are his age.
Even though I didn't know him, my reaction came deeply from being a parent myself. And what struck me so deeply was that I have no idea what made him feel that he had no other way to find peace, but no matter how "mischievous" a child might be, no matter how many sleepless nights he might bring his parents, hundreds of hurting people sitting there tonight were a loud, strong testament that parents, siblings, family, friends--they are resolutely and absolutely not better off without this person here with them. And it also brought home to me that the kids who stand out, for whatever reason, whether it's because they find all kinds of mischievous trouble or have the zany ideas or are always thinking of others and perhaps not covering their own ass--they're the ones that we all remember and just love. It made me reaffirm that no matter what my kids do, no matter how "difficult" their teen years might be, no matter how much they may end up standing out in whatever way, they are still deeply, wildly loved and I hope that they will constantly know that. Judy, Tony, and the rest of their family were such manifestations of that kind of love.
My resolution after tonight is that I know it isn't entirely realistic, but I want to live with my children in a way that I would have no regrets. If, God forbid, their lives were cut short for some reason, I want to feel like I have given my best with them and have been kind and forgiving and loving. I want to always see them as the gift that they are, perhaps as an imperfect gift, as a gift that will surely give me many more sleepless nights and worries and trials, but as something entrusted to me for a limited amount of time (no matter what, they will one day not be under my primary care). I also hope to bring more patience to this job of parenting. I can't expect it to be easy, but it's so important to keep your eyes on the big prize--that you love these people more than anything, that the more "character" they have, perhaps the even more lovable they are, and I want them to know that. It was just a very sobering week processing something that was both not so close to me and yet so very close to all of our lives.
I am seeing such a change happening lately with Walter and Ollie. It's also sobering. I can easily say things like, "Oh, they are more than halfway to leaving home now," or "It's been longer since they've been born since when they will be in college," or "Only a little over 5 years until they have a learner's permit!" But really, they are becoming people we can do things with. Tonight we played real Scrabble for the first time. They needed a lot of help this time around, especially because their spelling skills aren't that great, but there they were playing. They can play Trivial Pursuit if the game is multi-leveled. We can play Risk and Stratego and highly competitive games of Monopoly. I can start thinking about Ollie reading the history books I get for myself (today I used my B&N gift certificate and got a National Book Award winner about the Dust Bowl and that Pulitzer winning _Founding Brothers_). It's exciting, but it also makes me realize that it might not be long before they are going to be far more their own people and probably less open to my agendas. They are starting to be responsible enough to look after siblings while we're home and busy. They can change diapers, put clothes on toddlers, and help make their own food. I know that the whole point of parenting is to help them become independent people, but it is hard to accept that those formative years, the primary time of influence from me is rapidly coming to its conclusion. Have I done enough? Have I harmed them for life? Have I fulfilled my obligations? Have I done the best job that I could have?
We also did most of the work making the four model rockets we bought this week tonight. The original plan was to launch at a different site from the last one we did, where we lost both of our rockets, so I let them get some more very small, high flying ones. Now it turns out that the new location is going to be locked this week, so we are back at the old spot. I'm afraid that Ollie's little "Hi Flier" and Walter's wee little "Gnome" are going to never be seen again. I made sure that Rutledge and Frances's rockets were larger and less lofty, since I'd like to bring a bit of our investment home with us for once! This also made me eschew some of the choices that had things like a helicopter propellor to bring back the nose cone separate from the rocket, which comes down by parachute (how much do you want to bet that we'd come home with a nose-less rocket?) or the one that had two space shuttles that come off the sides and 'glide' back to earth. Simple was the name of the game for me. I also decided that there were going to be no badges given out for choosing a kit with a Skill Level higher than 1 and that no one was going to banish me to the Space Loser Camp if we got ones that required no sanding, painting, or complex construction at all. Here's our progress so far: the Pencil, the Gnome, the Hi Flier, and the Chrominator.
This is what my van looks like. People are always climbing over seats, changing positions to be near someone or away from someone. And Rutledge is almost always screaming about something. The grumpy face here is one of his old standbys: "I want Toke! Give me Toke!" (That's Coke, for those who actually pronounce their /k/ sounds.) The big outing today was to B&N to use our gift certificates from Grandma. Ollie got The Hobbit on audio CD, a Monk book (from Monk the TV show), and an Elvis cookbook. I got two history books and the Percy Jackson series--yeah, I know it's a kid's book, but I want to read all of them myself. I still have quite a bit left on my card. Rutledge got a counting book featuring dogs, a Kumon cutting book and a mazes book, and a stuffed gold dragon. Walter got Marley and Me and I can't remember what else. And Frances got an American Girl kit where you design t-shirts for your doll and a hairstyling kit with a blond wig with pink and blue hair extensions. She has been saying lately that she wants long hair. I don't know...whaddya think? Given that she yanked out a whole pile of that hair with a brush when she got home, I'm not sure it's such a great idea.
I've always loved finding these kinds of photos when I download things from my camera. We get the typical pictures of people's fingers or the roof of the minivan, but then there are these fascinating little photo shoots:
Poor Bilbo in his jail.
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