It's a Pity

In Michael Perry's book "Coop", he writes about his brother Jed and the time Jed's little boy drowned:

"Jed reads the eulogy straight through. When he nears the part about the stars, tears are streaming down my face because I know what is coming, but he takes it absolutely and resolutely home. Then there is the terrible closing of the casket, and we leave the church. At the cemetery little Skidrock says loudly, "Jakey drowned and now they are burying him", and you can feel the collective instinctive move to say "shush!", but then the ebb on the heels of it as we know it is a time when the truth should be left as it is."

Most highways in America are well-marked. There are mile markers and signs of all sorts to help you know where you are. Even if you have never been on a particular highway in your life, chances are you can navigate it with a minimum amount of fuss because someone has gone before you and left pointers along the way.

Being a first time parent of a child such as Annabelle sometimes feels like you are on a highway where they have taken down half the markers. Oh sure, there are all the usual parenting questions such as which diapers are best and what did you feed your child when they were this age and so on which friends and family that have gone before you can help with. But then there are the moments that catch you by surprise and you have to just go with your gut because there are no markers, there are no signs and no one you know has been this way before . . .

One such moment happened on a trip to Sacramento a couple of months ago. We were visiting friends that are more family than some of our actual family. They have two beautiful little girls who we love so much it hurts and who fervently prayed for Annabelle all throughout the pregnancy and on through some of the bumps in the road this past year. The girls were thrilled to meet Annabelle for the first time and at one point I thought, "If those girls don't stop hugging and kissing Annie, they are going to wear her through". It was a great weekend front to back.

But here is where the quote above hits home for me. When the oldest of the two girls met Annabelle, she took Annie's legs in her hands and exclaimed, "Poor thing . . . Poor little thing . . ." over and over again - as if Annie was some sort of wounded bird found under a tree out front. It was like chewing tin foil to hear it and my initial reaction was to tenderly and kindly use this teachable moment to instruct the girls that we wanted to emphasize the things Annabelle CAN do - not dwell on the things she can't.

But then I stopped and tried to put myself in my little friend's shoes. This is a girl with an aching love for Annabelle - one of Annie's youngest and most faithful prayer warriors - meeting Annie for the first time. I interpreted my little friend's pitying statements as her own rudimentary expression of grief. In the midst of all her excitement and love and joy my little friend was grieving the obvious. Now was not a time for "shush!" Now was not the time for instruction. Now was the time listen to the true words of a child ringing clear - as anathema as they may feel to me. "Poor little thing . . ."

Of course if an adult in the checkout aisle says the same thing a week from now, I am going to need someone to help me post bail . . . .