Tonight I caught myself in one of those moments of selfishness. I had just begun getting changed into my jogging clothes to go for a run this evening when my oldest son, Samuel, asked if he could go running with me.
"No way," I said. "I need to get a good workout in so I can get ready for this half-marathon I'm going to try to run in October. My knee's been hurting me and this is the first time in a few days that I've been able to get out. If you run with me I'll have to go really slow, walk here and there, go a lot shorter distance, and it will be a complete waste of time! Not only that, but don't you know that this is my time to think and reflect?"
Luckily I said all that in my head. But honestly, that's what I was thinking.
I was hesitant but I decided to let him come with me. He's been talking about joining me on my runs and for the first time he was the one who initiated the idea. As much as I was looking forward to having some time to myself, I thought it would be good to just get it out of the way. He would realize how boring it was, how much energy it took, and he'd never ask again. Plus, if I really wanted to I could bring him back when he tired and then go out later for my "real run."
We began jogging down our street and slowly made our way through downtown Eudora. He was doing a pretty good job and I was pleasantly surprised that he had run those entire 7 or 8 blocks. As we came upon 7th street I could hear him breathing heavy and noticed that his running had turned into more of a plodding as his shoes began stomping the pavement with each stride.
"Daddy, can we walk a little?" He asked . . . or more like a gasp.
We slowed down and began walking down 7th street. By this time it was starting to get dark. I hadn't planned on going much further, and even opened my mouth to say, "Let's turn around here," when he asked, "Where's the grave from here?"
Now Samuel is a pretty smart kid. When he was 3 years old he could tell us how to get around town. While riding in the car he could point the way to every park in town. All we had to do was tell him which park we were going to and he could literally give us turn by turn directions.
He knew where the grave was. He knew it was just a few blocks down 7th street.
Not only is Samuel pretty smart, but he's a thinker. If he does talk it's pretty well thought out. When he's not talking we know he's thinking. In fact, during these months since his little brother died we've wondered a lot just what he's thought about this whole process. He'll talk about Thomas here and there, but we've just had a hard time getting a read on how he's really doing.
At first I wondered if he knew I jogged there last week and was just curious if we were going to try to go that far tonight. I was fairly certain he had no idea, but I just left it alone. I also wondered if going further was just a ploy to stay out later and avoid the dreaded bedtime, but I also left that alone. So we headed toward the grave.
By the time we arrived it was dark. We came upon the hill and could see the light near his little brother's grave marker.
"Can we go over and see it," he asked. Of course I was in agreement. By this time I knew he had something on his mind. We walked just a short distance from the gravel over to the front of the grave. We both stood there for several minutes. I wasn't sure what to say or if I should even say anything at all. Knowing the gears in his head were turning, I took the opportunity to try to get a little insight on how an 8-year-old is dealing with the sudden death of his little brother--a brother who meant the world to him. This whole thing has rocked our world and we're supposed to be "seasoned veterans of life." He's eight.
"Do you think about Thomas a lot?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"What do you think about when he's on your mind?" I inquired.
"I don't know. I've had some dreams about him." He offered.
Now, I've been waiting over 8 months to have a dream about Thomas. Every nightwhen I lay my head on the pillow I'm thinking about him, but I've yet to dream about him. I want to, but I haven't. At this point I was very curious.
"What are the dreams about?" I questioned.
His tone perked up a bit. "My favorite one is the one when I'm walking up the stairs and Thomas is at the top of the stairs and throws a ball to me and laughs his silly laugh like he's really happy. There's another one where Thomas is walking and talking [something he hadn't done prior to his untimely death] and comes over while I'm sitting on the couch and sits next to me. We are watching a football game and he's asking me about all the players . . . and he even knows some of them."
"Does thinking about Thomas make you happy or sad?" I asked.
"Both," he said, as he changed to more of a somber tone.
"What makes you happy when you think about Thomas?" By this time I'm just savoring these moments, and trying as hard as I can to get into his world, yet not push too hard.
He replied, "I'm happy for him because I know he's in heaven."
Then I asked him what makes him sad when he thinks about Thomas. His response: "Because he's not here."
His voice cracked when he said that. It took him a few short pauses just to get those four words out.
Samuel and Thomas had a very special bond . . . they still do. It was a bond that was so special that only a parent could understand. That little boy meant the world to Samuel and I'd give anything for them to have the opportunity to play together again. Samuel meant the world to Thomas too. I can still see that look in his eyes when his "Bubba" would walk into the room. He would immediately look for a ball so he and Samuel could play. Samuel was such an incredible big brother to him. Man, that's tough to think about . . .
It was dark in that cemetery so I couldn't see the tears. He couldn't see mine either. But it was one of those moments standing out in that open field surrounded by grave markers, that I will never forget. My son and I were sharing a moment when words were not necessary because we knew exactly what each other was feeling and thinking. We were both happy and sad for the exact same reasons. I don't know how much longer we stood there, but we didn't talk anymore. My mind wandered to a memory of Thomas and Samuel throwing the ball together on the floor. I could tell Samuel's mind was wandering too. Perhaps it was the same memory. I don't know. I broke the silence by telling Samuel that Thomas was so lucky to have such an awesome big brother. He remained silent.
I needed tonight way more than I needed a workout. I almost missed it. I almost told him "no."
Eventually we decided to jog back (well, mostly) home. Come to find out, Samuel had no idea I had run to the grave last week. He just simply wanted to be there. I can relate.
The run/walk home was mostly full of conversations about sports and school, while the conversation about Thomas seemed a distant memory to Samuel. It wasn't to me. I thought about it the entire way home.
As we approached our driveway I said, "Buddy, I'm so proud of you."
"You mean because you didn't think I could jog that far?"
Well . . . that too.
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