Journey from fissure to canyon

Photo by Judy Smith
Antelope Canyon, Navajo Tribal Park, Arizona

Heartbreak comes in all sizes.  Today, mine cracked in one of those microscopic fissures that you can't really see, but know it is there.  One day, given the right shift, maybe a sliver will fall away from this fault line leaving it more vulnerable.  With each rumble of life, more pieces slide away, until the crack that was once invisible has become a yawning canyon.

Today was my last Muffins with Mom celebration at the preschool at which my children have been attending, first the oldest and now my youngest, for the past five years.  Five years of Mother's Day teas.  Five years of wobbly heart shaped pins and finger printed flower pots.  Five years of watered down fruit punch and tiny little muffins.  Five years of songs sung in high, sweet voices and directed right at me.  Five years.

The rumbling in my heart began when another boy's mother told me her son was concerned because mine's been so sad at school lately.  He, like me, cries over everything these days.  We both sat down and had a nice good sob over a smushed candybar on the sidewalk the other day.  So sad!  All that good chocolate gone to waste.

My son is very sad about moving.  He's sad that the house he was born in is not ours anymore.  He's sad that his big Lego Powerminers set is packed up in a cardboard box in a warehouse somewhere.  He's sad that he'll be leaving his friends.  And all of this, I've known.  It was not shocking to hear her tell me he was sad.

What was a shock, was the immediate feeling that I'd failed him.  I'd failed to protect him from this sadness.  The thing that broke the bedrock was the understanding that there are so many things I cannot even hope to protect him from.  I don't stand a chance.  And there you have it, the birth of a fault line.

I had this shaky moment at the end of the celebration when the kids had left and the mother was giving me that, southern Bless your Heart look.  I rallied with my usual, "No worries.  It'll all smooth over soon."  And then I just needed to stop talking and discreetly sprint in the other direction because, dear God, do not let me burst into tears on this poor unsuspecting woman's shoulders.  Isn't it enough that I cried in front of the bank teller?  Or the Bee Man at the farmer's market?  Or the rude girl that works at the DD?  Haven't I embarrassed enough people for this lifetime?

A cup of coffee and a bag of Swedish Fish later, I can say this.  My son is sad, and I can't take away the reasons for that sadness, but I can rejoice in the knowledge that he is kind and good and gentle and that even at the age of 5 he has friends that notice these things and that care enough about him to demand that their mommies take them to the store to buy him a sympathy card.

I can't protect him from the stuff of life, but it is nice to know I'm not the only one trying my hardest to do it.