The Curb at Jamba Juice
So with drinks and bars in hand, Christian and Everen decided it was best to find a sunny spot on the curb rather than sit at any of the six empty tables outside. Of course I agreed and stood over them as they watched car after car run over my head (my shadow extended well into the street). And that's when it hit me.
I watched them having fun together, laughing at every car that rolled over my shadow-head, and I realized that we are incomplete. I really saw it. They don't have someone to tickle them any more, at least not in that sweet way only a woman knows. They don't have someone they can curl up with and feel the tenderness in their souls. They have me and the memory of a mother's kiss on the cheek. It hurts to see them in that light.
Two months ago, at one of our four counseling sessions with Monica, we played a game of Jenga, and on each of the pieces was a question ending in an elipses. You know: "I remember when..." We went around a few times, and then Everen got the piece that said, "I'm envious of..." After I explained what "envious" meant, he responded with something I'll always remember...
"I'm envious of all of the kids at school who have a mom and a dad." It was tough to hear him say that, but at least he could.
I recognized it when he said it, but it was the glance at two kids on the curb at Jamba Juice that really drove it home for me. We have a broken home.
So I ponder the choices before me. What do I pursue? And why? What would be best for the boys? Why? Only God truly knows. I just need to fall back in line and quit trying to figure things out. That, I'm finding, is the curse of my personality type. Throwing a baseball was so much easier...
Dear God, please lead me again. I will follow. You say to cast my cares on you, and that your burden is light. May that be true tonight for three Graves boys.
posted by Jon Graves at 9:39 PM
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