Too Young For This

I have a terrible excuse for not blogging. Life. Life gets in the way. Why is that terrible?! Because this blog is supposed to document our lives. I'm not a scrapbooker and I don't journal. I want my kiddos to have this blog to laugh and cry and see memories of their childhood. What do they have now?! For all they'll know, we skipped months and months of 2010 and even January of 2011. They won't know the craziness of our lives. So, I find myself in the midst of too much life now, and I have to blog. There are lives being lived, and I want to get this down on "paper" so Abigail and Cooper can hear my thoughts and memories when I can't remember them. Not that I can remember much of them, now, but give me a few or 10 or 20 years, and I'm certain I won't remember them.

This weekend, life hit our home and not in a good way.  I should rephrase that. Death hit our home. But it's real life and not the part of life that I can shelter my babies from. So we're living it out. We're painfully living it out.

The principal of the kids' school passed away unexpectedly yesterday morning. As soon as we were notified, Daniel shared the news with Abigail and Cooper. It was so shocking, that Abigail did not believe him. She thought he was kidding. Cooper did not comprehend the news. Still in shock ourselves, we didn't know what to expect from the kids. First, there was no reaction. We gave them a chance to ask questions and talk, but nothing came. They went about playing and enjoying their Saturday. Until dinner. It hit Abigail and she just burst into tears. So many thoughts were coming to her. She was heartbroken for Mrs. Owen's family. Mr. Owen maintains the facilities at school so the kids have been with him every day as well. Abigail was especially heartbroken for him. She cried for him. She cried for Mrs. Owens' mother who cooks lunch every day for the kids at school. She couldn't imagine what it feels like to have your daughter die before you. I was amazed that everything Abigail was crying for was not selfish. She never once mentioned missing Mrs. Owen. She was just heartbroken for the people who she knew were already heartbroken. And this momma was heartbroken for her baby girl. I couldn't stand to see her cry and truly ache in a way that I could not fix. Oh, sweet Abigail. Of course there were lots of hugs and we both agreed that Mrs. Owen was happy to be at the feet of Jesus. We wondered... Is Mrs. Owen singing praise songs or starting a pre-K Bible study? Knowing Susan, she already has lessons planned, Bible classes organized, and has hugged more kids in heaven than I've ever hugged on Earth.

Today, getting out of the car at church, a wave of emotion overcame Abigail and she realized that Mrs. Owen wouldn't be at church today. You see, Susan was not just our principal but she and Mr. Owen were Abigail's Sunday School teachers. I think they've missed one Sunday since class started in August. Abigail just knew that Mr. Owen would be there for her. I assured her that he would be home with his family and not in class today. Oh.... the tears flowed again. She's not going to be here, momma. No, baby, she's not going to be here. Yeah, I just shouldn't have worn make-up to church. I know I didn't make it through the early service with any left on my face. Abigail cried through most of the service. My child who sings embarrassingly loud and waves her hands as she praises every Sunday morning did not hardly mutter a sound this morning. She held onto me and Daniel. She cried. She laid on me. She didn't sing. She whispered to me that she was sad. I know, baby. I'm sad, too.

After the service, I took her to Sunday School class. Our children's minister and his wife were there to greet us. Abigail was glad to be in the classroom and almost seemed more at ease than she had been all morning. I knew she was in good hands and was also at ease leaving her there. She later told us that they had prayer time for Mrs. Owen's family and talked about death. Oh, my. I love being honest with my children, but this was almost too much honesty for me. We have faced death in the past year. Daniel's uncle passed away in April. But, that was cancer. We had time to prepare for that. It made sense, well, as much sense as cancer makes. This just doesn't make sense. A classroom of six-year-olds spent the morning talking about their thoughts on death. Instead of being hugged by the woman who hugs her six days a week, Abigail learned to grieve.

The rest of today brought tears and sadness. It was a lovely day of warmth with no sign of the frozen wind and snow and ice of the rest of the week. We played and rode bikes. And, we cried. These are some questions I was given today... Is Mrs. Owen going to be okay in heaven? Do you think Jesus can take care of someone who is that nice and sweet? Where is her body? When will I get to see if they are taking care of her? Will school be there tomorrow?

You see, Mrs. Owen is the founder of the school. She is the school. She has been the school for 26 years. As an adult, I know Mrs. Owen is the school. So of course the kids also know that Mrs. Owen is the school. Abigail's mind immediately processed that the school would not be there if Mrs. Owen wouldn't be there. I assured her that the school would be Mrs. Owen's legacy. The school will not go anywhere. At bedtime tonight, I don't think Abigail was completely assured of that. She asked me to walk her to class tomorrow and stay with her. Of course, I will walk her to class and stay and hold her as long as she wants me to. She hasn't wanted anyone to walk her to class since the first day of kindergarten. That says something. Her world has been rocked.

When her world is rocked, my world is rocked. Yes, I will miss this sweet woman who created this wonderful school that I've entrusted with the hearts and minds of my children. I grieve for her husband as I imagine being alone and not even knowing what to do with myself. I grieve for her family - a Godly son who is married to a sweet woman whom we've entrusted with Cooper at school. I grieve for her young grandchildren as I know the loss of a grandparent at such a young age it leaves you with no memories.

Selfishly, I grieve for my baby girl who has lost her happiness and innocence. She is aching from the sting of death at just six years old. I am grieving the loss of explaining why boys pull her hair as I instead explain that even grown-ups don't understand why God takes people we love when we aren't ready. My sweet, sweet girl. When you read this in 20 years, know that I am so sorry you are learning this now. I know it's impossible, but I wish you never had to learn this lesson. My entire being wants to take away the hurt you had as you cried yourself to sleep tonight. I dread tomorrow even more than you do, as I know it will bring more sadness that I can't protect you from. But, also know that I am so proud to see you living out everything that your father and I have been trying to teach you. We want you to love, and I see so much love coming from you as you ache for Mr. Owen and want to hug him and love on him. We want you to know God, and I see that as you tell your brother that Mrs. Owen won't be at school tomorrow because she loves God and has to be with Him in heaven. We want you to be compassionate, and I have seen so much compassion come from you this weekend that you almost don't know what to do with all the compassionate feelings you have for each one of Mrs. Owen's family members. Oh, you are so much more than I could ever have dreamed of. Sweet Abigail, I love you.