Little Hands...

I know my posts have been sporadic and sparse. I have a lot on my plate, a lot of stress and difficulties, and I think if left to myself, I'd be depressed. But thankfully, the Lord has not left me to myself, so I carry on. And despite my gloom and doom circumstances, there are those who always have it worse, you know? Like our good friends. Our good friends who lost their youngest son at the age of 24. He died suddenly of a heart attack. The doctors told them that two arteries leading to his heart were 100% blocked, one was 90% blocked, and one was 80% blocked. The Bob and I became friends with them before we got married. Back then, these new friends were a young family with 3 children. The youngest was 8 years old. Notice that age 8. Their youngest son who died was the age Moose is now when we first met. Perspective. That's what it gave me is perspective.

Even though he was 24, a child is always his Momma's baby. Always. At the visitation and the funeral, they had pictures of this young man when he was just a baby, a toddler sitting on his Momma's lap as she read to him. The joy on her face. The look of love on her face in those pictures. They needed no words, and they tugged and tore at this Momma's heart. The "Little Slugger" baby jacket sitting in front of one of his baby pictures just about did me in. And there were more than just baby memories there. He had been in the Navy and served our country honorably. Although not a pilot, he served on a team with The Blue Angels. He served in Iraq. Yes, he served our country well.

At the funeral, I cried and cried and cried. And my little 8 year old Moose reached over and grabbed my hand. And it was then that I thought about how he doesn't have baby smooth skin anymore. He's developing his "man" hands. Tough. Rugged. Hands that work. And I held on to that that little Moose hand while just one pew up and one pew over, my friend had to let her little man's hand go....