the world to come

I am asking the L-rd for joy. With both of our sons gone a large portion of our joy is missing, or rather, displaced. We know that where they are is abundant joy; they are laughing until they cry at their discoveries of the great Creator. On Earth, however, our pain is ever-present. Things that should be full of fun and happiness are shrouded in the absence of our boys. I will keep asking for joy. Beauty from ashes, and I mean it.

...

Cassidy and I joined Gigi, Papo, Abbie and Asher today for some play time at the pool, our second time this week. While we were at the pool on Monday there was a swim lesson going on with four little kids. They were probably 3 or 4 years old and three of the little kids were doing fine. One little boy was nervous about the water and ended up crying some, much to the disappointment of his mother who sat next to him. I could see a bit of Wyatt in that little boy. The panic and lack of trust he experienced was so overwhelming for me. I wanted to get out of the pool.

When the lesson was over the boy and his mother sat on a pool chair together. I could understand her frustration; I'm sure she just wanted to help her son by enrolling him in swim lessons but the situation was too much for him to relax and learn. She sat silently leaning against the back of the chair while he dangled his feet over the end. I walked by them on the way to get something for Cass and I could feel my spirit rising up in me. At that moment all I wanted was the opportunity to teach my son how to swim. I knew I would not get that chance with Wyatt, and perhaps that is why I couldn't let this situation pass me. I walked up to the little boy as his mother texted on her phone and I told him he did a good job. I encouraged him that he was brave and that next time he would get even further into the water. I walked away and cried. 

Today when we got to the pool I put Cassie in a swim vest and she got right in, swimming around by herself. Her experience with the water is so different from Wyatt's. He was more careful and uncertain of the pool, not straying much further from the steps by himself. Cass and I went out into the deep end and she wouldn't even let me hold her hands. She kicked and kicked and tried to use her arms to go faster. She kept her lips tightly closed so as not to swallow any water and even when it splashed in she simply spit it out. She bobbed around in the water, so content to be there by herself and enjoy the sun. 

As we floated in the cool water together, the sun shining above us, I thanked the L-rd for this moment. It would be more complete, more satisfying, if Wyatt was next to us, floating in his blue vest, his eyes sparkling like the water. I can see his smile, or more realistically his concern about the water. But in that moment I didn't think about that deficit, that emptiness. I thanked G-d for this minute of joy with my daughter.

As we swam back to the shallow end I looked over at the steps and saw the same group from Monday getting ready for another swimming lesson. I saw my little buddy sitting on the end in his Spiderman swimsuit. I caught his eye and gave him a big smile. I'm sure at the time of our exchange he was nervous about a stranger talking to him, but the encourager in me could not let him go home feeling like he had failed. I watched the instructor lead the kids through different exercises and the little boy didn't hesitate with any of the activities. In fact he did quite well, kicking and putting his face in. After his lesson he joined us in the little pool, and we shot each other with water zookas. Cass and I watched him curiously, as though we remembered what a boy splashing around looked like and yet couldn't quite get comfortable with it. I wish I could say something happened to me as I watched him in the pool, but it didn't fill any kind of hollowness inside. I am glad he got in the water and did such a good job, but I wanted to impress upon his mother the importance of every day with her son.

When we got back to Gigi and Papo's I helped Cassie take off her swimming suit. As I walked out the door to hang up her wet suit she said, "Wyatt. I wish Wyatt was here. And baby Zeke. They're not here." I reminded her we will see them in heaven, and until that time we will live here together. And hope for moments of joy. And hope.