this is what i can do

My littlest guy, J, turned 6 today (May 11). Such a sweet, happy, content boy, he is.

I was barely pregnant with  him when my marriage first started to show signs of trouble. Then my mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was 4 1/2 months along, passed away 6 weeks later at the end of February. J was born in May, a mess of dark hair and bowed lips, the only baby I'd ever had to take home without my mom there to lend a hand.

All that time I spent in tears with him, grieving so fiercely, feeling so hopeless. I'd remembered reading in an article somewhere about how babies are very emotion-sensitive in utero. I hated making him go through all the rough times with me. I prayed numberless times for God to keep him safe, surround him with singing angels so he'd  have some other sound to listen to besides weeping.

To this day, he's been both my most content kid and my one who gets the most easily worked up. In other words, it doesn't take much to trigger him, but it also doesn't take much to calm him down. He was my only child who had a binky and a comfort object ("Lovey," a piece of one of my silky undershirts).

He wasn't even 2 when we separated. I remember that awkward birthday party, inviting Brad over to celebrate. Trying hard not to look at him. Trying hard to hold it together and not lose the moment to grief or anger.

Over the next four years, I potty trained him. I got him to give his binky up. I taught him his numbers and colors and alphabet and how to write his name. I was up for every stomach flu or fever that hit in the middle of the night, every bad dream. Bandaged every scrape. Made every doctor's appointment and hair cut appointment and play date and teacher's conference and church function. Not just for him--but for all my boys. Who knew? I could raise children on my own. Even though I never wanted it that way.

All of my boys are struggling in their own ways. With schoolwork, or friends, or with questions about why our family situation is different than others, questions about their dad. We all suffer the way any family who is forced through a life-changing situation suffers. Even though, thank goodness, it's not all suffering. Sometimes things are so good, moments so incredibly sweet, I almost think this is just how life was meant to turn out for me.

And maybe it was. I don't know. I don't think God would ever bring a marriage and family together with the intent that it end, but I do know he is a God of broken things. That he's managed to patch up a lot of this brokeness.

So today, as I wrangled J and several other 5-6 year olds to the local play gym, alone; and baked and frosted 2 dozen homemade cupcakes, alone; and cleaned up the puddles of melted ice cream and gathered up scattered toys, alone--I don't know, I guess I just didn't feel alone. I guess I haven't in a while now. This is my life. I've mostly come to terms with it. I mostly embrace it. There are times, of course, when I still wish everything were different, that I were somehow more prospered for being the one who remained faithful and valiant all those years of my marriage, but really--I'm proud of where I am. Where we all are. Where we're going.