November 21 2008
This message may seem out of place, or more appropriately, out of time, but it was written after some information came out of the day at Kunming International when I called and told the boys. The emotions of that day were still so raw, and these were reflections with just a couple of weeks of perspective to draw from.It has been interesting to track where I have gone in the process so far. At first, I would begin to cry at the beginning of telling the story of the day she died. (That is still so strange to see in print, 'died'. It doesn't seem real at times, most times, then it does.) Even after I got used to telling it so many times, I still broke down mostly at the words "she was free".
I guess I should explain a bit. She was free from so many things, not least important, this world. No more stuck here, kept from gazing at one she loves more than me (and I am so glad she does).
She was free from pain, not just the current things she was recovering from, but from all the nagging things like the toes on the left foot that were stepped on by a horse 25 years ago; from the broken finger that never quite healed correctly; from the infrequent shoulder pain; from other things that came and went.
She was free from worry and all the little things that go into planning and orchestrating life each day. She was free from looking at her vitiligo and wishing she were different.
What's funny is I often didn't see the vitiligo. I saw her. The whole 'her', not just the skin or the hair. I wondered what little kids were talking about when they pointed out that her skin looked different in places. There were times I noticed, sure, but not that often.
She had a hard time believing that, but it's true. One other thing before I continue the free theme; I never took for granted how beautiful she was. She held her beauty in an amazing way. I was constantly thankful for that.
That does lead to the next freedom though.
She had a low self-image. It was not until just a few years ago that she would simply say "Thank you" when people would comment on her beauty.
She thought for 30 years they were just being nice and saying what they were supposed to say. Even me. Especially me.
I would tell her how beautiful she was (especially in the morning, with the hair going everywhere and no make-up, just beautiful her) and she would say I was just telling her that because I was supposed to.
The analogy I've used is there was an enormous chasm that I was trying to fill, one shovel full at a time. I was working as fast as I could, yet I never seemed to make any discernible progress. But eventually someone Else did make progress. And I'm so glad I got to see it happen toward the end.
But now she was free from that too.
When I would get past the crying at the 'she's free' part of the story, I couldn't make it past the image of Andrew scooping Wesley up in his arms and holding him like a baby when I called from Bangkok and told him about Ruth dying.
Still can't.
I was given a wonderful gift by a friend at KIA who so eloquently described the scene that day.
To know that Timothy was intimately involved as well is amazing too. He took turns with Andrew, holding Wesley, comforting him. He and Wesley haven't always been the closest. I see Timothy now in a warmer light because of the description of his tenderness.
Andrew loved Wesley before he was born. Andrew named him Matthew when he was in the womb. And was miffed when we named him Wesley instead. Andrew called Wesley "bubbafriend".
Andrew has done some amazing things with him too. Last week Timothy was looking for shoes and Andrew said, "Wesley, I already have shoes for me. Dad can stay with Timothy to get shoes. Where do You want to go?" And he let Wesley take him wherever in a huge mall with lots of cool stuff that16 year olds would love to look at.
They went to the toy store and Andrew bought Wesley a Star Wars figure. Well sort of, actually he bought it for himself, but when Wesley said something about how much he liked it, Andrew said he bought it for Wesley. Wesley was thrilled and never knew the sacrifice that had been made by his "bubbafriend".
Thanks to my friend, I will now cry even more when I tell that story. But that's a good thing.
The guidance counselor and other teachers made some great decisions that day. Wesley was at a middle school retreat and had to be brought back to the
school to hear the news. They had to find someone there who could bring him back to the school and yet not let onto what was going on.
The youth group leader, Kenny S., did a masterful job of that, bringing Wesley back to the school in a taxi.
My absolute biggest fear was that the boys would hear it from someone else.
Thankfully, gratefully, they didn't.
As much as I desperately wanted to be present with them and hold them and cry with them, I (I can't even find the words) absolutely could not bear the scene of them finding out from someone else first.
In all of my calls to the school from Bangkok, I could hear people in the background; my uncle LeRoy, cousin David, the member care representative Linda Zinn, the guidance counselor Michelle LaPorte.
Not being there, I never realized how much they did on a dark day for them too. Michelle recounted to me recently what happened that day. That was a difficult message to read, but good.
I feel like I was there.
After they heard from me, the two older boys were being comforted by friends and adults from the school.
At one point, Timothy was asked what he needed, and when he said he needed to just do something, they let him play soccer. Kept him from going crazy.
Andrew needed to sit with friends. They actually cancelled classes and focused on the needs of our boys. Lifting the boys up. Even gathering to worship and surround them with love.
Sometime after I had told Wesley and he and Andrew were together, the guidance counselor said something like, "Wesley I wish I had words, but I don't. What do you need?" She gave Wesley a hug and Andrew looked at Wesley and said, "We don't need her to say anything, we just need her to love us, right Wes?"
The way school staff, friends, and family faithfully handled that day with the boys was amazing. Through the worst day of my life, their care-full actions gave me so much reassurance.
And peace.
And hope.
Hope that members of the body can be trusted to care for the rest of the body in sacrificial ways. To show love the way others need to be loved, not just according to the preferences of the giver, but to meet them where they are and love them there.
To not. "need her to say anything, we just need her to love us, right Wes?"
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