Re: [MOL] Story [02908] Medicine On Line


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Re: [MOL] Story



PJ - that is the saddest, sweetest story...thanks for sharing. Love. Cori.

PSerritell@AOL.COM wrote:

> Sam's Way:::::
>
> One day my 4 yr old son, Sam, told me that he'd seen his baby-sitter crying
> because she'd broken up with her boyfriend "She was sad" he said "I've never
> been sad" Sam added. "Not ever"
>
> It was true Sam's life was happy in large part because of his relationship
> with my father.  As Sam told everyone, Pa Hood was more than a grandfather to
> him they were buddies.
>
> There's a scene in the Movie Anne of Green Gables in which Anne wishes aloud
> for a bosom friend. Watching that one day, Sam sat up and declared, "That's me
> and Pa bosom friends forever and ever."
>
> My father described their relationship the same way. When I went out of town
> one night a week to teach, it was Pa in his red pickup truck who'd meet Sam at
> school and take him back to his house.  There they'd play pirates and nights
> and Robin Hood.
>
> They even dressed alike; pocket T-shirts, baseball caps and jeans.  They had
> special restrauants they frequented, playgrounds where they were regulars, and
> toy stores where Pa allowed Sam to race up and down the aisles on motorized
> cars.
>
> Sam had even memorized my father's phone number and called him every morning
> and night , "Pa," he would ask, clutching the phone, "can I call you ten
> hundred more times?". Pa always said yes and answered the phone every time
> with equal delight.
>
> Then my father became ill. In the months he was hospitalized for lung cancer,
> I worried about how Sam would react to Pa's condition: the needle bruises, the
> oxygen tubes, his weakened state. When I explained to Sam that seeing Pa so
> sick might scare him, he was surprises. "He could never scare me." Sam said.
>
> Later I watched adults approach my father's hospital bed with trepidation,
> unsure of what to say or do. But Sam knew exactly what was right; hugs and
> jokes, as always.
> "Are you coming home soon," he'd ask.
> "I'm trying." Pa would tell him.
>
> When my dad died, everything changed for me and Sam. Not wanting to confront
> the questions to and feelings my father's death raised, I kept my overwhelming
> sadness at bay. When well-meaning people asked how I was doing, I'd give them
> a short answer and swiftly change the subject.
>
> Sam was different, however. For him, wondering aloud was the best way to
> understand.
>
> "So," he'd say, settling in his car seat, "Pa's in space, right?", Or,
> pointing at a stained-glass window in church, he'd ask, "Is one of those
> angels Pa?".
> "Where's heaven?" Sam asked right after my father died.
> "No one knows exactly." I said
> "Lots of people think it's in the sky."
> "No," Sam said shaking his head, "it's very far away. Near Cambodia."
> "When you die," he asked on another afternoon, "you disappear, right? And when
> you faint, you only disappear a little Right?"
>
> I thought his questions were good.  The part I had trouble with was what he
> always did afterward: he'd look me right in the eye with more hope that I
> could stand and wait for my approval or correction or wisdom.  But in this
> matter my fear and ignorance were so large that I'd grow dumb in the face of
> his innocence.
>
> Remembering Sam's approach to my father's illness, I began to watch his
> approach to grief.  At night he'd press his face against his bedroom window
> and cry, calling out into the darkness, "Pa, I love you! Sweet dreams!". then,
> as his tears stopped, he'd climb into bed, somehow satisfied, and sleep.  I
> however, would wander the house all night, not knowing how to mourn.
>
> One day in the supermarket parking lot, I saw a red truck like my father's.
> For an instant I forgot he had died. My heart leapt as I thought, Dad's here!
> Then I remembered and succumbed to an onslaught of tears.  Sam climbed onto my
> lap jammed himself between me and the steering wheel.
> "You miss Pa, don't you?" he asked I managed to nod.
> "You have to believe he's with us, Mommy," he said. "you have to believe
> that."
> Too young to attach to a particular ideology. Sam was simply dealing with
> grief and loss by believing that death does not really separate us from those
> we love.  I couldn't show him heaven on a map or explain the course a soul
> might travel.  But he'd found his own way to cope.
>
> Recently while I was cooking dinner, Sam sat by himself at the kitchen table,
> quietly coloring in the Spider Man coloring book. "I love you too," he said
> I laughed and said "You only say 'I love you "after someone says 'I love you
> first"
> I know" Sam said "Pa just said, "I love you Sam," and I said, "I love you
> too." He then kept coloring.
>
> "Pa just talked to you?" I asked
> "Oh, Mommy," Sam said, "he tells me he loves me every day. He tells you too.
> You're just not listening."
> Again, I have begun to take Sam's lead. I have begun to listen.
>
> By Ann Hood from Parenting
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