We haven’t opened a textbook in a week-and-a-half, but we’ve been schooled. We’ve learned that life is fragile, precious, brief. That everyone. everyone. makes a difference and impacts those around them. We’ve learned that coming together as loved ones is the one thing we can do when there is absolutely nothing else that can be done. We’ve learned that God hears our prayers, but doesn’t always answer how we hoped.
Last week my four-year-old nephew ended his eight-month battle with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He fought so hard – we all did – over these last several months, but cancer is the devil’s physiological playground. He survived multiple treatments and triumphed, beating doctor’s expectations each time. But, in the end, the disease just kept spreading and eventually there was simply nothing left to be done. Except hold the tiny hand of a four-year-old, counting each labored breath, pray with him and assure him that Jesus was sitting right beside him and would never ever leave.
When you’re helping your kids to process and accept mortality, suddenly arithmetic, spelling drills and nature studies are pushed far into the back seat. Right where they should be. Times of tragedy marry beautifully with the homeschool lifestyle because we can choose to take a beat and owe no one an explanation. After a whirlwind several days of bedside vigils, meetings and the funeral itself, I knew our family just needed to breath. Breathe in the beauty of unseasonably warm Fall days, crunch some leaves under our feet, swing a few more minutes, stay up a little later, and just be. together.
And because we weren’t focused on workbooks and schedules, I could be present to listen to the questions and comments as they seemingly creep in from nowhere:
“Mom, if God can do anything, and we know He can, why didn’t he just heal Prescott when he first got sick?”
“Prescott is with Grandma now!”
“Mom, do you remember the song at Prescott’s funeral?”
Little hearts processing big things. It is so important to just give ourselves time to grieve, process and breathe. Schoolwork will still be waiting next week – and if we’re ready – we’ll get back into it. For now, I’m just thankful that it’s our choice to take a beat.
