Come Let Me Hold You

Just before the Thanksgiving break, my son's best friend moved away. His dad got a job out East and so the family loaded up the truck and moved to Kentucky. And my son watched them drive away. Brandon and Will have been good buds for over a year now. They were both in the accelerated classes at school, so the friendship had a competitive edge to it. Brandon would come over to our house after school and I'd walk by Will's room and hear them arguing like an old married couple. Neither wanted to give in or admit defeat or any of those other "uncle" phrases. The first few times I experienced this, I reprimanded them and told them to be "nice." Yeah, that was a dad-strike-out; they looked at me like a calf looks at a new gate. That was the way they communicated with each other; competitive, iron sharpening iron stuff. "Nice" was not a category for them; it was a hoot to watch. Best friends.

Will has had a hard week so far. We didn't really know what was going on. He's just been moody and easily upset (redundant, I know). Last night, we were working on multiplication tables and there was a problem he didn't remember how to do. I asked if he was listening to the teacher - "yes, dad." I asked if somebody was talking and he couldn't hear - "no, dad." I asked if he couldn't see the board for some reason - "I could see it fine, dad." I asked if the person sitting next to him was bothering him or cracking jokes..."I was sitting by myself, dad." Oh.

Grief does crummy things to you, huh? Your best friend moves away and all of a sudden, you're alone. The guy who's sat beside you for over a year at school is not in his chair anymore; a vacancy exists in the room and in your heart. The friend you competed with in EVERYTHING conceded and had to go with his family; he conceded and you still lost. That's hard enough for me to comprehend, let alone a nine year old boy. My son is grieving and it's breaking my heart. I can't bring Brandon back. I can't arrange for a new friend to emerge to take his place. We walk through a vale of tears on this earth and the only way through it, is through it. It is a lesson we learn and live. And it makes us stumble and bumble and forget how to do partial product multiplication problems and it causes us to sit by ourselves and be moody and easily upset and redundant. And sad.

There's a beautiful country song that goes something like this: "How can I help you, to say goodbye? It's o.k. to hurt, it's o.k. to cry. Come let me hold you, and I will try. How can I help you, to say goodbye?" Will, it's o.k to hurt and cry and forget your math stuff; but let me hold you, buddy. We'll hurt and cry together. I'll try and help you say goodbye. But it ain't easy. My innocent firstborn, you are beginning to learn of the longing...