I drove through the Walmart parking lot today. The one where I taught you to drive your stick-shift car. It was still vast and empty and I could see you taking the corners at full speed while I hung on for dear life and you laughed maniacally. Joy. It had been so long since I’d seen joy in your life. I’m so glad I got to teach you to drive.
If I think about it, I got to teach you a lot of things: how to use a spoon, how to take your first steps, how to say,”ma-ma”, how to brave your first slide, how to pump your legs to swing, how to swim, how to hold a pencil, how to ride a bike, and how I would always be there when you needed me.
Learning new things meant lots of falling and getting back up. Sometimes you needed scooping up and that was my favorite thing in the world. To heal, to mend, to hold, to comfort. I loved being the one you lifted your arms to, and when you couldn’t do that, I loved being the one that waited and prayed until you could. In the end, you lifted your arms to God, begging Him to take you. I wish I could have been the one that scooped you up and healed whatever was wrong. All I can do is look to the God who took you home, and lift my arms to Him, too. He’ll scoop me up and hold me on this earth the way I used to hold you.
