The other night, I was sitting across from my seven year old son, at the dinner table. We had just finished the Valentine's Day hoopla at his school. I showed up to help with the classroom party. There was a lot of pink. Pink ginger-ale flowing over the sides of a pearl-strewn silver beverage fountain, pink cupcakes, and chocolate covered strawberries. Sticky little faces everywhere and  red bags with hearts stuck all over, filled with little notes of love. Some with Batman on them, others handmade with stickers. It was sweet. And then came the dreaded candy-grams. My son sent a few to his friends and his teacher. I remember having these delivered to my girls Catholic high school, from  the boys Catholic high school in the next town. I didn't worry much. As co-dependent as I was, I always had a boyfriend, from the age of thirteen to seventeen. I knew I could count on one from John all those years. So, I was severely remiss in forgetting that some people don't get candy-grams delivered to them on Valentine's Day.

From the other side of the dinner table, I ask my son, "Did you get a candy-gram today?" Why did I ask that question? I thought for sure he would have. But from his little eyes and his quivering bottom lip,  I saw that he hadn't received one. He looked at me and held up his fingers and crossed them over and said, "Mom, I crossed my fingers all day, like this, and waited to see if I would get one. And I didn't." Oh, God. I imagined the candy-gram delivery girl coming in and out, all day. And Andrew's little eyes lighting up, and then realizing it wasn't for him, feeling his heart sink. I freaked out inside. I could feel myself losing my footing.  My husband could see it and said, "Jen, it is okay if Andrew is disappointed." The hell it is, I thought. What a healthy parent thing to say, Andy. But, I DON"T WANT HIM TO FEEL PAIN. And, let me tell you all the ways that crossed my mind to relieve my son of his quivering lip. As he cried, I blamed myself, why the hell did I not send him one? WHAT WAS I THINKING? Then, I quickly pushed the blame off of me and onto others.  I got mad at all of those people who didn't send him one. Then I moved right onto distraction.  I will go out tomorrow and buy him a bunch of balloons and surprise him. Thankfully after this dysfunctional dance within, I decided to breathe and to pray. I prayed for God to help me feel my feelings. I felt totally powerless. I didn't want him to feel this thing called disappointment. I know that feeling, being left out, and it is a tough. I hate it. Even though most of my life I have been a pain-hater, I know better now. I am learning to be friends with pain. I know that when I suffer, God shows up and makes more room for Herself in my brokenness. And I knew, if I tried to fix it, I would send the message to my son, You can't handle what your feeling. And to buy him balloons, would be to say, I don't trust the pain that you are feeling. And to blame others, teaches that it is up to others to take the pain away, and then God is out of a job. I never learned how to befriend pain. I only knew how to numb it out. Let me count the ways: controlling others to be what I want them to be, eating sugar, drinking alcohol, smoking pot, watching reality television. You name it, I am an expert at pain-numbing. But, suffering breaks our hearts open, and makes room for more love, more compassion. Even in a seven year old.

So, what did I do? I sat next to him, as he leaned his head on my body and cried. And I breathed and prayed. I held his hand. I am learning to walk beside those who suffer. I am learning how to breathe and trust that the people I love are in God's hands. Whether it is my disappointed son, or my mother who suffers at a distance, or myself in my quiet, lonely times. We are not alone. And I am not God, here to make it all better for the people I love. I honestly have been trying to fill that role for quite some time.  And the bottom line, trying to fix it, make it better, is not some Mother Teresa attempt to save the world. It is all about me. I want those I love to not feel pain, so I don't have to feel the pain of seeing them suffer. It does not convey faith. It conveys a distrust of God. Walking beside my son was a saying Yes to God. I decided to trust God and not take matters into my own fearful little hands. A candy-gram missed became an opportunity to trust the God who has held me from the very beginning. The God who walked beside me and breathed as I heard a cancer diagnosis. The God who took my hands and put my last drink down. The God who leaned into me as I buried my father. And the God who looked me in the eye when I let my mother go. I am not God. I was never meant to be. I was meant to walk beside those I love, not carry them.