Thin Boards

The way a tale is told depends upon where we stand in relation to the event. It’s not only about what happened, but how we feel about what happened. I can tell you how I felt about my former son-in-law coming for Spencer, my twelve-year-old grandson, minutes after we returned from his mother’s funeral. I was devastated. From where I stood, their story was one of fracture, and I feared history was about to repeat itself.

“I love my Dad, but I don't want to go. I’m afraid.” Spencer said as we packed his suitcase.

My pleas on Spencer's behalf had begun calmly enough. “Please don’t take him today.  Please let him heal some first,” I said, appealing to what I thought was good judgment and fair play. At first I believed  my words well received. When it became clear they were not,  I lost control. My voice rose. It's hard not to panic when you are trying to keep bad things from happening and no one listens.   

“You haven’t even seen him or talked to him for three years! Where in the hell have you been!”

His eyes narrowed. His jaw clinched. He stood abruptly and without a word left the room. I knew I had crossed a line. I wished I could reclaim my angry words. I wonder if history might have been different had I not said that. I turned to a dear friend, and lawyer, who had driven for hours to be with us.Surely there was something he could do to keep this event from unfolding.


My friend came into the bedroom where I sat alone by the window, staring into the treetops.  Beyond the sill, green faded into autumn. Evening calm contradicted my unsettled heart and gave no indication of the swirling debris of consequence that had been set in motion when my daughter Tara died. My friend moved a chair to sit in front of me. Our knees almost touched. He leaned forward, his elbows on this thighs and with his fingers laced in front of him, almost as if he were praying. He waited.  I started to speak, but rejected my words in search of others.  I struggled for control not wanting to be perceived as overwrought or emotion-blinded.

I stated my concern and explained the reasons I thought leaving would not be in Spencer’s best interest. I told my friend of things I personally observed, in case he judged my testimony as hearsay. I had not completed my litany of concerns, when my friend closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to his clasped hands. 

Maybe I watch too many lawyer shows on television, but with that gesture, hope faded and desperation rose. I knew it did not bode well for the final verdict, and the futility of my legal argument began to sink in. My words tumbled out faster. I grabbed for words that might influence the outcome. I had to make my friend see what was at stake. The gist of my closing plea: Please understand! This is not going to end well!

For the record, it is never a good sign when your lawyer sobs before rendering his professional opinion.

“I could get a court order to stop Spencer from leaving this afternoon,” my friend said, his voice breaking. My heart leapt with hope, but only for a brief second. “But, I don’t how long I can keep him here,” he said. “And. . .” he took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh, “I don’t recommend doing that.” That had to be a hard thing to say to a friend who begged for help, especially one who flailed with the intensity of a mother lion rising to defend her cub. The verdict was final.  I had to let Spencer go.

 “He’ll come back to you,” my lawyer-friend said softy, a tear spilling onto his cheek. “I don’t know when it will be, but I believe he’ll come back to you.”

Not sharing his faith in a future I could not see, I tried a final time to explain it was not about me. It was about Spencer, about my fear for what might happen to his young soul if he were taken, in my opinion, from the only safe place, the only safe people he had left.  

With more wisdom in the ways of fathers and sons than I had, my friend concluded, “Bunny, even if things don’t turn out like we want them to, there comes a time in a boy's life when he needs to find out for himself what kind of man his father is.” Personally, I would have preferred to skip the learning experience. 


Spencer and I could hear leaving sounds emanating from the kitchen upstairs. It was time. I zipped the small overnight bag containing Spencer’s pitifully few belongings and took deep breaths trying to silence the maternal alarms that blared and to loosen the grip around my heart.  I put my arms around him and held him before we walked upstairs. I hoped my embrace spoke the words I could not.

I have heard it said that memory misinterprets and can’t be trusted when clouded by emotion and despair, but emotion also sears images into the brain. The helpless expression on Spencer’s face looking back at me over his shoulder as he walked to his father’s vehicle is indelibly imprinted in my memory. I thought the hardest part of the day I buried my child would be leaving her at the cemetery.  I was wrong.  It was watching Spencer go.   

Some people make peace with life better than others. Maybe it comes with the wisdom of years and from learning to accept things we can’t control.  My mother-in-law Lillie is one of those people.  When she hears someone or some circumstance judged adversely, she always gives them the benefit of the doubt saying, “Every board has two sides no matter how thin it is.”

I tried to see something positive in Spencer’s situation.  I tried to push away worry. I tried to deny despair. I really tried. But in the end I failed. From where I stood in relation to the event, viewing it through mother-eyes. . .this board looked one-sided to me.  

Reflections:

 “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.”~Corrie Ten Boom

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding.”~Proverbs 3:5

“The Christian life is not a constant high. I have my moments of deep discouragement. I have to go to God in prayer with tears in my eyes, and say, ‘O God, forgive me,’ or ‘Help me’.”~Billy Graham

-What are my thoughts about the following statements?                                                                                

 "The way to live in hope is to live above ‘see’ level,  that is to recognize that because of what we don't know, we cannot give way to despair. What we do know is that moving through all of history, there is a kind of meaning that is able to take things that on the surface look so bad and bring surprising results out of it.”~A Jewish Rabbi who survived the Holocaust

“There are two sides to every board no matter how thin it is.” Lillie Cox

Practice: Serenity Prayer:

God grant me the serenity 
to accept the things I cannot change; 
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.