...to sit and be still

Ezra is sick today. The kind of sick where I look into his eyes and have a hard time finding him...as if the real Ezra has actually gone some place else.

He lay on my bed most of the day while I worked, falling in and out of sleep. Sometimes he would look at me for a moment, but would never speak, as if words simply took too much effort.

There's a feeling that's born in me on these days, reminding me of the fragility of life. It's a feeling that falls somewhere between pity and love. On any other healthy day, where mad running, fervent playing, and little man defiance is the norm, it's easy to forget how small and delicate life can be. But this day reminds me.

So now I sit, quiet in a chair, holding the limp body of my boy, sometimes reading or whispering soft words, and sometimes lifting a cup to his mouth for those few drops of water to fight dehydration. And somehow today, unlike many other days, I do not feel the urgent need to produce some work of great value.

Yes, today this is enough...to sit and be still with my sick boy.

Long View

Ethan had just finished brushing his teeth...and he was quiet. That alone caused me to pause. He looked up at me and said, "Dad, I don't want to die." Then he sat there a little longer and said, "Dad, I'm afraid to die."

It was one of those moments where some quick brush-away answer wanted to come flying out of my mouth...something like..."oh don't worry buddy...there's nothing to be afraid of" or "death is just a part of life...", or something else that I didn't mean. But I didn't say any of those things.

Instead, I sat down on the edge of the tub and thought for a moment.

"E, I don't want to die either. I'm not ready to die."

Ethan, still staring into my eyes said, "Is it because you don't want to leave your stuff?"

I thought for another moment. "Nope. That's not why. I guess I still want to do some things in this world."

Funny thing is...I think that's true, but I'm not entirely sure what I mean by that. It's not like I have a list of 100 things I want to do before I die...cause I don't. In fact, I don't think it's about doing any one particular thing, or even about doing 1000 particular things.

I want to be a fisherman, not just to fish a whole bunch, but learn to live a different way because I am a fisherman. I want to know the kinds of trees that surround a lake, and understand that the bottom is sand or rock, and that the water is clear or stained, and that there are different kinds of baitfish that live in particular kinds of habitats. And I want to know what particular kinds of fish like to eat at various times of the year. And I want to know how the moon and the wind may change the feeding patterns of a smallmouth bass. I want to learn to be a fisherman.

I want to be a partner. Not just a husband, whatever that means, but I want to participate in walking a long, long way with Shell...so long that just when things start to seem so familiar that we can't stand it anymore...something will happen...and we'll get to know each other even more deeply...and what was once familiar will suddenly appear new. I want to learn to be a partner.

I want to be a father. Not a friend who is a father, although that is certainly tempting. But a father, who makes decisions with the long view in mind. A father who backs up from the anger of a moment, to see the reason for the anger. A father, who actually lets his sons participate in what he's doing, even though it takes a lot longer. A father, who remembers that each new stage of life is just a breath. I want to breathe it deep and let it fill the nooks and crannies of my soul. I want to learn to be a father.

So Ethan, I guess that's about right. I'm not ready to die, because I've got a whole lot of being to do...and so do you. My hope is that we'll do a lot of that being...together.