I'm Still Watching the Clock

Dear Nathaniel,
Today was your second day of Kindergarten. You didn't want to go. You had fun yesterday, but "it was too long" you said. "Tell me about it" I wanted to reply. You see, when we kissed you goodbye and you walked out the door your brother pointed and begged to go with you, and when I said you were going to school and he had to stay home, his eyes told his story of devastation and he cried his biggest, saddest sobs. I cried right along with him. Because we both knew it would be too long before you were back. He missed his hero and best buddy and I missed a piece of my own heart.
I watched the clock all day. I prayed through the time you were getting to the school and into your classroom. I prayed when playing blocks with your brother and sister because your absence was so noticeable. I prayed when I knew you would be going to lunch because I know new places with a lot of people are very scary for you.  I prayed a lot in the early afternoon hours because I knew the day would start getting long for you. I watched the clock often as the day was getting long for me without you too. I prayed unceasingly when the dismissal time came and I knew you were getting on the school bus for the very first time. I prayed your whole hour bus ride home. I watched the clock all day waiting for you to come back to me. And when you stepped off the bus with a smile I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving.
The truth is, I really don't want to send you to school. I really want you to stay home with me every day. So when you look at me and tell me you don't want to go, trust me, I don't want you to either. Your entire 5 years of life I've been battling to keep you with me, watching the clock whenever you were gone until you would come back home, when all would be right in my world again.


We were bringing you home from Pierre in an April icestorm navigating slushy roads when you were one month old. I road in the back with you because I was sure if I couldn't see you you would stop breathing. I watched the minutes tick by on the digital clock on the dash, praying you would stay sleeping another half hour before we could stop. I desperately wished time would go faster so we could be safely home. You were a great traveler (first and ONLY time) , you woke up to eat and be changed and went back to sleep as soon as we got on the road and slept all the way home. When we got home, Dan held you in his recliner and you slept a very long time. I kept watching the clock, telling him to let you wake up so you would sleep at night, but he just couldn't put you down.


It was 3 am. We hadn't really slept all night because you hated your crib and woke up every time we put you in it. We both looked desperately at the clock and then decided to let you sleep in the swing if that would do the trick. We finally all drifted off to sleep at 4.


5 pm never came soon enough so I could pick you up from daycare. When someone walked in at 4:55 with a problem I tried not to let my sadness show. A year ago I would have been thrilled to solve it and enjoyed the challenge. Now I just wanted to pick you up, the day had been too long to be apart.

It was 2 am, you were 5 months old, the date quickly approaching when you were supposed to leave us to go live with your birth-mom. I was so glad you woke up, so that I could hold you and spend more time with you. There were a lot of nights I wished for sleep, but lately I treasured this sacred nighttime hour with you, with a bottle and rocking chair. I soaked in every breath, every sound. I remembered how quiet the house, our life, used to be before you. I never hated sleeping all night more. I watched the minutes tick by knowing they were going too fast. Knowing the day was coming when you wouldn't wake me at 2 am anymore, when I wouldn't be there to answer your cries.


24 hours. That's the time we got to say goodbye to you. Six months you had lived with us, but you weren't just a roommate. You were a part of us. How do you say goodbye in 24 hours? We played all day. We left the room to cry. We tried to memorize every tiny touch, every hug, every movement. We watched the hours tick by, each one bringing us closer to our worst nightmare. The time came, we had to put you in the car. The car had always been a safe place and always brought you somewhere safe and then back home, but this time was different. It felt like a lie buckling you in. This time I couldn't promise you'd be safe. I couldn't promise you'd come back home.


5 days you were gone before you could come back and visit. I watched the clock all week, wondering what you were doing at that moment, wondering if you were ok, wondering if you were missing us. I prayed you wouldn't be sad and that you were being taken care of. I prayed I would figure out how to live without you, without the constant worry tearing me apart.


When the call came to come pick you up, time stood still. I left work and rushed down to get you, the hour drive an agony knowing once I get there I could hold you in my arms and bring you HOME.


We watched the clock as your months turn into years and we treasured every one individually as a gift of one more day, one more month, one more year with you. We had no promise of the next year.


This May, when you were five years old, we were at the courthouse with all of our family and friends, and I watched seconds pass as time slowed and we waited for our turn. Five years of anticipation builds up a lot of anxiety. But our turn came and then it went quickly and before I knew it, the judge was announcing your adoption official. Five years of worry slipped off my shoulders and fell to the floor like I tossed off a heavy winter coat.


Today, you went back to school for the second LONG day. I still watched the clock all day. I still counted the hours and then minutes that you would come back home. I still breathed easier knowing you were ok when you got off that yellow bus.


I know I'm the crazy mom who can't let go of her child and I know I worry too much. Maybe the difference is that I HAD to let go of you once, and it was horrible. Maybe the difference is that I treasure every moment because I had to find out what the moments were like without you. Maybe I don't trust that anyone else loves you the way that I do. And maybe most of all I know that even a court document can't guarantee me another day with you. So I want all of this day, not just the last few hours.


The good news, is that Jesus doesn't promise us tomorrow, but He does promise us eternity. Eternity with you sounds so incredible. This is why we have nothing to fear. Because being separated is really our ultimate fear. The thing that causes us the most pain. But because of Jesus we will never be separated forever. So until then, I'll keep watching the clock while you're away from me. And I'll keep watching the clock while we both wait for heaven, anxiously awaiting the day when I'm not watching the clock anymore.
And I'm sorry buddy, Daddy says you have to go to school tomorrow.