It was supposed to be a quick stop at the craft store. I only needed one special piece of scrapbook paper. But as the husband will tell you, anyone who has a passing interest in quilting, scrapbooking, and crafts in general never makes a “quick” stop at the craft store.
I took Isaiah, my 12-year-old, with me to the craft store. My Tim took the other two with him to the discount tool store next door. I promised Isaiah I would be quick. He rolled his eyes in that special 12-year-old way that tests my last patient nerve.
Isaiah, like his dad, is not a big fan of the craft store. However, the paper was for his team soccer photo, so, in this case, he DID have a passing interest in this “quick” stop.
We made a beeline for the scrapbook paper on the back wall taking only minor detours through the crayon and baking chocolate aisles. We arrived to a SALE. Now, there is only one thing better than a “quick” stop at the craft store to an amateur quilting, scrapbooking, crafting mama: A SALE at the craft store.
I stood in the store holding my 12-year-old son’s hand and carefully read the sign, “6 for $0.96” I’m not sure there has been a better sale! I turned to Isaiah and asked if he was up for a challenge. There was no eye rolling this time. If there is one thing he does better than practice his teenage attitude, it is spend his mama’s money.
We got to work. Six purply-flower themed sheets for the Mother’s day pages. Easter-themed sheets for the yet to be started Easter book. Pages for the Boy Scout outing. Pages for report cards and preschool graduations and fifth grade award ceremonies. We had LOTS more than the one page we came for. I was so into our shopping that I wasn’t really paying attention to the environment, but just as we found the soccer-themed paper and we were deciding on a subtle design or an overly-busy design, Isaiah grabbed my arm.
“Mom,” he anxiously asked. “Do you hear that song?” I stopped for a second and listened. It was a pop song that had been popular five or six years ago. Maybe longer. “Mmmm. Hmmmm.” I nodded. “Mom,” he said a little bit louder. “Do you HEAR that song?” I stopped and looked at him. He was clutching and wrinkling the paper we had been so carefully selecting. “Yes,” I said. “I hear it. I think I’ve heard it before. Have you heard it before today?”
And then he started. Without even looking at me, he started talking and spilling his soul. Right there in the scrapbook paper section of JoAnns. I held the soccer page in my hand and watched him. He clutched the paper tighter. He told of frightening visits to various houses. Stories complete with violence, ambulances, and blood. He told stories he had never before shared with me. So slowly that I almost didn’t notice, he brought the paper to his face.
He alternated between snippets of vivid details and telling me what would come next in the song. He kept telling me, “If you listen close, Mom, you’ll hear rain at the end of the song.” And then he would tell another memory. Or he would pick up on the one he never finished. And then he would say again, “Mom, if you listen closely, you will hear rain at the end of the song.”
His memories were disjointed but complete. They were as tragic as they were shocking. He told of protecting Isaac. Of being confused. Of trying to be a grown up when he was far too young to be in that position. Eventually, the paper covered his mouth. Then his nose. And finally his whole face. He never stopped talking. It was almost like he was on autopilot. I watched him. I tried to pull myself back to the paper selection, but that was a useless idea.
The store was busy. It took me a while to realize that folks were staring at my son. He had, by now, covered his face. And then, towards the end of the song, I listened closely and heard the rain. All at once, he dropped his hands, and in doing so, dropped dozens of pieces of colorful scrapbook paper. And he yelled. Not because he was angry or upset or not heard. He yelled because the emotion was so great that yelling was the only way to express it. He yelled, “Mom! Do you hear it? Do you hear the rain?”
We were both shaking.
To that point, trigger events in Isaiah’s life had been holidays or birthdays or seasons of the year. Spring is difficult for both Isaiah and Isaac. This spring, I watched as Isaiah processed things differently. He had the same memories, but he was remembering them differently. And he was sharing his thought process with me. It has been a wonderful experience to watch him “grow up” and mature a little bit this year.
So, when a song came on the radio in the middle of the craft store that triggered painful and emotional memories, I was at a loss. Because those are the moments for which the parenting classes and the parenting books don’t prepare you. Those are the moments when your heart takes over.
I stepped toward Isaiah, and I wrapped my arms around my shaking son. I did the only thing I knew how to do, I loved him. I told him how sorry I was that he had to have those memories. I told him how brave I thought he was to share them. I told him that it must take a lot of courage to have those things locked inside for so long and then share them.
He had his face buried in his hands and he let me hold him. I closed my eyes and I rocked him back and forth as we stood there in the scrapbook aisle. I’m sure I cried. I’m sure he cried, too. For the longest time, we just stood there. I prayed for guidance for the next step. And as I kissed the top of his head, I said, “I love you, Isaiah. I love you.” He wrapped his arms around me, looked up into my face and said, “I know that you do.”
That day in the craft store, when I stopped for one thing, my son heard a song on the radio and I walked out with so much more. I left that store with a better understanding of what my son has experienced in his short life. With the burden that memories can be and the courage he musters to face each day.
That day, I heard the rain.
