Sheila Sims Iding
Not everyone agrees on this. There seem to be two different camps. But I am of the mind set that you CAN’T be too rich, too thin or too organized. Having said that, it has to be in the right frame of mind. You can be too rich if you don’t share your riches with those in need. You can be too thin if you are a size 4 and are trying to be a size 2. (Not that I would know.) You can be too organized if you sort your Post-it notes by size and color (I confess…I might know about this.). However…too rich, too thin, too organized…are all good things if done the right way.
One thing that you CAN be “too” of is sentimental. Another lesson I have learned the hard way. By my teenage years my dad already knew. He warned me early on that I was too sentimental. He knew because I am my father’s daughter. We shared the “too” sentimentality syndrome. The warning came because he wanted me to know that there is a price to pay for being too sentimental. Big things mean a lot to many people. Big events move the emotions of most people. But most people are less observant and more careful not to be moved by the little things. Ahh…that’s the difference….the little things.
Most parents would be sad when their son goes back home to China. Most parents would get a little weepy on that drive to the airport and a little more weepy on the way home. Most parents would worry about that long trip half way around the world that starts on a Friday and ends Sunday evening. Most parents would know that China is too far away…especially when measured by a parent’s heart.
It’s the coming home after the airport part that gets me. It’s the little things that bring me to tears when the post-airport tears are supposed to be done. It’s the little things left behind, the presence that is no more, the traces of memories that are still there…and Tim is not.
It’s that highlighter still on the end table. The one he used for three weeks while studying for his mission work. Turns out a missionary’s work is never done. The book Pope Benedict wrote about Holy Week seemed the perfect homework to help him teach in the seminary. He didn’t just read it. He studied it. He highlighted and wrote notes in the margins. And highlighted and wrote notes some more. The book was never far from him. It was almost always just an arm’s length away…a Spiritual thought away…a theologian’s teaching away. And the book and the pen are on their way to China…but the highlighter…that highlighter…is on that end table…still there.
It’s the Cocoa Puffs still in the pantry. One of the surprises we had waiting for him. There are no Cocoa Puffs in China so we keep the pantry stocked when he is home. Tim is the only one who eats them. I don’t even like them and I eat everything. I do like when they are in the pantry because it means Tim is home. However, now an opened box…2/3 gone…means Tim is gone too but his Cocoa Puffs are…still there.
It’s the radio station on my car radio. The rock station with the current music he turned to on July 1. I like my country Highway channel. I like my CD and the playlist I worked so hard to find. I don’t like this modern rock stuff…especially when it means Tim is heading back to Chinese radio and the modern music he likes on my car radio is…still there.
It’s his breathing treatment mask and those CF prescriptions left on the desk. No need to take the prescriptions to China. He can’t fill them there. We hold on to them until someone we know is going to China. But I see them and I remember how we celebrated a great check just a few days ago and now he is taking his lungs to one of the most polluted cities in the world…and those life-giving prescriptions are on the desk…still there.
And it’s that light in his bedroom that is the hardest. It’s a little thing. Most parents would just turn it off and be glad he had a chance to come home. I beg to leave it on so it seems like “the light is on and someone is home”. I leave it on the first night he is gone and tomorrow I will turn it off. But then I linger a bit. And look at his books and his books and his books. And his saint statues and his saint cards and his saint pictures. And I notice all the Tim things and hug his pillow which still smells like him and wallow in sentimentality as my heart pays the loan of the emotional fee my dad taught me about.
I know what you are thinking. Get over it! Kids grow up and leave home. They come back for a visit and leave again. I get that. But China is so far away…so very far. Still…I understand your get-over-it-ness.
I have a friend whose son has served our country as a career soldier. He has been in many countries, many battles, many places where he won’t get to skype after studying at night.
I have friends whose kids have CF and are fighting hard just to avoid a trip to the hospital let alone a far away trip…even to a city with cruddy air. Not to mention the mom of the child with Autism…who might not dare to dream for a world traveler.
I have a sister who said the hardest thing about losing a son is that you keep waiting for them to come home. Andy isn’t coming home. Tim is. In December. I could already count the sleeps until he comes home. My sister can’t count sleeps.
I get it’s a blessing…a true blessing…that Tim gets to do this work and serve God. I get it’s a blessing that Fr. Brian knew of Tim’s worth and purpose and vocation. I understand he has a gift to share with the world. I truly believe that God’s will trumps a mother’s wishes.
I get that I am too sentimental. I get that the price I pay is self-induced although lovingly passed on from my father. I curse this excessive sentimentality …and I embrace it as strongly as I embrace that pillow.
I will get over it! I will get over the fact that when Tim left for China today he took one of my best friends, his sustaining hugs and our late night talks about faith, family, life. I will get over the fact that he is half way around the world. Out of respect for the mother of that solider, for CF mom’s everywhere and for my sister…I will get over it. But not until I will allow myself to cry for just a bit more and allow my sentimental heart to repay the loan of special memories.
And then I will be done…but first I have to take care of a highlighter, discard a box of Cocoa Puffs and file those prescriptions…because even though tonight Tim is gone…those little things are…still there.
Leaving the light on…just one more night. Vaya con Dios, Timothy.
PS: Joey and Adam...speaking of too sentimental...I read the cards you each wrote for Tim. I think you already know about that talk Papa had with me. Thanks for paying the price. It's a tough fee...but it's worth it.