Grief, Wheels and Joy

Thanks to each of you who took the time to leave a comment on Friday after my post about Bennan’s death. Thanks especially to those who shared some of your own stories; it was a privilege to share your experiences.

We were gone fourteen hours on Saturday getting to and from his funeral. It was such an honor to make the trip, to hug the family, and to see the love poured out on them from a church packed full of friends. (I got to sit in the service with Lib, a long time Smithellaneous friend who lives in Winston-Salem and drove over to the church to be with us.) 

We will have Brennan’s second service tonight at our church. Although our congregation only knows Brennan’s family from a couple of times they visited, I have no doubt that they will be inundated with love and hugs and tears tonight.

For today’s post . . .

I am not going even try to call upon my weary brain to write something new today. Instead, since it’s been a week of so much sadness and grief, I will share a post from the archives (2005)  that makes me smile. It’s about when Sarah learned to ride her bike and then played a trick on Nathan.  I had completely forgotten this happened (the tricking part) and so it was almost like reading it for the first time.

On Monday evening after supper Sarah suddenly proclaimed, “Mom and Dad, I am going to try riding my bike again.

While she and Steve headed outside, I thought I would take a minute to clean up the dishes. (Oh me of little faith—I didn’t have any hope that this attempt would be different than all the others.) 

As I worked at the sink, I kept an eye on the two of them through the kitchen window. Although I couldn’t see them real clearly past the fence, I could make out Sarah’s curly head down low, and Steve’s head higher up, following close behind her while he held on to the back of the bike.

And then, right as I was loading a plate into the dishwasher, I witnessed something truly stupendous–I saw the curly head take off all by itself, leaving the tall head behind! Which could only mean one thing.

Sarah was riding alone!

I slammed the dishwasher closed, threw aside the dishtowel, snatched up my camera and sprinted outside, breaking all known land-speed records along the way.  (Well, at least for middle-aged moms.)

When I arrived in the street, I caught a beautiful glimpse of one smiling, proud, beaming ten-year old conqueror, whizzing along through the summer twilight, hair flying out behind her, face wrapped in sunshine.

When she got to within a few feet of me, she stopped the bike and came running toward me, wrapping her arms around me and burying her face into my chest. There was no need for words between us; we had been through many battles together before and we rejoiced in the shared sweetness of another victory. 

As she got back on the bike and proudly took off again, Steve and I stood side by side on the street and blubbered like babies. 

We really hadn’t been sure if she would ever be able to ride a bike; in fact, we were beginning to believe that the cancer treatment had robbed her of the ability to keep her balance and taken away the strength she needed to pedal a bike fast enough to keep it upright.

As she sailed away into that joyful and carefree chapter of childhood, my worries were laid to rest. What a night! 

When I was tucking Sarah into bed that night and we were reliving the “big moment” she said, “Mom, as soon as I took off by myself I said a quick, eyes-open prayer.  I said, “Thank you God, for helping me ride my bike.”  Such sweet words from such a precious little lady.

Nathan wasn’t home that night to witness the triumphant bike ride so Sarah and I did a little female conniving. We decided not to tell him the big news until the four of us were all home at the same time and she could do a “demonstration.”

Last night was the night. I casually said to Nathan, “I’d like to go outside with Sarah for a few minutes. She’s going to try and ride her bike again and I thought it might be nice if you went out and encouraged her a little.”

So Steve (who was in on the plot), and Nathan stood together in the driveway while Sarah carefully got her bike into position on our side street.  I went over and dutifully put my hand on the back of the bike and said, “Sarah, I know it’s a little scary for you to try to keep your bike up without your training wheels on. Just remember, I’ll be right beside you if you need me.”

Sarah, loving every minute of the drama and skillfully playing along replied, “Well, Mom, it is really scary for me.  Just stay real close to me and don’t let go of me for very long. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to keep this bike up on my own.” 

Nathan was standing in the driveway with a concerned, big brother look on his face, taking in his sister’s worried face and no doubt wondering if the day would ever come when she could actually ride the bike on her own.

And then the time came for the play to begin.

Sarah started pedaling and I stated running along behind her. I held on to the bike arrayed in my very best worried mama look. After about five seconds, I let go and Sarah flew off down the street on her own. 

The complete shock on Nathan’s face was priceless. All he knew was that he had spent three years watching his sister try and fail and try and fail over and over again. To see her actually take off by herself had rendered him speechless.

When she rode back toward us, he enthusiastically complimented her and celebrated with her. She was so proud of her accomplishment and even more proud of playing a trick on her big brother! He’s certainly been a faithful brother and friend through all the ups and downs of her life—I love to see the way their friendship has developed through the years.

I’ll close with a few photos from that period of life.

Here is Sarah with her Grandpa Smith working on learning to ride with training wheels. (She had just begun chemo and was starting to lose her hair.)

Back in those days, most of her wheels were hospital-related.

After looking back at that season of life, I am thankful today for the following things:

• the friendship of a brother and sister
• Sarah’s wheels have gone from wheelchairs to a bike to a car
• The wheels of Sarah’s car will be bringing her home to us this Friday

In the middle of sorrow–joy.