I learned a little truth from my middle son this weekend. He taught me a lesson in bravery. We (Jess, he and I) were waiting for our order at Outback friday night when suddenly he started to get noticeably fidgety sitting across from me in the booth. He looked up at me and said "Dad, can we step outside a minute?" This is the same boy that has scarcely said two words in a row to me in a year. "Of course!" I said. We stepped out into the cold air. He nodded toward my truck as if to say 'let's go sit'. We did. At which point he spilled a bucket of words and thoughts and tears so vulnerable that I wept right along side him. The essence of what he said was that he was saddened by his own confusion about being a divorced son. He was sad. He was torn. He was real. He was more honest than any person has been to me in SO long that my tears were every bit as much in his honor as for his grief. I have been fretting and pulling my hair out about our relationship for what seems like years. Always wondering what more I could do. Finally, when I've stopped 'doing', the ice seems to be breaking.
He is teaching me to keep moving in a forward motion to the other side of pain and to say what's true, even if the outcome seems dubious. I want to be like him.