Independence Day 2013

One of my favourite childhood memories was the warm summer night we packed a huge bag of popcorn in a brown paper grocery bag, a new pack of cookies and a thermos of koolaid and loaded up the family car just before dark. We were headed to the small city airport in our town for the annual fireworks display. It was often on a weeknight when my dad had already worked a long, most likely hot day as a sheet metal journey man, tired and barely rested after his shift of climbing ladders or crawling through an old building to install duct work, when he would slip his comfortable loafers on, take the wheel, while four children squirmed in the back seat of the auto and we made our way to town. We usually met other family members there and would park our cars side by side, throwing old quilts on the ground while adults leaned on the hoods of their cars or set up lawn chairs. I remember smelling the faint cigarette smoke in the air as the men puffed on the sticks that eventually were banned, listening to the parents conversations with one ear, while leaning into the stories of the cousins gathering around our blanket. We ate snacks, talked like crazy trying to get it all in, while anticipating the show that couldn't begin until the last rays of sun sunk below the skyline and it was perfectly dark. The years were all different, but so very much the same. Laughing, talking, waiting in community until the first pop and bang signalled the show had begun! It was like magic to my young eyes, and so,sorely missed as an adult when I lived away from my childhood home the first July after my marriage. Even then, my soul sought out the crackle as the booms sailed over my head and sulfur smells as the fireworks lit up the sky , no matter what town we called home in those days. A variety of events in adulthood gave me experiences I wouldn't trade for the world, but none can compare to those summer nights, as a family, that we gathered under the massive sky, watching the heavens light up in declaration of our country and her independence. Tonight is the time where we have continued the tradition with our own family. Though grown, I hope my first three children are looking at the night sky tonight and watching for the colours to erupt and shimmer down like magic. I hope my grandsons out East are seeing colours in the clouds and hearing the boom, boom BOOMS that shake the ground. I pray that all are safe, and the night explodes in pride for our country, and we all remember the great land we live in. But tonight, I am missing the displays. I am in the hospital with our youngest son, Isaiah, (3) as he recovers from the breathing difficulties he had earlier today after a routine surgery to replace his feeding tube. Isaiah is a fragile child medically, which we tend to forget until something like this disrupts the normal routines we have grown accustomed to since he came to our family 15 months ago. It feels as if he has always been a part of us, but it's just been this year that our lives have learned to slow down to accommodate a sick child. His smile - oh, I wish everyone had a child who smiles like our Zay! He has a complicated history, including abandonment in his own country (which saved his life!) to the prized "baby of the family" here in America, where he is enveloped in the largeness of our lives, getting the medical support he could have never gotten there. His life is a miracle even now, having survived two years of little nourishment, medical needs that are complicated, yet able to be managed here. He radiates love and gentleness and is teaching us more each day of the things that really matter. So I sit here remembering. America. Fireworks. Family memories. Missing my other children who are gazing at the skies in our hometown with their daddy, seeing magic like I remember so clearly when I was a child. And I remember last year, sitting with my mom, watching the last fireworks display she would ever see on earth, as this year she is seeing them from above the clouds in heaven. With dad. And I smile. Isaiah now sleeps peacefully, breathing regulated after a day of struggles, with a moderate supply of oxygen, rhythm re- established, making me believe he will be able to rest well, and return home tomorrow. He dodged another scarey twist in this complicated little life of his, and I am grateful, once again, to the ONE who keeps him safe. He had known him in his mothers womb, created to be unique and perfect, and who guides each of this breaths as HE ordained from the very first one. In a way, I am quietly celebrating a different independence tonight. Isaiah's. Although his body is entrapped in stiff limbs due to his cerebral palsy, and the tremors overtake his peacefulness much more often than I care to admit, he is free. He is free to love, to be loved, to smile, to bring joy. His deep eyes twinkle when he is happy, fill with tears when he is in pain. But he is free. He is not a slave to empty pursuit of things. He is simply content when his most basic needs are met. He doesn't crave notorious fantasies, or desire great wealth. He is a simple, although brilliant minded boy, who's biggest joy is to have me lay beside his frozen body and just BE there. Loving, cooing and stroking his frailty, I hope he always will know just how very treasured he is. I am grateful for the memories I hold dear, I am thrilled to have the opportunity to pass on the traditions that meant so much to me to the children I call my own. And more than anything, I thank God for the way He leads me and assures me I am His own. He continues to walk this medical path with Isaiah, reassuring me He will never leave us or forsake us. Happy Independence Day, Isaiah. Perhaps someday you will guide others to seeing the beauty of life from your simple perspective to love and be loved. There can really never be anything sweeter than that.