Leier Boys: Be Still

It's those life-changing events that are circled on calendars or jotted down for memory’s sake:

The first day of school,

A high school graduation,

A wedding.

It’s also those gradual moments that come when they are least expected, but come when they are supposed to:

A child’s first steps,

A push of a swing,

A pony ride.

It’s those moments when a mother catches a glimpse of her child being more than what he has been his whole life.

It’s those times when a part of his personality that she knew was there—hoped was there—finally comes to the surface.

Bravery.

Strength.

Independence.

At preciously the exact moment when she does notice the glimpse sprouting forth from her son, an unfamiliar notion sweeps throughout her body like a chill. She notices those traits not because she has had to live them during similar moments, but because she is learning a new definition of them.

His bravery and his strength to experience the new and unfamiliar means she too must learn to be brave and strong.

His withdrawal from dependence on his mother means she must also begin to withdrawal from him; she too must redefine independence.

It feels like a small hand slowly dropping from hers.

It looks like a small step away from his comfort zone.

It feels like a deep inhale followed by a slow and controlled exhale.

It sounds like, “Oh Lord, give me strength.”

This tumultuous moment occurred when Joseph and I went to a birthday party…no daddy, and no big brother.

It was at a farm which wasn't a typical party and there were going to be non-typical activities to do, this first of which was a pony ride.

He wanted to ride the pony, but didn’t realize that meant without Mommy.

He cautiously sauntered in front of the pony.

Other kids, who weren’t ready for their brave moment, were kicking and screaming at their parents with a repeated and emphatic, “NO!”

They were hard to ignore. Joe didn’t let them affect his already-made decision.

Then I let the man ask, "Would u like to ride?" A faint nod was the key to open the gate.

He approached the pony. I did not.

And as I was about to say, "Don't walk behind him," or “Get your fingers out of your mouth,” or “Mommy will be right here,” I didn’t want to speak…I couldn’t speak.

This was his moment, not mine. This was my moment to keep my mouth shut.

I stayed put with a smile on my face.

It was the smile of bravery, strength and independence. It was there just in case his wandering eyes were to look for me for a “you’re doing great” sign.

This was my push of him on a swing, my letting go of his hand, my time to be brave too.

I don't know who was more scared: Joe or me. Me...Definitely me.

Once we finally exhaled from our lesson in bravery and independence, we both met others a few minutes later. His taste of independence made him yearn for more, so he did not even reach for my hand. Instead of walking away from me, he ran. And instead of my standing like a statue holding my breath, I breathed more evenly. He was having fun…and I prided myself on watching him.

There was the moment of feeding goats.

Then there was the time he had to pet a llama.

Then there was the instant he greeted a big rabbit.

Then there was the nature walk around a river, up a ladder, over a bridge, and under hanging tree limbs.

All greeted an apprehensive boy, but continued to strengthen him, make him grow and learn to live in moments he would not have had if a mother continued to hold his hand tightly in her own.