I am sitting on the airplane, on my way to Houston for the bigTent Conference. I couldn’t access the movie that I downloaded so I played solitaire while we waited for take off, letting my mind wander. I was amazed…even a little pleased… at how steady i was feeling. The last 20 or more flights that I had taken were with Ayrie.
And then he was there. Ayrie was with me on take off. I felt him when we gained speed on the runway. It was always his favorite part of the flight. He would tellÂ everyone around us who would listen that we were going to go up in theÂ air soon and he would demonstrate with his hand, forming his hand intoÂ and airplane and streaming upwards over his head.
I loved him so much at these moments. We were together. We were brave. We were on an adventure. We were giddy with excitement. I was usually so tired because I had been up worried at nights, listening to his labored breathing. But at those moments that the airplane took off we were free. We were flying away from disease and worry and flying towards hope.
I miss him so much. I miss hand hand in mine. I miss that tight, tight hug around my neck. I miss lifting the armrest on the airplane and feeling his body relax into mine.
Ayrie, I am going to do my best for you. And for Shiya. And for all the other children this life puts in my path. I promise you that.
(this is when I start crying uncontrollably for more than hour, thankful to be sitting by myself)
Ayrie, I realized today as I was driving to the airport that sometimes IÂ don’t think of you as 4 anymore. I always thought of you ad an oldÂ soul and that’s how I think of you now. Older than me. Wiser.Â Timeless. The essence and spirit of who you truly were and are, notÂ as the four year old that you were in this life. And that’s aÂ comforting way to think of you. I don’t even think its a falseÂ comfort. It rings to true.
I cry when I think that before long, Â ShiyaÂ will be older than you were when you died. You died at 4 and as of tomorrow, Shiya will already be 3. Â Â And that feels dark andÂ awful. Â But it also doesn’t feel quite right. It feels like self-indulgent sadness. Â It feels like getting stuck onÂ the small picture at the exclusion of the larger picture. And when IÂ say larger I mean the reality beyond these lives that we live onÂ earth. There is something so much bigger and it is made of light andÂ love, just like you. Just like Shiya. You two are truly of theÂ universe.
You taught Shiya so much. Thank you. When you were here he wasÂ always in your shadow. In part because you were larger than life. InÂ part because of your illness. In part because he didn’t want toÂ shine, he just wanted to be with you. And also in part because heÂ couldn’t talk yet. But he’s starting to glow with that same lightÂ that you have/had. Â And it makes my heart ache withÂ gratitudeÂ and recognition.
I love you both so very much.