Aching elementary hearts

 This morning in our home, today began like most mornings over the last nine months have- a flurry of alarm clocks, sock hunts, lunch making, shirt turning inside-out-ing, backpack filling, shoe finding, five minute reminder chaotic filled moments. We made a special trip for "last day of the school year donuts" on the way to yet another traffic jammed elementary school drop-off lane commute. 

"Have a great last day of school! I love you!" I called to each of my three kiddos as they jumped out of the van and scurried off for the school doors. 

Yesterday, my fifth grader gave me permission to cry if I needed as I embraced the sentiment of the day. As I drove away, I did just that.

I have spent the majority of the past six years' mornings in that drop-off lane, calling out to one, then two, then three kiddos as they left my presence each morning. I've watched scrawny little wide-eyed, nervous and excited kids grow into bigger, more confident, wise, hilarious, and sometimes awkward kids. 

I have had six years worth of first day of school teary drop-offs and now six years of last day of school teary pick-ups. 

This afternoon was different. I surprised my kids at the school picking them up again this year, and each one greeted me with tears falling down their cheeks, as usual for the day. But this year, the tears had a little more depth to them as we all realized the end of an era has come. 

The big brother of the trio finished elementary school today. Overcome with emotions, he made his way to me, walking alongside one of the counselors who has helped him grow so these years, and immediately found solace in my arms. I held him while he cried and told me how it was hard to say goodbye, so difficult to be done with the hallways and classrooms of the building, and so sad to say goodbye to almost every other fifth grader, as he would not be attending the same middle school as they would. He told me how much he was going to miss his teacher and so many other teachers and staff in the building. He found himself embraced in hugs from his siblings and from some staff, and waved teary goodbyes to many others. I reminded him that he may still see some of them around the city, and again in early mornings next year as he waited for his bus transport to middle school each day. He reminded me gently that "that's not the same." I acknowledge the truth as well and held his hand as we walked onward. 

His siblings, also saddened by the see you later the end of the year brings, cried over having to part with teachers they loved, and knowing it would be a shorto before they'd see many of their classmates again. But this year, they cried alongside their brother as the reality that he wouldn't be in their school next year sunk in. They cried over surprise encounters and hugs in the hallway they would no longer have. They remarked on the sadness knowing they would be across town. They all hugged each other a while, before walking silently down the sidewalk to our van. 

We celebrated with a treat after school as we usually do, and then came home to unwind. They all fell asleep quickly after mentioning in an upbeat fashion that it's now summer break and that it is exciting. 

As they fell asleep in their room, I laid in my own, tears streaming yet again as I process the events of today. My heart swells with pride in bittersweet moments where they huddle together to embrace memories they have shared and anticipation of change. 

My heart aches as I remember all the years that have gone by, and feeling like somehow time cheated us all. We spend so much of our days going from one thing to the next and planning for things to begin and subsequently end, looking at the clock and the calendar and cramming as much as we can into our lives, day in and day out. The past few years have brought a bit of reprieve from that way of life and have made way for evaluation and reset, but still, so many days pass us by in old fashion. 

Tonight, I realized my oldest is nob longer an elementary student. He is nearly 12. Most of my years with him in my home may have already gone by. Most of my summers spent making memories with all three have likely passed us by. We are holding onto final years, weeks, and days together, and we will never get them back again. I find myself holding my breath as I write those words, knowing that I need to embrace that reality and make our time count. I know the risk of complacency and the ease at which we can take our time for granted. In the uncertain world we find ourselves in, I tell myself that cannot be good enough. I have to do better. 

I pray for the strength, the resilience, the persistence, determination, resolve, grace, wisdom, and mercy to truly value our days together while my children are young. I pray I am not so easily distracted or frustrated and able to be more present. I pray that even amidst preteen and teenage drama and hormones and power struggles and boundary testing, misunderstandings and overwhelming emotions, beautiful relationships continue to flourish. I pray that for every fight there are two loving encounters on the other side. 

Rocky roads may lay ahead in uncertain territory but I believe some of the most wonderful journeys will occur right beside them.

I pray for countless tomorrows in a life we take for granted, with the stark realization from current times that there's no guarantee for any hour past this one. 

One of the things I want most for my life is that my children will look back some day, and despite the countless traumas, trials, struggles and sorrows, they will see me there with them, helping them embrace the beauty and joy in every season. I want their memory banks to be filled in a way that they will never question whether I was there or cared enough. I want them to one day be adults that knew just how fully loved they were in every stage of their childhood. 

Time is already winding down. 

He was my dream come true.

 On August 15, 2006, the sweetest little pup was born alongside a handful of siblings. A few weeks later, I met him, and called him my very own. 

When I was a younger girl, I dreamt of one day having a beagle of my own. I knew that if and when that day would come, I would name him Wendell. 

Wendell Rupert was a belated wedding (he was born ten days after my marriage began) and early birthday gift (he came home shortly before my birthday that year. From the moment I saw him alongside his momma, he had my heart. 

I remember the night I drove him home, as he snuggled up in a blanket, crying softly on occasion, but otherwise sleepy and content. When he came home to our apartment, he was less than thrilled with kennel life, but adjusted nonetheless. 

It wasn't long before Wendell started blessing me with memories. He ate a phone book, and chewed off and ate the corner of my "Complete Works of Shakespeare" one day. 

Another night, when he was still a puppy, I had set a pizza on the counter in the kitchen to cool. Somehow, this little puppy made his way onto the counter and ate half of it.  We learned quickly that Wendell had a vertical jump like none other, and by the time he was full grown, he could reach a treat approximately six feet in the air.  I'm his later years, he once jumped on the kitchen counter while I was at work, opened the cupboard doors, chewed open a bag of sugar, are a bunch of it and spilled the rest. Then, while I was still working, the sugar made him sick, and I came home to regurgitated sugar "pancakes" all over the floor.

Wendell, like many dogs, loved the snow. He would run through snow that was higher than he was and never seemed to grow tired of it. 

He also loved cuddles. His favorite place was in the bend behind my knees if I was laying on my side. He would read his head over my legs and snore away soundly. We spent countless hours like that, and he kept me the most dear company on nights when my former husband was away for work. 

He loved riding in the car, specifically the back window. I always wondered why he preferred that spot. I wonder if it's because he could see so much more from up there.  Occasionally, I would brake, and he would roll down into the seat, come say hello with his tail wagging excitedly, and then hop right back into the window. 

He, as a beagle generally is, was a bit mischievous and also so very smart. He knew the difference between right and left and would high five the correct hand that you would call out. He would sit and shake, jump and even crawl. He would try to fake us out and turn his head really fast when we asked him to roll over, but he couldn't fool us, and eventually would give in and do the trick  He couldn't make up his mind whether he wanted to be inside or outside some days, and I would have to go back and forth and back again trying to help him decide.  One time, I had him hooked up outside in the backyard a while, and then realized he had gotten free. A while later, I received a phone call from someone across town who had found him. "He obeyed the traffic laws and waited to cross the street until it was clear! He even used the cross walk!" The gentleman on the other end of the line, who was keeping him safe in his truck at the hardware store, explained as he called the number on Wendell's tag. 

Wendell was my constant companion, and after a while, we brought home a girl before, Vivian, that we rescued from someone who had not cared for her well. She was super skittish for a long, long time, but Wendell loved her, as did we. Before our children entered our lives, Wendell and Vivian had become parents two separate times. Wendell did good with all of his busy kids, just like he always did with human children in his life when he lived with me.  He really just loved everyone he met. He loved our kitten that lived on the farm with us, too!

Unfortunately, Vivian needed more freedom than we could give her after she had her babies, so she found another family that could provide that for her, and we let her go on and love them. It was one of the hardest decisions I had to make. 

Wendell stayed by my side though. He continued to love me fiercely and well through my first pregnancy. In fact, he loved me so much, he once peed on my leg to mark his territory when we were with a group of family and other dogs. It was so gross, but equally hilarious. 

Wendell was there when we brought home our first son, and loved him instantly. He spent many hours curled up beside the baby, especially if the baby wasn't feeling well. He wouldn't leave his side. As our son grew, they became playmates and partners in mischief. Our son would laugh hysterically as he would hold a piece of his food in his high chair and Wendell would jump up and get it, or he would feed Wendell dog food, piece by piece, and giggle like crazy.  They were best friends. 

My heart broke when we couldn't bring him with us, after having him at my side for six years, as we moved into a larger rental to prepare for the arrival of our second baby. I tried everything I could to find a place that would allow him to come with us. I was eternally grateful that my dad was able to foster Wendell for a while, and I could continue to love having him a part of my family. When my dad also needed to move, a friend of my cousin brought Wendell and his daughter home, and she was able to foster him a while. I was so fortunate to be able to see him still while he lived with them. Because of this friend, my youngest baby, my daughter, was also able to meet Wendell in her lifetime. 

My heart continued to break when life took another turn and the friend could no longer keep Wendell in her home, and without other options, he was surrendered to the humane society. 

My heart began to mend when I learned that a family in the area had found him and brought him home. That would be his final home, where he spent his final seven years. The most wonderful part about his new home, the haven he was blessed with, was that they shared photos and stories of his later years online, so even though I had to let him go, I was still able to see him.  I have been grateful for this family every day since they brought him home. 

One of my life's biggest regrets, although not entirely in my control, was that I was never able to have him come back home to me. It was always my hope and my goal to bring him back home. My own world was falling apart before he was in the humane society, and struggling as a single mom to three kiddos at the time and trying to provide for us just proved to be a little too much and kept me from fulfilling that dream. I have spent countless days and nights crying out in sorrow knowing I failed to see that dream through, still able to feel his presence behind my knees while I laid awake in bed at night. I've spent hours wondering if I broke his heart as much as I broke my own, and wondering if he missed me as much as I missed him. The guilt and remorse was in unbearable for quite some time. 

I have loved Wendell every day since he was born, even when he wasn't at my side. 

The portion of my heart that held him closest shattered this morning when I read that his time on earth had come to and end. He lived a long and beautiful life at nearly sixteen years old. I hadn't been able to hold him in my arms for years, but I have carried him with me always.  I find comfort knowing he lived a long life and provided me with countless memories, but I know I will still shed a few more tears in his honor. 

Rest in Peace, Wendell Rupert. You were my dream come true.