We checked off another first without Dalton over the weekend.  Our first Easter without him.  Now we have made it through several major holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s, St. Pat’s Day, and finally Easter.  Next month I will have Mother’s Day and Colton’s graduation.  In two months, Troy will have to face Father’s Day, which also happens to fall on Dalton’s 14th birthday (June 21st).  Whereas I am anxious to get my first year of “withouts” over and done with, it just marks longer time since I have looked my baby in his eyes and told him I love him.

I love Facebook for the straightforward reason I can connect with people on a broad scale (some more than others).  Most the time I truly enjoy it.  Reading about what my high school friends are doing these days or seeing the sweet, smiling faces of my nieces and nephews are simple pleasures for me. Other times, I find it hard to scroll through my newsfeed.  It is bittersweet to see the pictures of my son’s friends and what they are doing.  However, I will avoid social media sometimes for that reason.  Not because I am not happy for them, but because the pain of my own loss runs too deep.  Reading posts from other parents complaining about attending their child’s tiresome activities hurts even deeper.  I would give anything to drive 4 hours to watch my son play baseball all day in the sweltering heat in back to back games.  There is very little I wouldn’t do for 5 minutes of extra time.  My guess is I used to talk the same way before the accident on Facebook.  How quickly our perspectives change when we lose something so sacred to us, something we think is going to last forever.  Imagine not having that out of town tournament to drive to at all.

I was attending a workshop last night at the Spiritual Life Center in Wichita called Discovering Christ.  It’s a program we are excited to start at St. James on evangelization.  We were talking in our small group discussions when a member of our group from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton told us a brief story about a parish priest who was frustrated with his parishioners because every time he would ask a person how they were doing they would respond with a litany of how busy they were.  It wasn’t just certain people that respond this way, according to him.  He reported it was close to 80-90% of every person he would ask.  I don’t know why, but that really bothered me.  I used to do that exact same thing.  If you asked me what I was up to, I would probably give you a low-down on how many baseball/basketball practices I had driven to that week, how many doctors appointments I scheduled, or the little-to-no sleep I got the night before.  My point is that we all think our lives are busier than everyone else’s and that it has to be that way to get through this rat race we call life.  What a deception.

I hate the fact that I don’t have to fill my car up with gas as often, that I spend less time in the grocery store, and that I can sleep in every day now.  None of that is by choice.  It isn’t as great as it sounds, I promise.  My life has slowed down considerably and I have no choice to adapt.  It is no longer about quantity.  Instead, it revolves around quality.  I have decided there is no award for a parent whose son or daughter is a 4 year starting varsity athlete other than a pat on his/her own back. Our focus should be on our eternal life rather than the fleeting pleasures of this passing world.  I know I have regrets as a mother.  Dalton was a great kid, but far from being an angel.

Our days on this earth are numbered.  My focus has changed profoundly as a result of understanding that statement on a personal level.  I cherish every day.  I don’t want to be that person that whines about how busy I am. Quantity of life doesn’t hold a flame to quality of life.  Troy and I talk about how much life DD packed into 13 years.  It was almost as if he somehow knew his time was limited.  Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.  You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away (James 4:14).