Saturdays with Jacob

 

Most Saturdays it's just me and Jacob. We go get breakfast or lunch and then drive over to Lee Road to watch the airplanes come in.

We really don't talk much. Sometimes barely at all. That's not what Jacob wants and I've learned not to need it from him. He's happy. He's unwinding from the week. He's watching the airplanes and doing something he loves. And I'm usually watching him. 

I sit there and look at him and thank God for him. I try to appreciate his silly quirks. I always think thank you God for this boy. Thank you that I get to be his mom. Thank you for another Saturday sitting here beside him.

But there's always a little tinge of sadness mixed in. He's 16 now, and I think that number is starting to sink in big time. In less than two years He'll be 18, but there won't be this big leaving home moment. And sometimes it hits me that years and years from now, this could still be us. Me and Jacob getting something to eat and driving to Lee Road to watch the airplanes. 

And somehow that thought is both beautiful and sad. It's weird to experience both grief and gratitude on such a deep level about the same thing. I grieve some of the things I once imagined for him and still am unbelievably grateful for the life we have and hopeful for what lies ahead. But I wonder about the future. Still I sit there and look at him thinking "thank you God for Jacob."

Maybe that's why these Saturdays have been feeling almost sacred to me lately. He watches the airplanes. I watch him. And I thank God that I get to be his mom. 

I keep thinking about when Jesus wept in the Bible. He knew Lazarus was about to walk out of that tomb. He knew the ending, and He still wept.

His grief didn't mean He had no hope. And maybe mine doesn't either. And maybe it's ok.