I put on my dobuk this morning getting ready to go to our 8:00 a.m. Saturday class, the only early morning offering of the week. The rest of the house was asleep as I fixed the waist of my pants so I wouldn’t step on the hem and pulled my top over my head. I tied my belt and straightened it all out. I looked in the mirror and saw the warrior. When I put that uniform on I thought, everything is going to be okay.
I missed my normal schedule of classes this week. This crazy week from hell. Life dragged me out of my happy routine and demanded that I deal. Through fights with my spouse and cleaning up dog vomit I thought I might scream or cry. And then the dog died. I cried. I spent one last sleepless night cradling my sweet boy Rocky against seizure after seizure, getting peed on and spit on and scratched. I carried him, his soft limp head against my cheek, around the house and outside under the stars, and on and off the couch, between violent bouts of shaking. Until one last seizure took all he had left and he was quiet.
The kids and I said a prayer and we planned his funeral. Jonathan stayed home from school that day and spent it watching me crying on and off until I dried up. Moving back into our routines as best we could, the kids returned to school the following day. I checked messages that morning and my gut clenched. It was that call every parent hopes they never get. Jonathan had been involved in an altercation. Would I please call as soon as possible.
“Really?”, I thought as I looked up into the sky. This week?
A humungous relief washed over as I heard the words, “Jonathan is okay and it was not his fault.” He had been taken by surprise and punched in the stomach for no apparent reason. WTF?
I remembered that God only gives us what we can handle. I tucked the kids into bed that night and quickly followed, anxious to shut off from the world and fall into sleep. I was exhausted.
The next day brought a bit more unexpected disappointment. Little tests of character I call them. I wondered how long this week would last. I looked forward to the following day when I would rest back into the part of my life that has proven to be a steady presence of comfort for the last seven years.
I put my dobuk on Saturday morning and I saw the warrior. I knew everything would be okay. My helicopter kicks were ninja-like that morning. Yeah, it is all good.
We packed up and took Rocky to the cabin that afternoon, buried him under our circle of trees, and felt at peace.
And everything was okay. For one of the first times in my life I fully understood closure.
The discipline of tae kwon do, that I have spent my time and my heart getting to know, just like a best friend has proven its loyalty. It’s there in good times and it’s there in bad. It’s there whether you are or not, an unwavering presence you never doubt, always ready should you need to lean a little. Always ready for whatever you bring. Fully accepting who you are and challenging you to be you.
I am exceptionally blessed to have family and friends who lend an ear and a shoulder, who I can count on when I need someone. They are part of my tae kwon do. I put the uniform on for them and for me. I am the warrior for them and with them. And I am certain that everything is going to be okay.
COMMENTS
I am in tears. This is beautiful. And by the way, you described GOD and I do believe He has you, the family, and dear Rocky in His loving care.
Thank you for being there for me this morning. How truly blessed I am to be your mother.
