This morning my first born, now a gangly self conscious ten-year-old, looked over from the passenger seat of our giant van.   His face was weary, forehead wrinkled with concern, “Momma I had a nightmare last night.”  He went on to tell me in his dream the Coronavirus had begun to kill people all around us and then began to kill us: me, my husband, his siblings. He was the only one left alive. I comforted him with words and sideways glances while gripping the steering wheel and wondering how much of this Coronavirus panic he had been inundated with. He continued, “when I woke up, I knew I was the one that had given it to you all. I killed you all.” I joined him in feeling the weight of such a vivid and terrible dream. As his mom, I want to wipe away all the things that are scary and hard.  I wanted to send a little probe into his mind and erase all memory of this imagined crisis. 

Then came the moment where my heart actually threatened to break, “Mom, if you died, that would be the worst day of my life. I would never get out of bed again.” Thud! That arrow hit straight to the heart. This kid knows that searing pain of a parent dying too young. He isn’t imagining the surreal, he’s remembering. 

There’s no breath in the air between us for a moment as the light turns green and I begin to make the right hand turn.  The van is taking us on the school drop off route while my mind is taking me to places I hate. 

What can I muster to somehow relieve the pressure of this very real concern he has? 

“I know, bud, I know,” is what comes out of me.  And I DO know.  I too have grappled with the panic of “what if you die?” more times than I care to remember.  Recently, I watched a documentary where Bill Gates said his greatest fear was losing his mind, and immediately I thought (and said out loud to my husband) “you dying first is my greatest fear.”  Boy, do I know this fear.   

But in this space between two people who know pain and fear more pain, something in me realized there is more to what we know…and I hear myself say, “But look at all we have already survived.  We have survived some terrible things that at times did not seem survivable and here we are.  I don’t plan to die and I will do everything in my power to not, but I can’t promise you things that are out of my control.  I do want you to know that if I died I would want you to survive it, and I know it’s possible.” 

Beyond his years in pain and suffering, this seemed reasonable to him. He could conceptualize that level of overcoming because not only does he know what me dying would feel like, he knows what surviving looks like.  Sometimes even survivors need a reminder of what they are capable of.   

The conversation continued as we talked about faith and hope and trust, and then I pulled up to the curb of the elementary school drop off lane.  He jumped out healthy, happy, and off to another day of living his young life.  We both declared a ridiculous amount of undying love for one another as he walked away…because that’s what you do when you know what it’s like to see someone one minute and then never see them again.  You acknowledge your shared existence, take in their face, meet their eyes and declare your love…every time you part ways.

And here is that survivor…❤️