Thin Places

Last week in an effort to get myself out of my funk, I decided to join the Minnesota Zoo and take the kids for the afternoon. I was thinking that a fun, family day would be good for my soul. We picked Seamus up from school, dropped off his best buddy Jack at his home, and headed for 35E south towards the Zoo.

Me (cheerfully): "Who wants to go to the zoo?"
Finn (not loudly, just in his regular voice): "Not me. Let's go see aunt Helen."
I pause, a little surprised at the lackluster response. I had been thinking the Zoo was going to make me mother of the year in the kids' eyes. I was totally expecting cheers. This did not help my mood.
Me: "Not today buddy, we're going to Helen later in the week. Today Mom wants to have some fun with just her kiddies."
Finn: "No mom, I want to go see Helen."
Me: "Buddy, do you just want to get McDonald's? Because I though we could go out to lunch today too. We'll go see Helen on Thursday."
Finn: "No. I want to go see her right now."
Me: "Not today. I told you were going to the Zoo."
Finn (a little more firmly): "But I don't want to go to the Zoo today. I want to see Helen."
Me (trying to sound lighthearted):"Well, I'm the mom and I'm driving the car, we'll go see Helen on Thursday."
Finn (huffing quietly): "That's stupid."

Pause. I take a few breathes and think through this conversation. We arrive at 35E and I get on heading North to St. Croix Falls, WI where Helen is now living.

Me: OK buddy, but we have to get gas."
Finn: "Yes! Thanks mom, you're the bestest."

So when we finally arrive (with McDonald's) at the nursing home, we make our way into the common room, set up lunch and go find Helen. There is another resident who is in very good physical shape, but who has some sort of serious dementia. We see her and interact with her every time we go and lately, I purposely avoid setting up in the common area where she is. She can be sort of aggressive and frankly after this many visits I had lost my patience for trying to figure out what she was trying to say. I have about an hour before the kids melt down (this place is moderately kids friendly - but pretty soon MJ wants to check out every one elses private rooms) and so I try to spend as much of that really engaging Helen. On this visit, Helen was as good as she's been since she moved into this place. We had great conversation and the kids behaved like angels all through lunch. MJ and Finn sang her a little song and everyone doled out hugs and kisses.

The kids had all finished their lunches and were playing near the fake fireplace with a fake sleeping puppy. MJ and Finn were petting it and Seamus was just watching - he'd been sort of quiet the whole trip. This resident whom I've been avoiding came up to the kids and told them to leave the dog alone. She sometimes speaks in gibberish so I can't tell exactly what's shes saying.

Woman: "You're going to get sick, very sick. Stop touching the dog.
She mumbles something else I can't understand.
Woman: "Don't touch the dog."
Seamus is silently watching this woman with a funny look on his face - I can't tell what he's thinking.
Me:"OK kids, that's enough let's walk Helen back to her room."
It takes me a few minutes to gather our things and explain what we're going to do to Helen.
I turn around and see that Seamus has walked over to the woman and they are talking. He slips his hand into hers.
Seamus: "Mom, can I take a walk with her."
(clarification: I know that he means "a walk" around the nursing home - it's laid out in a circle and residents can't leave without setting off an alarm).
Me: "If she wants to - that's fine with me. We're all going to walk back to Helen's room now."
The woman begins walking hand in hand with Seamus and I watch Seamus realize she wants to go one way around the circle and Finn and MJ have already set off the other direction. He looks a little nervous, but he smiles at me and they begin their little stroll. They take two laps around the floor which takes less than 10 minutes. By now we're all in Helen's room and I'm getting coats and boots on MJ. The happy couple appears at the door and the woman ushers Seamus into the room.
Woman (looking me in the eyes): "You have the most handsome, nice little boy. (Looking at Seamus) Thank you honey, I'm going back to my room now. See you next time."
Seamus (with a broad smile): "See ya later."

I stood in the doorway and watched her walk towards her room, a little aghast at my own ineptitude. She didn't even seem like the same woman.

The Irish idea of "thin places" centers around places or moments where the mundane and the ethereal meet - those moments when we see flickers of the Divine on Earth. During the long drive home, I thought about how surprising it is when you see clearly that God's hands are often very small.

Two years ago today, Tom died. I feel oddly hopeful for the thin places where we can see and feel him again. Andie tells a great story about being at the New Jersey beach the summer after he died. We had all been telling Seamus a story about when Tom spent an afternoon digging an enormous hole in the sand for him to play in (under a sun umbrella of course). I think we all wanted Seamus to remember how much fun he had with Tom that trip (though he wasn't even a year old at the time and we knew he wouldn't remember it). The next day Andie and James got up early with all the kids and took them down to the beach so the rest of the house could sleep in a little. She was walking with Seamus. The beach is quiet and empty in the early morning, the tide cleans everything up and the sand hasn't been stampeded by sunbathers yet. As they were walking they came upon a huge hole dug out in the sand and Seamus hopped down into it. She told me later she felt like it was Tom telling us that he's still around, watching out for us.

He is, I know that he is.