Why did I just spend twenty-five minutes searching for printable pictures of Burger King hash browns and unfrosted cini-minis?
The answer, of course, was to try to calm David, who was agitated because we were not going to church for Andrew’s regular Wednesday night choir rehearsal. Cini-minis and hash browns seem to be David’s “thing” for the week, replacing the toilet paper tower which I have not yet had the courage to disassemble AGAIN. And short of carrying around petrified cini-minis and hash browns, which he actually tried to do yesterday, I figured a picture was the next best thing.
Why didn’t Andrew have choir rehearsal?
Because, of course it is Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday means rehearsal is cancelled because there are Ash Wednesday services and we all know that we cannot take David into the church for an Ash Wednesday service. We learned that lesson last year.
What does David have against Ash Wednesday?
The answer to that question is that I really have no idea. He was not a big fan of the imposition of ashes on his forehead—or anyone else’s for that matter and insisted that all foreheads in our immediate vicinity be wiped with a Kleenex immediately upon our return to the pew.
I make light of the situation, but something about that service scared David. It took us months to get him to step foot back into the sanctuary and then several more months to coax him to walk up to the front during communion to receive a blessing.
David can sometimes get so upset, agitated by something that happens and I frequently do not understand. I suppose to David, it is quite obvious the loose thread that connects things, but often I cannot see it. For me, the link is too far removed.
I have no idea what upset him so much about that church service about a year ago. Much like I have no idea why he dissolved into tears yesterday when we came home from a winter walk at the botanical garden and opened the door to the mailbox to find that the mail had not yet been delivered.
Each day, David is increasingly able to express to me that something is bothering him. And every day, I am thankful that David can now articulate to me HOW he feels.
But the question remains, the very same question that David sometimes asks of me when he is upset.
Why? Why? Why?
A break in routine...ahhhhh! I imagine that it's hard for David in a similar way as it is for adults...it's hard to hear, "remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return," or in my mind, I translate...you're going to DIE! It's a solemn and strange rite, and very different from the usual uplifting Sunday service. And we don't usually wear our faith so blatantly, and messily, on our foreheads. In some houses I know even the smallest piece of dust is quickly whisked away. So he seems to have the gene, or been well-taught. Or maybe, like so many grownups, perhaps in a more figurative way, he wants to wipe away the certain knowledge that we are only passing through. Were there Cini-minis and hash browns on the way home, or were the pictures enough?
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