Happy Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I guess this is the point I talk would normally talk about all the things that were done, or not done in honor of Myself. Well, truth be told, I have a great family, and they don't wait for a special day on the calendar to make up for a year of neglect. What I really wanted to share is something that happened today that I want to remember and think about for awhile.

If I remember correctly, Friday was the day Gideon found me in my room with uneaten crackers in one hand, telling me in his own way that something was wrong. I knew he wanted the crackers, just like he wanted the opened (but uneaten) jelly sandwich from lunch. A little investigation revealed his front tooth, like the one next to it, was cracked and bothering him. From that point until early this morning we have struggled with sleepless nights, temporary pain relievers, hugs, appropriate foods, and worry. Some of the other children have had teeth extracted for infections that affected the nerve, but they were older. They could tell us what was wrong and we could talk them through the procedure. Gideon is only 2. I spent the weekend hoping without real hope that maybe it was just a piece of something that was lodged and the dentist could flick it out without any effort. I thought of my own trauma with big needles and drills, broken wisdom teeth, a numb mouth that would inevitably get bitten no matter how careful I was chewing while the feeling returned to normal. How could someone so small, barely able to express himself with a few words and gestures understand the procedures necessary to help him?

This morning before Daniel went to work he gave both Gideon and I priesthood blessings. I was teary and emotional without words or thoughts to explain this, even to myself. By 10am I was sitting in "the chair" with Gideon on my lap. He just wanted to hold me tight, and it took effort just to look at the dentist, let alone open his mouth for any kind of look inside. We talked to him, demonstrated, blew a latex glove into a balloon, getting just enough response to know that the teeth were definitely the problem. What next? Would they have to put him under just to get his mouth open?

All I could think was "Daddy might help." I called Daniel from there in "the chair". He was at work, but those few moments on the phone where Gideon could hear his voice unlocked something . Daniel assured me he could be there in 15 minutes, whatever difference that might make, and I assumed we would wait it out. However, after the call ended, Gideon started responding again. He opened his mouth for another look and before I really knew what was happening, the dentist had the gum numbed, the needle in place, and I just watched. Soon two teeth were out, and I was holding bloody gauze in the gap because Gideon (after finally opening his mouth) didn't like the new feel of closing it.

What went though my mind and heart in those brief moments in "the chair" may take my a lifetime to fully understand. I thought of Mother's Day. I thought of my whole life being spent trying to keep my children safe and unharmed, yet here I was providing both the restraint and the reassurance that this moment would soon pass, and "shall be for thy good." How could I bear watching my little child suffer the consequences of choices he didn't understand, some of which he had no control over. Yet where else could I possibly be at such a time? I thought of myself in relation to my Heavenly Father and my Savior. Have they also carried me into the very trials (as I perceive them) which would actually heal me from spiritual infection and abscesses? Are they sitting with me in "the chair" watching the hands and instruments work toward my healing that I can see only in part?

Who is more changed today? Gideon came home and slept for several hours before resuming his typical behaviors. In a couple days I hope he has nothing left of this weekend other than two fewer teeth (and maybe a need for speech therapy when they finally grow again in 3-4 years). I, on the other hand, feel eternally changed. Some experiences from parenting are burned into my memory forever. The emotions fade over time, but the insights I gain about my relation to God are still clear to me after a decade or more. Today was one of those.

Happy Mother's Day!