Tonight, Swiper made me cry.To say that this last week has been an emotional one would be a gross understatement--and I'm not even the one who's had to endure what some have had to endure.
I've tried my hardest to fight the emotions. I've tried my hardest to keep my tears at bay. My eyes have been swollen from the fight with my tears. My head has ached from the fight with my tears.
But tonight, when no one else was around, Swiper made me cry.
If you aren't familiar with Swiper, then you've never watched Dora and I count you one of the unlucky ones. Swiper is Dora's nemesis. He's a sly fox who is constantly stealing and swiping everyone's everything. Every episode, Swiper reeks havoc as he swipes something of value, which in turn leads Dora, Boots, and the gang on a wild adventure to retrieve the article or object that Swiper has swiped.
However, the particular episode that Etta, Pearl, and I watched tonight was the Christmas episode. Basically, Santa Claus comes to visit the gang, he informs Swiper that he is indeed on the naughty list due to his relentless swiping. Swiper, very saddened by the news, asks Santa if there is anything he can do to be taken off the naughty list. Santa informs Swiper that if he finds the true meaning of Christmas, he can be taken off the naughty list and added to the desirable nice list.
The episode follows Swiper and Dora around as he attempts to get the full meaning of Christmas. He thinks he's accomplished it, but alas, at the end of the episode, Swiper is still on the naughty list. But, despite that fact, he realizes that he hasn't gotten Dora a present for Christmas. Quickly, he retrieves a stuffed rabbit from his childhood, takes it to Dora and tells her Merry Christmas and gives her the gift. At that point, he is taken from the naughty list to the nice list. At that point, he's realized the true meaning of Christmas.
At that point. I started crying.
At that point, I realized that Christmas is less than three weeks away, and there's a very good friend of mine who will be waking up this Christmas morning without one of his twin two year old boys--thanks to what is perhaps the most frustrating cause of death ever, SIDS.
At that point, I realized that what I'm feeling about their situation is a fraction, a minute fraction, of what I imagine they are feeling--and that destroys my insides.
At that point, I realized that while one very good friend of mine lost his son five days ago and will be without him on Christmas, another very good friend of mine, and brother-in-law of mine, lost his dad the same day and will be without him on Christmas.
At that point, I realized that one of my childhood best friends, who lost his little 15-month old girl just a couple months ago, will wake up Christmas morning sans an important member of his family and will have just the memories of her to keep him and his family warm.
At that point, I realized that Annie's cousin's daughter, a strong, courageous, brave, powerful little four year old girl was celebrated this afternoon at a benefit carnival for her battle with Leukemia and I was amazed as I watched hers and her families optimism and commitment to their beliefs.
At that point, I recalled the a friend of mine at this carnival with no ties to the little girl with Leukemia or her family, other than the fact that he had lost his four year old son four years ago to brain cancer and he, his wonderful wife, and their beautiful daughter were there solely to support this random family they don't know.
At that point, I recalled a friend of mine who lost his little girl a couple years ago at just 15 days old and how emotional he was recounting the story and how strong he was and full of ability to grasp things well beyond this existence.
At that point, I remembered a close friend who uprooted his family to Singapore from Utah for work only to have his teenage daughter ambushed by cancer, causing his family to be separated for months leading up to Christmas as she undergoes treatment in America while he, somehow, musters up the strength to continue providing.
I don't know why these things happen to people. And I don't know how they are so strong. I don't know how they endure. I don't know how they function. But it amazes me that they do.
It amazes me that they can be so strong. That they can be so optimistic--even when they think they aren't.
Tomorrow is the viewing of that little two year old boy, and I know I'll be one of many asking the question "why?"
But along with these questions of "why", I've had so many other questions of "why don't I" that I plan to ask myself and that I've asked myself over and over again for the last week. I've always tried hard to be the best dad I can be, but I know there is more I can do. I know I can be better.
"Why don't I love more?"
"Why don't I avoid being so frustrated with Etta when she throws a tantrum?"
"Why don't I give Pearl a break when she's not sleeping well?"
"Why don't I enjoy the moments I can just sit there and observe my girls playing? Laughing? Smiling?"
"Why don't I put the phone down for two seconds?"
"Why don't I sneak into their rooms even more often and listen to them breathe? Watch them sleep? Run my fingers through their hair? Kiss their foreheads?"
"Why don't I say yes to Etta asking me to color or play with play dough or watch Dora with her?"
"Why don't I volunteer to feed Pear more often?"
"Why don't I sit there, smile, take every single moment with my girls in, take nothing for granted, and laugh, smile, and get teary eyes at every single cute thing they do? At every single time they say daddy or they laugh or they smile or they cry or they yell or they walk, roll over, scoot, eat, drink, jump or throw a tantrum?"
I've been so impressed with my friend, Jeff, who lost his two year old son. I've been impressed with everything he's posted on his social media outlets. With everything he's told me in person or through texts.
He's a dad that doesn't need to ask himself the why don't I questions, because he does all that. It's obvious he does all that. It's obvious that he'd never put himself in a position where he regretted what he said or how he acted to his children. It's obvious that his children love him.
It's obvious that he believes in something so much more than just this mortal existence.
It's obvious that he is an inspiration with his strength. And I'm forever grateful for his example and I hope to be more like him as a dad and as a man.
I know he'll see his son again. I believe there's more to life than just suffering and not understanding. I believe that all my friends who are having to endure these moments are strong enough to endure them.
I'm inspired by their commitment to their beliefs. And I share those beliefs.
I know they all hurt.
Normally, I'm rooting against Swiper. But, I'd give anything for him to be able to swipe away the pain these families hold. And if he'd swipe away their pain, I'd make sure Dora and the gang never, ever tried to find it again.
And while Swiper learned the true meaning of Christmas tonight, I'm hoping all these families, can call upon an even deeper meaning of Christmas than making the transition from the naughty list to the nice list. I'm hoping they can call upon THE meaning for Christmas.
Because, I believe the true meaning of Christmas, is one that can swipe away that pain. He's one that can bring the peace they need.
And while that pain may not be swiped away by this Christmas or next Christmas or 50 Christmases from now, someday, it will. It really will.
And that has lasting implications no sneaky fox could ever provide.
