Don't Be a Wally

For those of you who grieve and have grieved, worry and have worried, you are familiar with those times when you are alone or are awake alone with loved ones asleep beside you, and you are hit with it all. I am in one of those moments now, not necessarily with weeping but with thought.

Today we will visit with Will McKamey's family as we celebrate his life at his memorial at the Academy. Another tough day. You may remember that Will and Hans were in rooms across the hall from each other at the hospital. We parents shared a few moments together and prayed together over each of our wonderful, beautiful boys. Though we were beyond miserable, there was some tiny comfort in some way knowing we weren't alone.

Hans, you may know, was a little bit of a lone wolf, probably just a little deeper into the introverted side than his adorable extroverted sister. He was comfortable and happy to be alone with himself (no snarky chuckles, roommates). He liked going off into the woods, set up and swing in his portable hammock alone with a book, and drink a hot breve latte. He loved being out on the water on his surfboards and kiteboards. It's really actually quiet out there between waves or when the wind is behind your back. He'd avoid big parties but loved a party of close friends.

If you read a list of his activities, most of them appear to be independent sports (unlike, say, soccer where one must have teammates in order to fully participate in the game) - kitesurfing, skateboarding, surfing, etc. Though I never had concerns, I am struck now that he really was OK in that independence and aloneness, because he was never really alone and certainly never lonely. He would always find ways to include someone or someones in that aloneness. Most often he'd say, "Mom, want to come to the beach with me?" We'd get there and he'd go off and surf alone. "Dad, you want to go skateboard with me?" Then he'd go up and down those hills non-stop and no one could keep up, and he'd do it longer and harder than anyone there. He loved having people around.

So though his activities were independently powered he had a way of bringing people into each with him, share in the joy of it all with him, motivate them to keep at it and fly along with him, whether it was Alexis running up the beach beside him on a downwinder, or a friend somewhere else down another run on the mountain on a snowboard. He was alone on that kiteboard or snowboard, but he was never lonely. Because he was never really alone.

When Hans and Zatha were little and we were in their bed for their nightly snuggles, or when they were in front of a mirror getting ready for school I'd have them say out loud or look straight into their own eyes in the mirror and say, "I like myself. I love myself." At first they found it awkward, then it became a joke, "Whatever, mom. Wally moment."

It isn't meant to be arrogant or boastful or Wally. We MUST love ourselves despite our flaws, no matter how many flaws we have or think we have (because we all have them), no matter how many people we think don't like us or don't love us, no matter how many people we've angered or hurt. We must love ourselves because we're the only one of us who will ever exist and we are meant to be shared with the world on some level. We are loved (as Greg Fabricante tells us every morning on Facebook) by someone, somewhere.

I know that Hans believed it and Zatha believes it. And that's what makes them OK being alone and enjoying themselves in that aloneness. It's true that you must first love yourself. It's true that none of us are ever really alone.

Hans was a blast to be around, it was fun to join in on his adventures. And I wouldn't have wanted him any other way.

I like myself. I love myself. And someone loves me.