When a Child Dies
About three months before our son passed away, my wife heard a voice telling her "there is a book I want you to read". The voice made no sound. But she instinctively knew it was the Lord. He led her to the bookcase in the living room. She felt she was to find the book hidden behind all the other books on a particular shelf. She reached in and pulled out a paperback entitled "When A Child Dies".
I did not read it. I could not read it. One glance at the title would stir up feelings of anger and resentment. I avoided that book at all costs because I did not want to admit that our oldest son, our firstborn, was on death’s doorstep with cancer. I didn’t want to be pushed into a corner to come to terms with the inevitable. I was holding on to my belief, my faith, that God was going to heal him. He could do it. He’s shown us in many ways and many times that He is a healer and has healed people through the ages of more horrible diseases than melanoma. I also didn’t want to admit that there’s always the possibility that God could choose not to heal him, that He has a greater plan. No, that’s for someone else. These things don’t happen to us.
My wife did in fact read the book. I think she cried through most of it, but through it all she said she felt it brought her great comfort. I didn’t even ask her how that was possible. I didn’t querry her at all about the book. And I didn’t want her to tell me anything about it or read sections to me. No, it’s not going to happen.
We obtained a primary relic of St. Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer victims and terminal illnesses. "Surely St. Peregrin will intercede for us and bring Adam out of this darkness", I prayed. I read the story how Peregrine was miraculously healed of a cancerous infection on the leg the night before he was to have it amputated. Back in those days there was no anesthesia and Peregrine was scared half to death just by the thought of the impending operation. He went into the chapel and prostrate himself in front of the tabernacle and prayed his heart out and cried to Jesus for courage and strength to endure his worst approaching nightmare. He fell asleep after several hours of praying before the Eucharistic Jesus.
When he awoke in the morning his leg was completely healed and restored. Not a trace of the cancer was found!
And now I ask this Saint to intercede for us and heal our son.
I blessed him every day with the Saint’s relic, prayed for his intercession. Whether he was in the hospital or at home he received the blessing. I would leave the relic in his room for "company". And every day there showed no signs of healing. Only the tumors were growing and becoming more plentiful. Melanoma is a very aggressive cancer and it would take a miracle to eradicate it.
But I didn’t lose hope. As long as there’s breath, there’s hope. However, every CT-scan showed a different story. I was trying very hard not to lose faith, this battle will be won.
Yes, I know that sometimes God answers with silence. And sometimes His answer is "no". And sometimes He’s the "Eleventh Hour God", too. So, there I hang my hope.
I couldn’t imagine what thoughts and fears might have been going through Adam’s mind; he didn’t really talk about it. Yet, on one occasion while waiting with his mother in the waiting room for a radiation treatment, he did say to her "Mom, I don’t want to die". That was his first real expression of his fears.
However, on a previous occasion when he was first diagnosed with the melanoma, he said, in almost a humorous tone, that "well, if I’m gonna die, then I’m going to buy my dream guitar". That would be the top of the line Gibson, the one with the moustache bridge.
But this time he was really serious. Mom felt his anxiety and said to her son, "I don’t want you to die either. But if you do, Adam, with all the suffering you’ve gone through, you’re going to go straight in. And", she continued, "if there’s any suffering left over God will give it to someone who needs it in order to get out of purgatory".
A smile broke across Adam’s face as he responded, "I can do that?" Adam always liked to do things for other people and so he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I’m not sure if he knew just what that all meant.
When my wife told me of this incident, it didn’t help me at all. In fact I think I preferred to dismiss it. Of course I was proud of Adam for offering that pledge to others, but I held on for the last minute healing that would give God the glory.
We hear on the news or read in the papers, or even hear of some friends who have been stricken with cancer and even though we are touched by that news, we don’t really get bothered emotionally because we’re not that connected to them. But when it’s in your own family, my God, one of your children, it takes on a whole different complexion. This can’t happen to us, we plead. And it seems like we’re caught in some kind of web or trap where there’s no way out.
We’re facing something that is eternal, something that is beyond our control. All we can do is pray for the doctors that they do the right thing. This is all new territory for us and we have to rely on the experts. Pray, yes, by all means pray! But you search your heart and mind and come to the conclusion that I’m not very good at that, that it seems my prayers go unanswered and we have to listen once again to someone tell us that "sometimes no is an answer, sometimes silence is an answer". Somehow that just doesn’t cut it. I don’t like making excuses why my prayers are not answered.
So, what can I do? I struggled and grasped for answers, answers that will appease me, comfort me, give me some satisfaction that everything will be alright. Where can I turn. Okay, we’re in this physical world, so maybe another doctor should be the course to go. But will the insurance pay for it? I’m desparate and need a way out of this dilemma. Like I’ve said, we’ve never been here before. It was different when Mom and Dad were getting on in years, we sort of expected this. It’s the natural way of things. But, this is our child! It’s not supposed to be this way.
But through all the anxiety and sleepless nights, I began to see something emerge. It’s not what I wanted, but in all reality it’s probably the way things would go and I have to accept it. I don’t like it. I think of all the missed opportunities to have a closer relationship with him. I could have done this or that. I see the many times I must have failed him, that I wasn’t a good father to him when he needed me. It seemed that all he really wanted from me was my approval. I thought I gave it to him, that I supported his activities and certainly he knew I loved the way he could play the guitar. I could sit for hours and just watch his lithe fingers glide along the fingerboard as he plucked the strings. Such beautiful sounds he made. You could see he studied that instrument with all his heart ever since he was twelve years old. He and his younger brother used to jam on the floor of their bedroom, and the two became like clones of each other, both seemingly knowing how the other would interpret the next musical phrase.
I don’t like the inevitable. I don’t like the odds. But I have to accept it.
Then I say to myself, "isn’t this where we’re all going someday? Isn’t he just going home first?"
Those words are strained as they trickle over my lips, they’ve never been spoken like that before. How do I quell the deep pain and sorrow that’s welling up inside me? This is not fair. And I can’t stop time moving forward. Tomorrow will come and then the next day, and another day after that. After a string of days and weeks, the inevitable day will be here. It will mark the end of this life here on earth as we know it. It’ll be all over. No more. No more guitar.
No more "Hey, Dad..."
New life will begin. Yes, but as a parent we want to make certain that he’ll be okay. Ever since he was a small boy we changed his diaper, made sure he was safe, fed him his meals, fixed his bottle, bought his first pair of shoes and many more after that as he grew in size and stature. When it was time for kindergarten we made sure he was safely on the bus and met him at the corner when school was out. We bandaged his knee when he fell on the driveway, we helped him learn to ride his new bike. And later on we helped him learn to drive the car.
We were there all during those growing up years and now we have to let go of that security and let him go into another world, one that we cannot see except with the eyes of faith.
After the funeral we went to the gravesite every day without fail. I don’t think it really sunk into our minds that he was gone from here. Our visits there were probably more to bring his passing into reality and help us to realize he wouldn’t be sleeping at home any more.
Life changes with the passing of a child.
No, he didn’t go suddenly from a car accident or such. He didn’t choke on food. He didn’t get hit by a car and lay in a hospital for a few days before passing. No, he was diagnosed with melanoma cancer, and would linger for only 10 months after the diagnosis. And it had already metastisized to his lymph glands.
Now armed with the actual name of the cancer, many fingers set computer keyboards in motion with hundreds of words looking for answers, cures, prognosis, and treatments. But they all had the same bottom line.
And now life for us, his parents, has changed. His passing on July 1, 2005 has left a big void in our hearts. It’s still hard to believe that this has happened in our family. Even his siblings find life different, although they don’t talk much about it. But when the topic arises, yes, they express their feelings of loss. We all know where he is, it’s a better place than here. It’s just that he’s not here. Would we want him back here in this life and suffer through more agony, not so much with cancer, but just living life here on earth with its taxes, high prices, struggles, change of seasons, terrible winters, etc. Sounds trivial, but he’s home now.
And home is where we’ll see him again.
Posted by adamsplace at 11:31 AM
