There is no greater pain than the death of a loved one and chief among them is the death of your own child. When I received the news that Judah's life support was to be turned off I cried inconsolably, not so much for Judah but for my daughter because I couldn't erase the image in my mind's eye of her weeping inconsolably over the death of her son. Even now it's hard to type these words as I have to look through the tears which cloud my eyes.
The tears never go away. It's been over 40 years since that day when I was a boy running home as fast as I could to tell his mother that her other son was dead and yet I still cry from time to time. The pain is long gone but the love for my brother is not and that is why I cry. I know my daughter will cry. She will cry often and when she least expects it, not because something reminds her of the pain but because something reminds her of how much she loves her son. That is why I cry too, because the death of my grandson reminds me of how much I love my daughter.
Perhaps that's why my stepdaughter, Stevie, and I have such a close bond. We've both had the experience of witnessing the tragic and violent death of a loved one. At approximately the same age as I was when I witnessed the tragic accident involving my brother, Stevie witnessed the tragic and senseless death of her father when an accidental gunshot exploded his head. I lost my first love the same way, an accidental gunshot to the head in the 4th grade. Later, I lost another of my childhood sweethearts when she was just 16. She was burned alive while attempting to rescue a baby from a house fire.
It wasn't that long ago I was in my daughter's position, helplessly watching and praying for a miracle as my own child lay on a table barely visible through all the tubes and hardware of the life support machine that kept her alive. I remember well the ache I felt in my heart as I longed to hold my baby in my arms but couldn't. I remember the feeling of being willing to pay any price, even willingly giving my own life, if it would buy the life of my child. I remember the feeling that time was standing still and yet racing at the same time, as I poured out my heart to God and hung on every word the doctors said while trying to make sense of it all.
I remember too the feeling, if I could only trade places with my daughter on that table, if I could only take her place. It's a universal, even if irrational, thought that occurs to virtually all parents in this situation. It's a solution that seems to be indelibly written on our hearts, perhaps because our Maker put it there when He chose that solution to save us.
Ultimately, as I watched helplessly as my daughter, Emma, fought for her life and as I witnessed the loved ones in my life die, there were no answers, no profound sense that there was a purpose in it. There was just a deep understanding that tragedy is no respecter of persons and that, no matter what the outcome, the only thing that matters is love.
I received the miracle I prayed for and my daughter didn't. There's no justice in that, no sense of closure and, in spite of the miracle I received, Emma will be forever blind and unable to perform even the most simple tasks for herself. There's no justice in that either. There is one thing, however, that my grandson's mother and I will forever have, something no person, nor circumstance, nor even death can take away from us, and that is the love we have for our children. Rachel weeps for her son and I weep for my daughter, Rachel, not because we hurt, because millions of people die and are tragically injured every day and we don't cry for them, but because we love. That is why I do not resent the tears that come out of nowhere from time to time as something triggers a memory about my brother. Rather, I welcome the tears because they remind me how much he was loved.
"Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints."
Psalms 116:15
07-12-06
The day Roy's grandson died
"A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more."
Matthew 2:18
