Three words with so much weight.
They inevitably come soon after someone learns we lost a child. Normally, I’m still pinching myself to stop the flow of tears from just telling someone about the loss.
Sometimes it is after the dreaded question, “How many kids do you have?”
It has been five years and I still avoid that question because it. is. just. hard.
Especially in a social setting where you may or not interact with those people again. When the getting to know you portion is happening, I often excuse myself to the restroom or take control of the conversation so I can quickly change the subject. Because there is always a hush that follows, an awkward pause, and a lump I can’t shake from my throat afterward.
But sometimes, they’ll persist and want to know more. Or maybe it is a knee-jerk reaction to not knowing what else to say, aside from “I’m sorry.”
“How’d he die?” isn’t a question I ever expected to answer as a mom.
I’d rather be sharing stories of where he’s going to college and bragging about what a wonderful young man he’s become.
I’d rather pull out my phone to show off pics of how handsome he is and how much he’s grown, instead of seeing a screen saver that never changes because he’s paused in time.
I’d rather be laughing and sharing pleasantries and moving on with the day instead of being frozen in the moment of this pain.
Part of me thinks, what difference does it make?
My son is no longer with me. Would it make it better or easier for you to discover he had an illness? And the other part is grateful to have a chance to talk about my son, even if it hurts. The truth is, there is no real answer, or at least not an easy one.
To say, “We really don’t know,” means I will need to go into a lot more detail. Any answer I give requires us to discuss it longer and there are times when I just can’t. When emotions are too strong. When I feel a crowd of eyes drawing closer, listening in. When I just don’t have the words.
I remember how we waited for what seemed an eternity for answers. How we met with the autopsy investigator, even though she’d warned us there wasn’t much to learn. We thought it would bring us closure, or help put a band-aid on our broken hearts, but it didn’t. Knowing there was nothing we could do to prevent or change the result of a random viral infection that attacked a healthy, athletic boy, even if he were standing in the hospital when it happened, really didn’t help the pain. He was still gone.
Yet, Austin had 14 good wonderful years. 5,259 days. 126,216 hours. Blessed moments. A precious, beautiful life. He died in an instant doing something he loved.
I think about the other parents though who never got a chance to meet their child, or lost them shortly after birth, or their time together was spent in illness or pain, or they suffered a horrific loss and I hurt for them too. I know what a tremendous gift every second with him was. But that doesn’t ease our suffering. It still wasn’t enough time.
In the ER, stroking my firstborn’s jet black hair, I kept muttering, “This wasn’t his purpose.”
I couldn’t get a grasp on how someone so full of life could be so quickly void of it. In that moment, I couldn’t understand how my husband and I had survived a traumatic motorcycle wreck three years before, but our son had just died while riding a bike. Having recently read “The Purpose Driven Life,” I found it too bitter, too ironic, and over and over again I cried those words to my husband and then pastor. At the time, there was nothing to be said to change that feeling. It was raw emotion of an unimaginable loss.
A day or two before Austin’s results, I met a women who lost her child while vacationing in Thailand. She said their culture believes that if a soul passes quickly, especially at a young age, it means they have found their purpose on this Earth and so it is time for them to move on.
And when I dwelled on that, it was what I believed too. My faith reminds me that we are all called for a purpose and each of our days are numbered. Austin just didn’t pass on my time-line, as I imagined more than 5,259 days with my son. My only comfort now comes in knowing Who holds him, until I can join Austin for an eternity, where there are no limits to the number of hours, days or years we’ll have together.
But even with that knowledge, this earthly momma heart still hurts. Still grieves. Still wishes she didn’t have to answer those three painful words…
In 2008, my world as I knew it changed forever, with the sudden loss of our 14-year-old son, Austin. The journey to my blog (and attitude toward life) was bumpy and tearful, beginning at a memorial blog for my son. I later chose to take another path, challenging myself to find the JOY in every day, despite the sadness I still felt. I love and miss him daily but I’m living my life to honor him – and celebrating every moment it brings. My goal…to find and share the joy in every day. You can find me at Joyful Challenge
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