On Losing Loved ones Part 2

I really wasn't going to write this, I fully intended to just update my blog with a variety of interesting, hopefully, information about friends, selling on-line etc. Until last week.

It was brought to my attention that a very dear on-line friend had lost her young son. There were some medical reasons from birth that he had overcome somewhat and the future for him was hopeful. Illness came along and it just evidently was too much for him to handle, he left this earth in his mother's arms. O.k., yes, I just choked here. Sorry, it's hard to write about this but at the same time it's something that parents have to deal with at times and I wanted to say to others what is in my heart about the subject.

I wrote about my Papa's passing and what effect it had on me. That was major loss #1. Little did I know that life can suck the very soul out of a person more than once.

I have 3 children. 2 living now. There were 2 boys and my little tom-boy daughter was the caboose! Three totally different kids. My first born was the quiet, determined, orderly, well mannered child that was text book! When he started school even his teachers loved him. He was neat! I don't mean "cool", he was neat! His clothes had to be "just so", he organized his own closet, long sleeve shirts by color and then short sleeve ones the same. Then the pants that went with the shirts in order. He made his bed. When I had to "talk" to him, he actually sat there and listened!
My second son, totally the opposite! He was fussy, definitely marched to his own drummer, couldn't care less about anything unless he like it himself, like school! Didn't matter to him if his shoes were untied, or his shirt matched his pants or if he even had socks on, heaven help him if he ever hung anything up! LOL
My daughter, well, she was probably my one saving grace to the other two. She was fairly quiet, knew how to "work" a situation and had, and still does, a very dry sense of humor. In a way she reminds me of "Kyra" (sp?) on the "Reba" show.

At one point we moved to Houston, TX. Kids were in pretty good schools, our work kept us busy and we had a nice home, decent income. My eldest son was graduating from High School and had already pre-joined the Air Force. He was so proud and so anxious to get started. He took his military awareness test (I think that's what it was called) and scored in the top 18% of the nation! His recruiter was ecstatic and we were proud. He had a couple months before reporting for duty and decided to work part time, which was fine.

Yes, the world has a way of crashing in on you at extremely inconvenient times.

Rather than go on and on about a whole list of details I will sum it up with this. His car broke down, he got a ride back and forth with a young man that worked at the same place. That young man was dealing drugs big time and had my son with him on one of his "stops". Other dealers saw my son, wasn't familiar with him and informed "their" guy to get rid of him.

My son had called me and relayed what he had seen the night before. Of course I was worried and told him to get his clothes together, we would come that afternoon and find a way to get him back and forth to work on our own. (he was staying with the young guy temporarily). He was supposed to call when he was ready. He never called.
I had left messages, no answer. For 3 days we couldn't find him, called all friends, no one had seen him or heard from him. The we got a hospital bill.

Oh yes, that's how we were informed, a hospital bill. Cold, unfeeling, statement of charges, treatment, no other information. I called to see what it was all about and was told that he was treated for a gun shot wound and "released". Needless to say we raced to the hospital to find out details. I suppose they couldn't believe we didn't know and ushered us into one of those "rooms", you know, the nicely appointed, comfortable, peaceful rooms? Some doctors came in, stood along one wall, said he was brought in with a gunshot wound to the back, they did all they could, and he "expired"! Then they left. That was it. They left!

At that point the whirlwind starts. Family notified, trip to morgue to identify, funeral arrangements, police coming by to try to find out any other information they can. It becomes a blur at times and since I was the one seemingly able to "handle" the information highway I got tagged to do it. Husband was devastated, other two kids retreated into a shell. There were no arms around us to take care of things. No arms around me anyway. I was the one that had to do the comforting of others. It was my job, I was the main "nurturer". I operated like that for several days. Once the out of town family left, the neighbors that were coming by went on home to their lives, and our house was more or less back to "normal" (? what was that supposed to be now) I found myself alone in our den one night. Everyone else had gone on to bed, asleep as best they could. I sat on a footstool and just looked around the dim room. It was quiet. No voices. No sounds. I was alone. I reached for a pillow off the couch, buried my face in it and screamed. I screamed so loud and for so long I thought I was going to die myself and I didn't care! But, I couldn't let anyone hear me. I couldn't let anyone know that I wasn't the strong one. It was the first time in my life that I wanted to curse God. I had a hollow, emptiness inside me that was not ever going to go away and I wanted to die. I continued to cry and scream into that pillow until I was totally spent and just collapsed on the floor, I think I slept for a while.

For a long while after that our family went through the motions of living. There was school for the other 2 kids, our jobs such as they were, were being phased out, all part of the economy of the late '80's. We decided to sell the house and leave. There was nothing there for us anymore and the memories were now sullied by the injustice of our court system. Oh yes, the young man responsible for my son's death? He went to court and was released because some witnesses testimony wasn't "credible" and one that he actually confessed it to had to have an interpreter so his testimony was thrown out too. My, my. We do have a justice system to be proud of don't we?

Any parent that loses a child has their story. Accident, medical, homicide. It all boils down to the fact that the child we bring into this world isn't promised to us forever. We do the best we can, we love and guide and try and hope that our future will be intact through our children. It just doesn;t always happen in the order we'd like. I found this a long time ago and it expresses exactly that sentiment.

To All Parents Written By: Edgar A. Guest(from "All In a Lifetime"--Copyright, 1938)

"I'll lend you for a little time a child of Mine," He said,"For you to love the while he lives and mourn for when he's dead,It may be six or seven years, or twenty-two or three, But will you, till I call him back, take care of him for Me? He'll bring his charms to gladden you, and shall his stay be brief You'll have his lovely memories as solace for your grief.

"I cannot promise he will stay, since all from earth return, But there are lessons taught down there I want this child to learn. I've looked the wide world over in my search for teachers true And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes I have selected you. Now will you give him all your love, nor think the labor vain, Nor hate me when I come to call to take him back again?"
I fancied that I heard them say, "Dear Lord, Thy will be done."For all the joy Thy child shall bring, the risk of grief we'll run.We'll shelter him with tenderness, we'll love him while we may And for the happiness we've known forever grateful stay; But shall the angels call for him much sooner than we've planned,We'll brave the bitter grief that comes and try to understand."

Yes, we'll try to understand, but probably won't fully. Time passes, some hurts don't. Then again, maybe some hurts aren't meant to heal. Maybe the lingering pangs of pain and hurt is what keeps us going, keeps us aware of what others may be feeling at times. Having "been there, done that" might be where compassion comes from. At the end of days, maybe we'll know for sure.