Ephemeral boy

Journal excerpt, 2-11-08

This morning the bush and brush are full of birds, more than I've ever seen in a morning. I stand at my back door and watch each bit of movement. The sun casts a bright swath across the top of the trees off in the distance. My eye is drawn there by a solo bird soaring in the trajectory of the light.

I turn a way and out of our front window I catch a glimpse of my daughter's tree, a strong branch made crisp like a black and white picture by the cold February light. In my mind's eye I follow the branch down the trunk and think of the first sprouting bulb Ella and I noticed there yesterday morning, the bulbs we planted on another unusual spring like day in December.

It is cold now. Sully brought with him the spring and beautiful days to match his beautiful face...oh his beauty - I'm so glad I could proudly let so many eyes see his earthly glory yesterday. And that the five of us walked together to taste the body and the blood of Christ - that I held all of my children together within the community of faith into which they each have been baptized as covenant children.
And has that covenant ever meant so much to me?! My hope rests here in God's great love and care for my Sully. I know he is in greater hands.

But I ache - I miss him - his soft, sweet body, his kissable lips and face. Oh how I ache. I held him all day yesterday, longing to comfort his failing body and ease his transition out of this world. I begged for God's mercy when he struggled. Please God, make him not hurt, please, have mercy and ease his pain and suffering. He calmed into my chest, finally sleeping peacefully, the morphine relaxing him. As he took his last few breaths over a span of time, my mother's body let down her milk, longing to do all it could to save and comfort and nourish even as death became certain.

The children had gathered on our bed with us under the guise of watching a movie, Brad and Ella carefully selecting Lady and the Tramp. While Sully grew quiet on my chest we all were together, our family, our three children doing something so everyday and ordinary - a strikingly beautiful and calm picture.

A mother sang her baby boy a lullaby and I heard the words, "Let love be your keeper." I sang them again to my own baby boy. Ella and Zane each kissed Sully's head goodnight, and off they went to the warm safety of their own beds.

Brad returned to find me unmoved - I couldn't move from that sweet place of Sully so peaceful and calm on my breast, my arms holding him as if I could keep him forever. And together we wept - Brad and I wept and held our beautiful one. Every part of me wept for hours into that night...

I held him for hours after he was gone. I bathed his precious body. I dressed him in his most comfortable clothes and fuzzy socks and his signature blue hat. And I wrapped him to keep him warm although his body could not stay warm. So I held him even closer to me and kissed his face and head and lips and hands over and over again. But how can I ever fully explain the ache, the sheer pain of my breaking heart as I handed my boy to my husband, as I looked on him for the last time and kissed his face and told him I would see him again in a better place, and then watched him be carried away from me for the forever of this life. I could hear a broken heart sobbing uncontrollably - I felt my face bury itself in the bed - I felt myself hardly able to breath and not even caring - I would stay here forever, forever I would weep and wail for my dead son.

But I will not say my lost son - because my Sully is not lost. My Sully has been made whole. My Sully has been found by the arms of my Savior. I know he is well. I know he has been made perfect. I know that my Redeemer lives and that in his arms is my sweet, beautiful Sully.