There I sat wiping away tears in a crowded restaurant – again.
I gazed down onto the three letters I – A – N … strung together in a manner so that I could pick it out in a line-up of a hundred other “Ian” signatures. It was his actual signature cast perfectly into a delicate silver ring. The signature looked exactly how I had seen it so very many times before when he signed his name to an important letter, note, and later in life, on a sales contract.
The ring featured the “neat” version, not the signature he used when signing a check or on one of those ridiculous credit card machines. In those cases, you’d only see the “I” and the rest was barely more than a straight line. I remember that I chuckled the first time I saw it. I think he was in middle school and I asked him if he thought he was a doctor or a rock star. Actually, I love that he learned to use the sloppy signature at such a young age, as if he intuitively understood that sometimes it mattered and other times it simply did not. Sometimes you steal away a few seconds to keep for yourself – because seconds add up to minutes, minutes add up to days.
We know — all too well — that every single second matters…
Continue reading “The Signature”
Ian stared up at the ceiling from the bed at the naturopathic treatment center, unable to move any part of his body below the neck. For most of the 10 days we spent there, he was getting intravenous high dose Vitamin C and a host of last-chance protocols commonly used in European countries to fight cancer. During this time, Ian’s mind was relatively strong. Except for the last few days his life, he was aware of his rapid decline.
I often wondered what was going through his mind.
This was new for me. I had always known exactly what was going on his mind — Ian could talk and he loved to share! He easily filled up an entire 30-minute drive home from school with colorful stories of the day’s adventures. Things didn’t change much when he started his new job straight out of college. I knew about the potential clients, the presentations, the contracts that closed and the ones that did not. He texted me often and kept me posted on just about everything.
But, here I am, 22 months since our beloved son’s passing to Heaven, and I’m left still wondering what was he thinking in his final days on earth? Was he devastated? Was he still hopeful? Did he ever resign to his soon departure? If he did, he never shared that with me. He chose not to talk about the end.
One thing I know is that through his entire 8-month battle with cancer, he never uttered one word of victimized complaint to me. I never heard him ask, “Why me?”
Continue reading “There was Patience, There was Peace”
I thought I knew you, Lord,
close as could be.
Time spent together,
you held the key.
and promises kept.
Into the future,
Then he was sick,
then he was gone.
no way to live on.
I thought I knew you, God.
ruined in the wake.
Disappointed, let down,
Continue reading “His Power”
If anyone had told us that we could NOT take Ian out of the hospital to bring him home or take him for intensive naturopathic treatment…well, I just can’t even fathom what measures we would have taken to keep our “hope” alive. The doctors had given up on our 23-year-old son Ian just as they had given up on Alfie. But, are they God? Are they his parents, fiancé, brother, grandma, grandpa, aunty, uncle, cousin or best friend? Whether a hospital/doctor/government ends up being right or wrong, it doesn’t matter. It’s NOT their place to make that call…it’s just not.
We were blessed to have doctors that supported our decisions, even when they did not agree with some of them. They thought it was too risky to fly Ian to the Big Island for intensive naturopathic treatment and determined it would be fruitless. But, Ian’s mind was strong. He WANTED to go. He was not ready to give up. As his family, we would have moved mountains to give him every last fighting chance. What did we have to lose?
What did Alfie have to lose?
I will never see those two weeks spent on the Big Island giving Ian his “Hail Mary” as a waste of time. NEVER. In fact, given the circumstances, it was the best of times.
What was the alternative? Think about it.
We have lost so much. But, Ian died with dignity…making choices as HE saw fit through the end of his life. This was OUR FAMILY.
No one had the right to tell us when to “give up”.
My heart is shattered for these parents.
I feared the hedge would die.
One day, in the middle of the chaos, I dared to dream that the hedge would make it.
I imagined how we would later tell the story of the dying hedge in our front yard as a metaphor of how you faced down your near-death experience with cancer, but you came back with vigor to live out the rest of your days with renewed focus and perspective.
We would explain how the dry branches appeared beyond resuscitation. It was that pesky, destructive white fly that snuck in under the radar and spread relentlessly beneath the abundant beautiful green leaves and orange hibiscus blossoms. Continue reading “The Hedge”
Is it strange that I count the months you’ve been gone in the same way that parents count the months of an infant child’s life? Each month, as time slips by, I can’t believe we’ve made it this far without you here.
Yet, if the pattern holds true, I’ll stop counting the months soon. Just a few more months and we will likely start referencing your absence in years — should anyone ask how long it’s been.
No matter how or if I express the breadth of your absence on any given day, I always know exactly how long it’s been …
because losing a child is nothing like having a child.
To watch your child grow is the ultimate privilege. Fully in awe of the miracle, you instinctively know that he or she is a gift and you celebrate the milestones, month by month, and then year after year.
When there is life, this formula is sustainable. It propels you forward.
When there is death, this formula is difficult to sustain.
For 18 months, I have quite literally been walking with my head turned in the opposite direction … looking backwards.
If I continue this formula, I fear it will sink me.
So, where do I go from here?
Continue reading “#18 Months”
I sat with Joy on the back patio on a sunny afternoon in May 2017 as we talked endlessly about our sons. Her son, Kekoa, passed over to heaven in July, while our son Ian passed in October.
We had met each other only weeks prior at Griefshare, a grief support group we attended at a nearby church. Joy is a deeply spiritual woman with a solid footing in her faith. We grieved together with hope, knowing that our sons are now among the Lord’s saints in heaven.
Nonetheless … there were tears and pain.
When two butterflies suddenly started to dance on and around our hedges that afternoon, we chuckled about it. It was tempting to say these two dancing butterflies were our sons visiting us, but we knew better than that. Our children did not turn into butterflies, black moths or angels. They are still the magnificent souls they were here on earth but in a new and improved physical state in heaven.
Yet, as these two butterflies brought smiles to our faces long into the afternoon, Joy suddenly asked, “Do you see two butterflies hanging around like this very often?”
“Not really,” I replied.
We stared at those butterflies in silence for a bit of time, and then we laughed.
It felt good to laugh.
Something felt very special about those butterflies.
Continue reading “Of Butterflies, Black Moths and Angels”