Sadness

Joey died this morning.

There are things that aren't ever supposed to happen. A child dying is one of them.


I will never forget that moment on the phone, sitting in the hospital room rocking my little boy who was still out of sorts from the anesthesia, hearing that they had found a tumor. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as my breath caught and my mind raced, imagining all the potentially horrible things to come.

Every night as I cuddle with Finn now, I'm filled with love for him, and thankfulness that he is managing to fight off this horrible disease, and that he's been able to do it so far without chemo or radiation treatments.  I am so unbelievably thankful.  I will always worry - not just the normal nebulous mommy worry that every mom has, but that specific fear of what might happen because of this tumor. The fear born out of the reality of hearing your son has cancer. And while I can't possibly begin to know what it's like to deal with the disease the way that Joey's parents have, I think I can come closer to imagining it now, having experienced that afternoon in August and the terrifying weeks that followed.

There is no way to make sense of this sort of thing.  I've said before that I used to think that "bad things happen for a reason." But what reason could there be for a little boy who loved Legos and Star Wars to die?  What reason is there for a 3 month old to be diagnosed with cancer?  What reason is there for a baby to be born still at 20 weeks?  Or for a woman to have miscarriage after miscarriage - or never be able to get pregnant at all?  There is no reason that is good enough to explain these things, or the other bad and horrible things that happen.  If only there were words that existed to make the hurt go away, to make things right when they go so horribly wrong.

Last week Joey's mom posted something on their Caring Bridge site that was beautiful and heartbreaking. I haven't been able to stop thinking of it this week, so I'm sharing it here, in memory of a beautiful little boy I only knew in passing, and in honor of his family.


Lullabies and a rocking chair have been a special part of our days together since we brought Joey home from the hospital in May of 2006.  Sitting in the glider, all sleep deprived and overwhelmed, I would cradle him in my arms and together we would fall fast into sweet sleep.  These last weeks have been deeply reminiscent of those early days as I hold him in my arms and rock, a familiar music playing in the background.  Just as he did nearly 7 years ago, Joey drifts into the land of little boy dreams while I stare and take in the face of my sweet boy. 


The days have started to meld together, each one mingling the familiar- a glimpse of his sweet smile, a short burst of energy- with the uncharted- increased pain and difficult conversations.  These are hard days.  These are treasured days.  These are days in which I cannot make sense of the pain and the heartache.  And these are days that are teaching my heart to trust in a new way.
  
Frankly, I hate where we are in this journey.  My mother’s heart longs to have Joey near for years piled upon years.  When I allow myself to imagine my days without him, I am overcome by heartbreak so strong I feel as though I am being swallowed up by darkness.  My faith in an eternal Hope is a Constant Companion and Friend but even during times of great sadness, companions and friends stand in the background and allow the grieving heart to do simply that, grieve.