Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Flashbacks

Today I had one of those lovely procedures that you're supposed to have when you are over 50 - a colonoscopy. I am a few years past due having it, so today was the day. I'll spare you the details, but the reason I am writing about it was that it gave me so many flashbacks of the many times we were in the hospital with Jacob.

The first one began when the nurse tried to put the IV in. She had trouble finding a vein and it took several tries. The tears began to flow when I thought of the many IV's Jacob had to have over his lifetime. He hated it - who really likes having them put in? - but he always endured it. He would always hold my hand and squeeze hard while the nurse was trying to find a vein. He would also always make eye contact with me and hold my gaze during the process. When he was young, his look was one of  fear and pain. When he was older, it was with weariness from the pain. There were many times when it would take several nurses to find a vein and sometimes a doctor would be called in. One time, the nurse from the Lifeflight helicopter unit had to come since they are considered the "experts" in finding hard veins. While I write rather casually about this now, these were such difficult moments for him and for us. Watching your child in pain and knowing you can't do anything about it is the hardest part about being a parent. It doesn't matter if they are an infant, a child, a teenager, or an adult - it just feels like your heart is literally being torn out to see your child suffer. I know that some of you are thinking that this is what God felt like when He sent Jesus to die for us, etc. etc. I just don't know how I feel about that. Since I'm not God, I just don't know if I could send my child to purposely die for someone else.

That really wasn't what I wanted to write about, so enough of that. Another flashback today: Richard was sitting by me and the pulse oximeter was beeping. This is the little clamp they put on your finger to measure your oxygen saturation level. When Jacob was a newborn, we had one of these machines at home and had to tape it to his finger. It had a red light on the tip. This was about the time that the movie "E.T." was popular and if you remember, E.T. had a finger that lit up with a red light. Anyway, Katie and Ben would say he looked like E.T., so this is what we always called it. Today, when I listened to that machine beeping, all I could think about was the different machines that made various noises when he was in the hospital. I don't think I'll ever get that noise out of my head.

Finally, when the nurses were rolling me into the procedure room, I felt a wave of panic coming. As I was laying on the stretcher, all I could see were the ceiling and walls and medical equipment. I just kept remembering the times that we would walk with Jacob to the doors of the operating rooms. We would stand there, kiss him tenderly and let him go, not knowing if we would ever see him again. He always made it through, despite overwhelming complicatons and setbacks. It just doesn't seem possible that he isn't here anymore for us to go back and see him when he comes out of a surgery, a biopsy, a cath, or a transplant. This was so much a way of life for us for 21 years.

Today, when I awoke from this simple procedure, I looked at Richard and all I could say was, "I miss him so much." I didn't have to explain - he just knew that just being in that environment stirs up so many emotions and memories.

It's time to stop. This is too hard. I know that most people look at Jacob's life and want to think about what a wonderful life he had and how he lived life to the fullest. He certainly did that, but there was another side that most people didn't see. He had to start and end each day taking drugs that had wicked side effects. After his transplants, the drugs he took caused intense nausea, and this was the least of the side effects. He often had to drink a "cocktail" of Gatorade and ginger ale to get the meds down. After drinking 64 ounces of Gatorade last night, I don't know how he ever stood it.

I could go on and on, but the tears won't stop, it's late and I'm very tired. I'll end this with one question for thought:

If God could have spared my son from any of the pain he went through and chose not to - then really, what's the point? If He couldn't have spared him from it, that's one thing, but if He could have -  and that's the way we and most Christians have prayed - and He purposely let him live such a painful life, then I'm not sure I really am terribly interested in having a very close relationship with Him.

Good Night.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Faces - part 1

Today, Richard and I went to church. This is significant because we both actually made it through the service without falling apart. It is hard for us to go and sit and not think of Jacob being there, sitting in his spot in the balcony, singing with his arms stretched up to heaven. Jacob loved, I mean, LOVED to sing. He liked hymns, choruses, contemporary songs, you name it. Unfortunately, he had a terrible voice. He used to be able to sing fairly well, but over the last few years of his life, he was intubated (had a breathing tube inserted) so many times, that he had damage to his vocal chords. We even took him to a voice therapist for awhile to see if it was repairable, but this did not do much good. He also took so many different medicines that had to have affected his voice. Also, he inherited his mother's love of music, but terrible vocal chords.

Anyway, he loved to sing so much and this was what helped him through some difficult years in middle school and high school. He was in chorus during those years and that helped him find his group of friends. The funny thing, or rather sort of sad thing, was that during his last few years in high school, his voice was so damaged, that he had to lip-synch the words when he was singing in chorus.

A very sweet memory I have of Jacob was when the McEachern chorus was presenting their Christmas concert. The students were wearing their robes and standing in the aisles singing a very solemn song in either Latin or Italien. Jacob was standing near us, facing the stage, not aware that we were sitting nearby. The auditorium was dark, filled with students, parents and many others.  This would have been his senior year, the Christmas after Jacob's first transplant. I just remember being filled with so much love, gratitude and guilt watching my son mouth the words to this song. Love - for my child, who had endured so much pain this past year and was alive to see another Christmas. Gratitude - for the chance to celebrate another Christmas with him and also to the family who were willing to allow their loved one to be a heart donor. Guilt - because I had my son with me and the donor family did not - deep down inside I lived with the fact that someone's child had to die so that my son could live. This was something I never took for granted.

So, back to why I called this post "Faces - part 1." When Richard and I try to go to church, we have different faces. Mine is one that is numb. I cannot sing or participate in the service. It takes all the energy I have just to be there and speak to people. When the congregation sings, I just stand and can't even mouth the words, like Jacob used to do. Richard is able to participate more, but he has a hard time during the singing, especially the songs that Jacob liked. It is so different standing next to Richard now during a worship service. He has a wonderful voice and I have always loved to stand next to him and hear him sing. Now, he is silent, often trying to control tears.

Well, this is not all I want to say about Faces - but I must go. I must go to a funeral visitation for a teacher friend. I know that her face will be one of grief, as she has lost both of her parents this year. My heart hurts for her.

What does good mean and is God good?

Well, I've been away for awhile. I've had a lot to distract me - going to see grandchildren, setting up a new classroom in a brand-new school, spending time at the cabin in North Carolina; however, the words are in my head. I just haven't taken the time to sit and write. I thought I would spend a little bit of time writing this morning. I am going to attempt to go to church this morning. I have been unable to go since Jacob died and I do miss seeing our church family. Today I am going to attempt it. That's for another post.

So, what does good mean? I'm sure you remember this child's prayer:

God is good, God is great.
Let us thank Him for our food.

I said it as a child and I'm sure you did too, but what does "good" really mean. When using these superlatives "good" and "great", "great" is used to describe something better than "good". For example, when I am grading papers, sometimes I write "very good" if a child does something with just a few mistakes; but if he/she doesn't make any mistakes, I write "GREAT!" So, why do we describe God as both "good" and "great'. Why not just say "great". Okay, I am digressing:

Here's my question: how can God be good when wonderful things happen and yet good when tragedy happens? If I believe that God is really good, than I have to say that He is good no matter what happens.

Ben, our eldest son, is a minister and a very cerebral thinker. I recently visited with him and asked him some of these questions. Richard is SO tired of having this dialogue with me. Anyway, I asked Ben, " Why is it we say God is good when good things happen, but when bad things happen, we don't say 'isn't God good'?" Another question:" When someone survives a difficult surgery or situation, we say 'Praise God! But when they die, we don't say "Praise God.' " I just don't think you can have it both ways and I definitely am not ready to say "Praise God" that Jacob died.

Well, my very wise son responded that he doesn't base his view of God's goodness on circumstances that happen around him or around others. He said that our view of God is so very finite and limited and we try to put Him in a box that is comfortable for us, but He is so much greater than what we can perceive. Ben, please feel free to edit this. I think this is sort of what you said.

I think I can agree with this; however, I'm just not sure I really have any desire to praise God, regardless of the circumstances.

Okay, I have a lot more to say, but I have to get ready for church. I have put off getting ready long enough and I am starting to come up with excuses on why I don't want to go. Here I go.........