Today marks 2 months without my little boy. Unbelievable. I still feel like I'm in a terrible dream. I truly believed that William would pull through. He had had so many close encounters. So many near misses. So many times he overcame. Did I fool myself? I honestly thought he was stronger. I genuinely believed that he would be with us for a long time. Even as they were performing CPR, the deepest part of me was sure that God would not take him.
A few people have been brave enough to ask about the details. I know everyone was shocked. He had seemed so healthy, how could this have happened so fast? The truth is, we were as dumbfounded as anyone. Shocked. Incredulous. How can this be? Friday he was healthy, happy, playing. We went into town and he visited with people, people who were absolutely stunned by the news just 2 days later.
Saturday evening William wasn't feeling well. He threw up. I listened to his lungs and called his doctor. He sounded clear. I was so relieved. It was the first time he had ever thrown up and not aspirated. He did, however, have a lot of mucus coming up. I started suctioning treatments after his vest, which seemed to finally help. We decided to watch him closely and visit his doctor on Monday. I stayed up with William that night, watching him. I knew a turn for the worse could happen quickly, but when I asked him, he did not want to go to the hospital. This actually gave me peace that everything was okay because William was always ready to go to the hospital to "get better" when he was feeling bad. He'd been through this enough times that I trusted he knew his body. He slept peacefully Saturday night. I held his hand most of the night. He snuggled into me a couple of times, but didn't really awaken. His breathing was good all night. I checked his pulsox and it was holding firm.
Sunday morning he awoke and everything appeared to be fine. We were getting ready for the Vest when he threw up again. We decided to head to the hospital. There was too much mucus to deal with. I called his doctor to say we were on our way. We called the ambulance to meet us and headed that direction. William sat enfolded in my arms in the backseat of the car while I continued to use the portable suction machine on him. Michael was on the phone with 911, planning a meeting spot. We were on the highway, then pulled over, waiting for the ambulance. William was so calm. Michael prayed. I prayed. I knew in the bottom of my soul that William would be alright. We would meet up with the ambulance, spend some time in the hospital, and my boy would come home, a little weak at first, but his strength would come.
William stopped breathing in my arms. I cried out to Michael, I cried out to God. I breathed into his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him breathing. The ambulance arrived and I breathed a sigh of relief. They placed him on the bed and immediately got the ambu bag going. I was so thankful, still believing he would be alright. We'd been down this road before. He might spend some time on the ventilator, but he was in the hands of "professionals" now and it would all be okay.
Then his heart stopped. Suddenly my head began to spin and everything became a blur. How could this be happening? I cried. I prayed. I continued to have faith that God would save my little boy. He would not let me face life without him. He knew I could never handle that and God does not give us more than we can handle, right? They gave medicine, they shocked his heart, and there it was...whew. We were waiting on the life flight to get there and they kept the ambu bag going. His heart stopped again and the life flight arrived. Why weren't they moving him? They had to wait until he was stable. The decision was made to take him to the local hospital. I rode in the front of the ambulance while 4 techs continued to perform CPR. We arrived at the hospital and they continued. They performed CPR for over an hour. The doctor came to tell us there was nothing more they could do. I begged him for help, something, anything, but giving up. Wasn't there some kind of life support, couldn't they beat his heart for him, keep him alive, give him time to come back? The doctor explained to me that they could not make his heart beat. Which makes sense. Only God can do that.
I don't know where to go from here. How to get on with life. Every day brings new tears. I want to continue to trust the Lord. I'm confused about how to go on. Nothing is simple now. Everything has 2 sides now. For every moment I spend in faith and peace, there's a dark one that I spend in fear and doubt. For every Scripture that comes to mind that brings comfort, another one comes to haunt me. The fervent prayer of the righteous avails much. Was I not fervent? Am I counted among His righteous? Where was the miracle?
Oh, God, how I loved that boy. Yet, I could not save him. He took his last breath in my arms and there was nothing, nothing I could do. Completely powerless. Helpless.
I've been struggling. Struggling to read Scripture. Struggling to pray. Struggling to believe. Fighting against anger and despair. And it is hard. Hard. I don't know when it will end. Maybe never. But in the midst of my struggling, God has not left me alone. I hear His Spirit speak to my heart in the darkest hours. There are glimmers of light. And today, comfort. My hope is built on nothing less that Jesus' blood and righteousness. It is not built on what happens in this life. It is not built on His miracles. It is not built on what He does for me. It is not built on the here and now. My hope is in Christ, for eternity. He is the bread of life. Whoever eats of this bread, will live forever.
I do not know why William was taken home that day. I do not know why his time on earth was short. I do know that my struggles have everything to do with me missing him and nothing to do with questions about where he is. I know I'll see him again. I do know that his short life here changed me drastically. He made me love deeper, stronger. He made me look beyond myself. Maybe it's just as Wallace said..."his purpose was complete."