Friday, November 05, 2010
tough day
Greetings and felicitations my dear reader! Yes, it has been a while since I last shared my humble experiences. Nothing to share really, just another lost soul busy eeking out a living on the third rock from our Sun. Too busy living life to write about it. Hell, I haven't even been on The Facebook in well over a month, maybe two.
But today. . . today has been a day for the books.
This morning I went to a funeral for a three year old.
Yeah. Damn right it sucked.
Fuck, who am I kidding, it was miles beyond suck. It was brutal. Viscerally, emotionally brutal. To witness and experience so much love turned to sorrow, so much grief. . . excruciating. . . an hour long kick in the nuts.
I must confess, my dear reader, I didn't know the child. Never met him. I think the large photo displayed at the front of the chapel in the funeral home was the first time I saw his image.
Yet I know all about him. I know Lev's story. I know his mother. The Wife and I have worked with her for the past couple of years through our participation with a group of caring and concerned parents who share a desire to change the world to make it a better place for our children with disabilities and serious chronic health concerns. I never met the boy because his ongoing medical issues precluded his ability to attend the few family gatherings we have had.
I went to the funeral to show support for the family. I went out of the greatest respect and admiration for a family who walk a similar road to ours, a life filled with doctor's appointments, medical tests, and endless waiting for the other shoe to fall.
I also must confess, my dear reader, it was very interesting, a first in my 18 years of going to funerals for kids with disabilities. This was the first Jewish service I have attended. The Rabbi sang/chanted several parts in Hebrew. And I believe their was a prayer in Aramaic. I didn't know what the frack he was talking or singing about, but it was melodic, haunting, beautiful and sad. There was something from King David, lamenting the loss of a son, something along the lines of "Lord, why my son and not me? I would gladly trade places."
Because I also would have gladly traded places.
I sat there and felt a tinge of guilt as I thought "there but for the grace of God go I". We have been very blessed that The Boy has been remarkably healthy for the past few years. He hasn't given us a good scare since his last pneumonia in 2007. That was a time I tend not to remember, I choose not to recall how close to the edge we came.
When I think back on that time my first memory is of The Wife basically kicking me out of a hospital room because I was on the verge of punching a doctor who wouldn't listen and didn't seem to care. I remember going outside and walking a lap around the hospital, wishing I had a cigarette, not finding one, deep breaths of cold November air. . .
Cold November air. There is a freeze warning for our area tonight.
As the sun settles into the west the cool air turns cold. I know the sun will rise in in the east in a few hours and the air will warm into a beautiful autumn day. But tonight a family mourns, and I join them.
I can only sit, powerless to help or change the awful reality that this world has lost a remarkable child as I stare into the whiteness of the screen, struggling in vain to find words. . . but as the Rabbi said, there are no words.
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But today. . . today has been a day for the books.
This morning I went to a funeral for a three year old.
Yeah. Damn right it sucked.
Fuck, who am I kidding, it was miles beyond suck. It was brutal. Viscerally, emotionally brutal. To witness and experience so much love turned to sorrow, so much grief. . . excruciating. . . an hour long kick in the nuts.
I must confess, my dear reader, I didn't know the child. Never met him. I think the large photo displayed at the front of the chapel in the funeral home was the first time I saw his image.
Yet I know all about him. I know Lev's story. I know his mother. The Wife and I have worked with her for the past couple of years through our participation with a group of caring and concerned parents who share a desire to change the world to make it a better place for our children with disabilities and serious chronic health concerns. I never met the boy because his ongoing medical issues precluded his ability to attend the few family gatherings we have had.
I went to the funeral to show support for the family. I went out of the greatest respect and admiration for a family who walk a similar road to ours, a life filled with doctor's appointments, medical tests, and endless waiting for the other shoe to fall.
I also must confess, my dear reader, it was very interesting, a first in my 18 years of going to funerals for kids with disabilities. This was the first Jewish service I have attended. The Rabbi sang/chanted several parts in Hebrew. And I believe their was a prayer in Aramaic. I didn't know what the frack he was talking or singing about, but it was melodic, haunting, beautiful and sad. There was something from King David, lamenting the loss of a son, something along the lines of "Lord, why my son and not me? I would gladly trade places."
Because I also would have gladly traded places.
I sat there and felt a tinge of guilt as I thought "there but for the grace of God go I". We have been very blessed that The Boy has been remarkably healthy for the past few years. He hasn't given us a good scare since his last pneumonia in 2007. That was a time I tend not to remember, I choose not to recall how close to the edge we came.
When I think back on that time my first memory is of The Wife basically kicking me out of a hospital room because I was on the verge of punching a doctor who wouldn't listen and didn't seem to care. I remember going outside and walking a lap around the hospital, wishing I had a cigarette, not finding one, deep breaths of cold November air. . .
Cold November air. There is a freeze warning for our area tonight.
As the sun settles into the west the cool air turns cold. I know the sun will rise in in the east in a few hours and the air will warm into a beautiful autumn day. But tonight a family mourns, and I join them.
I can only sit, powerless to help or change the awful reality that this world has lost a remarkable child as I stare into the whiteness of the screen, struggling in vain to find words. . . but as the Rabbi said, there are no words.
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