Heavy Heart

On Tuesday I received some devastating news: A family that is close to us lost their little boy between Christmas and New Years. 

On Christmas Day he was fine, on Boxing Day he started throwing up with a fever and by Thursday he was gone. 

Turns out his intestine was blocked by a flap of skin that 2% of the male population possesses on their intestine.

I had gotten to know the family because Miss H is good friends with their daughter.  Our boys are or were close in age.  She is the kind of mom that is constantly on the look out for possible harm that might come to her kids.  She is extremely protective and also generous and caring.  She, like most moms, would go to the ends of the earth to ensure their kids health and safety.  She would chop off her own limb if given the chance to help her kids. 

She is, as you might well imagine, devastated.  Shattered.  This little boy was her joy.  She loved her little girl like crazy, of course, but this was not only her little boy, he was her baby.  You could see the love and pride shining in her eyes whenever she looked at him, held him, talked about him.  She was rarely without him. 

Everyday you could see her pushing him in his stroller, walking her daughter to school and back.  Always, I will picture her with that stroller and her little boy bundled up in his cozy Winnie the Pooh blanket, often times sleeping, but sometimes wriggling around, trying to climb out to walk like the big kids. 

I am devastated and shattered for their family.  I am grieving for the loss of this little boy.  I am grieving for my friend and the hard road that she will never be able to get away from.  I am constantly blinking back tears when I think about her and her unimaginable pain and grief.  I am desperately sad for the dad and it breaks my heart as I watch him try to hold their family together in this time.  Watching him trying to bring some normality to their lives for the sake of their daughter.  Seeing him dropping off and picking her up from school – something her mom always did.  Sometimes checking in on her halfway through the day to make sure she’s alright.  He’s going to have to go back to work soon and I don’t know how my friend will get through the day without him.  The house will be too quiet.  Her son’s room too empty.

The moms in the community, especially the moms of her little girl’s friends have circled the wagons, wanting to help in any way possible.  Provide meals, setting up a fund to provide housecleaning services.  But at the end of the day, what can we do to ease her grief?  Nothing.  Not one thing.  This is a journey she has to go through on her own.  Selfishly I am sad for myself and the loss of my once-carefree friend.  She will never be the same and I’m worried that I will always feel “On-guard” around her, desperately trying not to make her grief worse by careless words. 

I miss her.  I miss her little boy.   I hate this whole situation and the finality of it.  It’s not fair.  Not fair at all. 

She has told me on several occasions that they are “not religious” so she doesn’t even have the small peace that comes with knowing that she will see her son again someday.   Please, if you have a prayer in your heart for this family, pray it.  We’re all going to need some healing around here.