Memorial Day is always a reminder for me of loved ones. It was this very weekend 17 years ago – on May 23, that my son made a choice to allow his body to give up his human vessel. I called him King – a family name. He was smart, kind, loving – my sister pegged him best: “When he wasn’t being difficult, he was delightful.” At his memorial I heard the story of how he literally gave someone the shirt off his back.
He died in his sleep after fighting for 24 years of being a brittle Type 1 diabetic. It was a brutal diagnosis when we heard it – long before the days of better treatments and pumps and handier devices to check blood sugars that can stabilize. In 1980, brittle juvenile diabetes was a slow death sentence. His doctors said IF he lived to 21, he would be blind and his life would certainly be impacted by many complications. In some ways they were correct. He spent days and often weeks in hospitals as he was growing up. He had a pacemaker implanted when he was 25 and almost died that night. He was losing his eyesight and dealing with neuropathy that was extremely painful for a chef who stood most of his working days. I am grateful for the extra time we had together on this planet, feeling a bit like we stole a few extra years to be together. I am also glad that he has sent me messages – one of which is he choose to leave, to give up his failing body, knowing those he left behind were strong and would be fine. He was ALMOST right – we were strong in many ways. I do confess now that it took me five years and another message from him to truly realize the depth of my denial of loss. That story is for another time.
Today I would like all parents who have children no longer with them to know that we carry the essence of our children in our hearts. They are always with us. I love these words from the poem For Grief by John O’Donohue:
Gradually, you will learn acquaintance with the invisible form of your departed;
And when the work of grief is done, the wound of loss will heal
And you will have learned to wean your eyes from that gap in the air
And be able to enter the hearth in your soul
Where your loved one has awaited your return all the time.
Like my son, I feel Donohue is almost right. I’m not certain that the work of grief is every truly done when it comes to the death of a child. I agree that the wound does heal and I am certain that we can enter into the heart of our soul and feel our precious loved ones there and learn to be acquainted with their invisible form.