"It's okay"

<p>"It's okay." Those were my last words to my son as he drew his final breath. Not "bye"; not "I love you"; not "I'm sorry"; not "don't go"...it's okay. In fact, I didn't say it just once, I repeated it...over and over...almost frantically. It was as if I didn't know what else to say; and I'm pretty sure that's because I didn't. He looked so scared--I HAD to reassure him that it that it would be okay. He was struggling in pain--I HAD to reassure him that it would be okay. I was sad and scared--I HAD to [selfishly] reassure both him and me.</p>
<p>The faith that I hold today is that he immediately knew afterwards that it was okay. He had reached salvation, and knew all would be better now. If I didn't have that belief--that truth--I wouldn't be able to function for all these days passed. But, I do...and it's okay.</p>
<p>Nowadays, I've noticed that's what I unconsciously tell people when they react to learning of Cooper, his life, his disease, his passing (his cure). "It's okay", I say, "He's better now [and I have accepted it]." Last week was when I realized I was saying this, and then I realized that those were my last words to him. I mean to say: I knew both of these facts individually, then it suddenly dawned on me that they were the same. Truthfully, I don't know what to make of this; and I have REALLY been thinking about it...everyday...analyzing all of the possibilities. I just haven't come to a conclusion yet. I don't know if I will. I suppose the answer will come to me one day, and I'll feel silly for not knowing in the first place. In the meantime, I'll keep moving forward, knowing that it was, is, and will be okay.

Logic requires that I challenge the validity of the statement altogether: IS it okay? Or is this just an insubstantial mantra? No...it's okay. I just don't need to say it to know it.

Great! Now what am I going to tell people?!?!

...and thank You for The Plumber. Amen.

I want to walk as a child of the light

"I Want to Walk as a Child of the Light"...a standard in the Hymnal.  Great music to sing along to, and the message (on the tertiary) makes you want to sing louder.  And once you hear (or even think of) the song, it is stuck in your head for the rest of the day.  I've read some pretty critical reviews on the song (apparently, not a favorite of Christian Music Analysts) that say the lyrics make no sense (in that the lines are contradictory to both each other and the foundation of our faith), none of the lines really relate to one another, and that the song itself is somehow "fake" and self-serving.  Whatever...maybe they just don't hear the message as it was meant.

Honestly, I had never even heard of the song until after Cooper had passed.  She and I were sitting at our kitchen table with our priest planning his funeral service.  Sarah said she wanted it played, Father Gerry agreed, and I went along with it.  Though I KNOW it was played, I can't say that I really remember it being sung by that packed church.  I do, however, remember the next time it was sung in a Sunday Service at Trinity Episcopal Church in The Woodlands...I immediately recognized it, and I felt really good (though I could swear I saw his small, blue steel casket in the front of the church again), and Sarah cried because of the life event with which she now associates that song.

I have thought of this song everyday of this week, and it's because I think I finally understand it.  I think I know what it means to be a "child of the light."  A friend sent me an email mid-week to let me know that somebody (who really wasn't more than acquaintance to me) had passed away the previous weekend.  I was almost immediately full of shame and regret.  This person was a neighbor.  The family situation is "complicated" to say the least, but perhaps that is because I never took the time to really understand it.  Older parents; a pregnant teenaged daughter and another one that was already a teen mom; a son too young to have the criminal record that he did; a tween daughter with a possible history of abuse, and a youngest son that bullied my own kids.

Last year, I watched this family change.  The older boy was apparently sent away in the custody of the law, the youngest sister apparently was re-located for therapeutic reasons, and the young boy got involved in scouting.  Things got better as far a bus behavior reports from my kids are concerned.  Then, the behavior reverted....the bullying returned...and he was removed from the bus.  Soon I only saw the boy as he sat with his father who was the elementary school crossing guard.  The first day of school came, and I wondered where he was...did the school district cut his job? Did he resign the position?  The traffic around the school really needed him, but I went about my life.  Now, I suppose it makes sense.

Now what?  Was I a good neighbor?  Am I living hypocrisy?  I know the difference between right and wrong, but I'm not accepting the challenge as I know I should.  I've been to the Mount, I've hear the Sermon, I've eaten the bread and fishes, and I feel like I'm walking away from the "hard teachings."  But I know that Jesus is The Light of the World, and I want to walk as a child of The Light...I want to follow Jesus.  It's tough, and I am full of flaws; a guy can hope, though...can't he?

My ears are open to the message--Cooper did that for me.  I see the world differently, and I hear the message [for me] in songs and sayings that would have just vibrated my eardrums before.  That is what his cure is for me, and I am eternally grateful to him.  I was supposed to do that for him, but he did it for me.

Today, the deal was sealed at Trinity...again.  Deacon Sean read the Gospel, and Father Gerry gave the homily.  Father Gerry said it was a controversial translation that didn't favor Jesus' kindness very well; I got the message, though....I got MY message.  "The children must eat before the dogs." Whether or not it was a loaded statement, or whether or not He had a twinkle in his eye when he said it, I don't really care.  "Even the dogs eat the crumbs that the children drop under the table."  The gentile woman gave the response as if providing the answer to the password challenge at the entrance to the secret party.  

EVERYBODY deserves truth and justice and kindness and time and attention.  Everybody deserves to be your neighbor, and be treated as one, because they are.  In the light of God we're all neighbors, we're all the same, we aren't to be treated differently.  I would say that I've been shown the way, but I think I have so much more to learn.  I know the path we are taking because "the light" is shining the way.  I want it to shine in my heart, so He can lead through me.  I don't know if I'm worthy, but I have to keep trying; otherwise, I'm ignoring the gifts of hearing and sight that Cooper gave me.  Today, I hear the song.  Now I want to sing it with my life.

That's all I've got for now, except for a final association: 
For a while now, when I hear or think of the song, I hear my friend Jerome singing it.  It's a really good memory.  He sings with such gusto that I know he sees more in the words of the song than shallow, contradictory phrases.  Jerome's health is failing, so I don't see him in church much anymore, and I miss him. If I were to eternally link that song with the memory of Cooper, the memory of Jerome singing it is a great tribute to Coop's memory.  The singing is loud and joyful from a voice that is scratchy and slightly off-key pouring out of a head that is positioned like that of a Peanut's character singing and attached to a body that swaying off balance from the chest heaving that accompanies taking breaths that deep to sing that joyfully.  

1. I want to walk as a child of the light;
I want to follow Jesus.
God set the stars to give light to the world;
the star of my life is Jesus.

Refrain
In him there is no darkness at all;
the night and the day are both alike.
The Lamb is the light of the city of God:
Shine in my heart, Lord Jesus.

2. I want to see the brightness of God;
I want to look at Jesus.
Clear Sun of righteousness, shine on my path,
and show me the way to the Father.

3. I’m looking for the coming of Christ;
I want to be with Jesus.
When we have run with patience the race,
we shall know the joy of Jesus.

...and thank You for The Plumber.  Amen.

Coop's Hibiscus

More than a year later than the last post, here we go again... 

After Cooper passed away, some neighbors (and good friends) gave us a plant. Isn't that always how it starts? Somebody close to you dies, so somebody else gives you a plant to take care of. "Gee, thanks for another living thing for me to take care of after I let another living thing die. I can't wait to feel grief for a plant, too." I jest, but truly this was nothing like that. 

Our neighbor, Sandy, and her daughter, Erin, specifically chose this plant for us. I know they didn't get it immediately after his passing, but I honestly can't remember how quickly it was...perhaps weeks later. My point is that it wasn't a "funeral" plant...those stayed out at Coop's Place until the foundation for his marker was ready to be poured. We took such good care of those "temporary" plants that their roots broke through the basket they were in and began to take root in the ground. Unfortunately, they didn't thrive after a re-potting, and ultimately faded away when we brought them home. Hmm.... Anyway, this plant was different. 

Sandy and Erin knew (like many) that orange was Cooper's favorite color, so they picked this Hibiscus because it was as close as they could get to orange, and they knew it thrived in the area. Truthfully, the blooms are more of a coral color; and, I've noticed this year, that it is a pale-ish coral at the start of Spring, and a deeper, more intense red coral late in the summer (like now). Before Cooper's Feast Day this year, we bought a "giant" planter to re-pot is so it could thrive more. It has really been doing well. 

Every now and again I notice that it's looking a little sad, realize it hasn't rained in a while, and get back on a regular watering regime. It really does best with rainwater, but I don't mind giving it some regular, personal attention. I love to walk out through the back door in the morning, when I leave for work, and I instinctively look to the left to see how he is doing that morning. Prior to the re-potting, it was located in a place that was right in my line of sight as I left the house, and I couldn't help but stop and admire it. The blooms are so big and colorful, that I could often be found delaying my departure for work while I took pictures. Look, I'm no nature photographer, but I love my boy and all the beauty he brings to this world. 

This year, I also took to "stealing" blooms to give to people. The first bloom of the season went to Sandy. I was putting the trash out for the day when I saw her drive down the street towards her house, and I knew she HAD to have it. So we gave it to her. Another time, I left the house, and the color of the flowers that morning reminded me of a friend at work that always liked to see pictures of the flowers at Coop's Place and of Coop's Hibiscus; so, I took one to her. 

Another went to a close friend on her birthday...ironically, after being such a good friend, caring for Cooper's well-being, and being a good listener through all of our challenges with Cooper, she is now the mother of a special needs child. I like to think that we share an understanding that allows us to speak frankly to one another about life, health, and parenting. 

I never plan on giving somebody one of the flowers, it just suddenly strikes me to do so. It's almost like I walk out in the morning, turn to say "hello", and he says to me "Good morning, Daddy. Don't you have a friend that could use a happy flower today?" "Why, yes, I do. Thanks, big buddy!" 

Now to the point of this post...FINALLY! right?!?! 

Yesterday, a friend at work returned from an unexpected week away following the passing of her sister. She puts up a good front, but you can just see the sadness in her eyes--no matter how bright her smile is. This morning as I gave Coop's Hibiscus a morning misting, we knew what I had to do. 

There was only one open bloom to give. It's color was deep and intense, but you could still see the orange shining through. There was a blemish on one of the petals...a small dark spot. It was perfectly imperfect. I existed for this purpose. Needless to say, we made the journey to work together. Once I got to work, it was an hour or so until I saw her to give her the bloom. Seemingly appreciative of the gift, and perhaps knowing the intention of the message, she thanked me as I told her that I just thought she could use one today. Later, I had a quiet, private conversation with her to explain about Coop's Hibiscus and what it meant to me. I then told her that I don't expect to know her pain, but I have known pain...I know it today. 

The point of the flower was to tell her that I see my special boy every day because all the beauty of the world around me reminds me of him. I know beauty because of him. The way the orange shines through the deep red coral of a tropical flower, it's nearly magical. He kisses me with the warmth of the sun on my face...it even gets brighter when I ask him for a kiss. He spins the pinwheels at Coop's Place in conversation when the air is calms, and the wind swirls strongly around me when I ask for a hug. I see natural occurrences differently, I hear songs differently, old words find new meaning....I don't know, maybe I'm just desperate for signs, but I'm sure he has EVERYTHING to do with it. He changed me, in every good way. 

So, the perfectly imperfect flower....what thoughts did this evoke for me? 

1. We see our beautiful friends in beautiful nature. 

2. They send us timely messages. 

3. It's never perfect. Though you are happy to get the message, it's only possible because of the loss. 

4. It may not look like you remember it, but you can still see the original shine through. 

5. Sometimes it can look different because the hurt is so intense.

6. The flower is going to wilt...quickly. You can't stop it. It's going to get sad and ugly; you're not going to like it. Don't think of it as a single flower and don't think of it as the end; realize that another will come along...it may still be deep and intense, it may be bright and beautiful, and it may be just as you remembered. It's not going to be the same, and you won't know exactly where to look. It'll be back. It's natural. 

7. I hope the same good stuff for her. 

 That's all I got. 

....and thank you for The Plumber. Amen.