<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.
