I spend too much time on the internet. I also spend too much time blowing things up in video games, but it’s something that gives me a lot of joy. I need joy.
Tonight, though, I just read Sean Dietrich’s column and some long-ago memories came rushing back. There was no stopping them.
Dietrich, also known as Sean of the South, strings together words that’ll tug at your heartstrings, leaving you with tears streaming down your face. I find crying cathartic, but maybe that’s just me.
Tonight’s column was about a little boy in an oncology unit. He wanted a visit from Sean of the South. He wanted to tell him that he was going to die soon, and that he’d already seen God. My heart perked up at that. I wanted to know more.
Well, you guessed it, the little guy described what he saw, Sean wrote it down, and shared it with his readers. The memories that came while I read those words were about our youngest son, Luke Anthony. He didn’t quite make it to six months old; he died in my arms with his Daddy beside us.
Luke was premature and had lung issues. He was taken almost immediately to a Peoria neonatal unit. He was under four pounds at birth, lost a little weight, and graduated from Room 1 to Room 6, but it took him almost six months.
Unlike the child in Sean’s column, Luke couldn’t talk to us. I thought he said a lot with his eyes, and I gazed into them every chance I got. In those months, I can’t remember a day we didn’t visit. The medical staff tried hard to make their patients’ lives as normal as possible. It helps to see the tiny children decked out for holidays while machines beep and hiss in the background.
Gary and I invited anyone who wanted to to visit with us. We took an aunt, Gary’s mom, his dad, and, of course, his brothers. Grandpa visited one time and told us he just couldn’t do it again. My father-in-law was a tough man, strong, and yet this was not something he could deal with. Seeing anyone suffer got to him, which told me a lot about him. This was a man with a big, soft heart.
Our world was a narrow one for those few months. Nothing mattered except getting Luke strong enough to come home. I never expected that he wouldn’t.
The little boy passed away, went back up to God, and was reunited with grandparents and great-grandparents he’d met on his first trip home. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping he met up with our Luke. That, I can tell you, would bring me joy.
