by Tamara Rollison
Paying a huge college tuition bill.
He never made it to college.
Getting complaints from neighbors of loud noise and craziness.
He did have some humdingers of parties in his day.
Wondering where he is…messing with drugs…receiving a call from jail to bail him out…hooking up with bad people who could take advantage of him…driving recklessly…and all those other nightmarish thoughts that haunt every parent, at one time or another, in middle of the night.
He’s not here to get in trouble.
Becoming deathly ill…struggling with depression and anxiety.
He’s not here to feel pain.
Falling in love with the wrong woman.
He’s not here to experience a broken heart.
Needing money and lots of it.
He is not here to spend it or pay bills.
Contemplating his future…always praying to God to keep him safe, healthy and happy.
He has no future on this earthly dimension.
Seeing the “Unkown” number pop up on my cell phone in the early morning hour.
No phones where he is.
Receiving that dreaded call from the police, “your son has been in an accident.”
Being greeted by the chaplain at the hospital where he is undergoing emergency surgery.
Observing the hopelessness in the face of his surgeon.
Hearing….”You have a very sick boy, he will not make it through the night.”
Whispering in his ear…it’s OK to leave this place.
Kissing him goodbye
Death has a way of shutting the door on all parent-hood worries. Nightmares come true for many of us and we are left shattered to the core. Worries replaced by grief and unrelenting sadness.
He lived 19 years, six months, 14 days and 5 and half hours.
When he died, so did I. Forever changed.
My soul is in a temporary vessel that will eventually give out like an old car. But my soul, my mind…will go elsewhere…to where he is.
In the meantime, I live for my son.
I walk in the grief. No longer fear the darkness. Bask in the light when it comes.
Nothing else to worry about but to help others when I am able, pay the bills and stay healthy to experience the earth during the very limited time I am here.
To parents who are blessed to have living children…love them well, hug them often and don’t fret over small stuff, like getting in the right college, making all A’s, winning the race or finding that ideal job… because most of it doesn’t really matter.
Love is what matters.
Tamara writes about her son Logan on “In Logan’s Shoes.”