.
There is nothing more important to me, not money, not fame, not other people's opinions of me. As I have learned, it is only in discovering the spiritual meaning in all human events that we can experience happiness and contentment in our life regardless of circumstances.
TO LOVE IS TO RISK
On December 12, 1964 our first child was born. As new parents we were elated. The day after Christmas I was sitting in the living room when suddenly I heard my wife screaming that John our new born wasn't breathing and he was turning blue.
I rushed to the hallway to see her holding John. She was crying, trembling trying to get our baby to breathe. I stood there dazed as I watched her working to bring him back to life. His body was ridged, his eyes, though open, seemed to be bulging. Saliva was foaming around his mouth.
A part of me was paralyzed as I listened to my wife screams. I remember yelling back that he wasn't going to die, that he would be okay and I would get help.
I rushed out the door and over to our next door neighbors. The good fortune was that this husband and wife team were both Doctors and they were home. When they heard me yelling they came running. They ran past me into the house and down the hallway . They took the baby from my wife's arms and the woman starting giving the baby CPR while her husband called the paramedics.
Through it all I just stood their transfixed, frightened. I was 21 years old and all of a sudden I didn't feel so grown up any more. The baby started breathing again as I heard the wailing of the ambulance approaching the house. Quickly the baby was put into the Emergency vehicle along with my wife and the doctors and they left for the hospital.
As I followed them to the hospital I had scatter thoughts and no thoughts at all. I was on automatic. I just wanted to get to the hospital and see if John was okay. When I finally arrived and found him, he was lying in a metal crib looking as if nothing had ever happened to him.
As the panic in me subsided I prayed that whatever caused the seizures was temporary and what happened wasn't anything to seriously worry about. His Admission to the hospital was followed by several days of testing. Finally it was determined that he was a hydrocephalic. The Doctor explained: "Because of a malfunctioning valve an abnormal amount of fluid was accumulating in the cranium. This fluid build up was causing pressure inside the head setting off the seizures. If left unchecked, this unusual amount of fluid would cause the head to swell and eventually destroy the brain."
"A shunt operation would be required", he told us. It consisted of putting an artificial valve in the skull and a tube into the stomach for drainage. This would allow for normal fluids levels. It was our understanding as John grew up every so often he would need another operation to lengthen the drainage tube. This procedure was designed to give "Mother Nature" a chance to correct herself. With this knowledge we had every expectation that John would grow up to be a normal healthy child.
He was six weeks old when the surgery took place and the operation was a success. We were told that to prevent any seizures, that might be caused by the placement of the tube, he was to be given a medicine that would keep them under control. Though we were thrilled about the outcome of the surgery we knew we would have to keep a watchful eye over him.
A week after the operation John was home once again. Every evening after he was asleep I would go into his room and check on him, sometimes eight and ten times a night. John was a constant worry to me. Though I was uptight about the situation I wouldn't openly talk about my feelings. I felt that if I did, he might die. It was like If I ignored my feelings, he would get better.
Night after night I prayed to God for a healing. Other times I believed that he would never be healed. That scared me because I wasn't ready to handle the burden of caring for a handicapped child for the rest of my life. Not knowing for sure if he would ever be okay, I sometimes wished he was dead. When those kinds of thoughts came to mind I would banish them like the plague, for what father would want to have his own child die?
As time passed John continued to make good progress. Months went by and things were getting back to normal. Once more I was able to relax and enjoy life. In February of 1966 we took our son in for his regularly scheduled Doctor's appointment. At that time it was discovered that he was outgrowing his "shunt". Another operation was necessary. I knew that this time would come, I just wasn't ready for it.
Over the months I carried a lot of suppressed fear about John but continued not to reveal my true feelings to anyone, not even my wife. I was a "man" and a real man never revealed unacceptable emotions of fear and fright or so I thought. On March 5th John was admitted to the hospital with surgery scheduled for 10:00 AM. the following morning. Mary Jo, my wife, debated whether or not she should stay overnight with him or come back early the next day. Since she was uncertain I suggested that she come home with me for some much needed rest. What I wasn't telling her is that I felt frightened and alone and didn't want to go back to our apartment by myself. Although I secretly felt that she really wanted to stay, my own insecurities motivated me to convince her otherwise.
As we began to leave John's room, he started to cry. That bothered me, because on the one hand I wanted to leave and take care of my own needs and on the other hand I wanted to stay and comfort him. We decided to wait until he went to sleep. Fifteen minutes went by before he put his head back down. With him lying quietly in that big hospital room, we silently left.
Once outside the room we waited, wanting to be sure that he was settled down. A few minutes passed and all was quiet. I nudged Mary Jo as my way of indicating that we should be on our way. Before leaving, we took one last peek into his room. Just as we did, he looked up. He expressed joy at seeing us standing there. As we stepped back out of the room the expression changed to one of the saddest and loneliest looks I had ever seen. It was like he was saying; "Daddy, why are you leaving me, can't you see that I'm scared and need you?" I wanted to cry but didn't . Without uttering a sound he put his head back down and Mary Jo and I rushed away from the room.
Our apartment was about 30 miles from the Children's Hospital in Pittsburgh. As we slowly drove home not a word was spoken between us. We were engrossed in our own thoughts and feelings about John and neither one of us felt free to discuss them. I could see that my fear of losing him was coming back again. Although I tried distract myself, the feelings persisted. I felt that they were not rational feelings for the prognosis concerning the operation was excellent. Then I realized that because of my fear of losing him I had been withholding my love from him. I had been reluctant to hold him or play with him as often as I wanted to. As we arrived at our apartment I vowed that when he came home I would never again let my feelings of fear get in my way of spending more time with him.
As we sat in our apartment that evening the atmosphere was filled with unspoken tension and anxiety. We didn't talk about how we felt, we were afraid to. I sat there wishing I had the courage to share my thoughts and feelings with Mary Jo but my conditioning as a "man" kept getting in the way. A man was strong, he didn't share his deepest feelings, to do so would make him less than a man.
As I battled with this conflict I was suddenly startled to hear a baby's cry. At first I thought the sound was coming from another apartment. It was a haunting cry, one that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Getting up from the chair I made my way to the window. Upon opening it I thought the cry was coming from a small ravine in front of our complex.
Thinking that someone might have abandoned their baby I rushed outside. As I reached the ravine the cry seemed to change locations. Every time I went to one place the sound seemed to move to another. Not being able to locate the source, I listened more closely. It sounded like my son's cry. Feelings of panic and terror started to pour over me. The whole situation was challenging my understanding of reality. What was going on? Was I going crazy? Was the baby's cry just a figment of my imagination? No, it could be, Mary Jo had heard it to. Abruptly the crying stopped. Feeling uneasy I returned to the apartment.
As I walked in the door I grabbed for the phone. I had to call the hospital. I had to find out if John was okay. A nurse answered and assured me that he was fine. I ask her if she would check just one more time before I hung up. She did and reported that he was breathing normally and sleeping peacefully. With that knowledge Mary Jo and I went back to our bedroom. Drained of energy, tired and restless, after what seemed like eternity, we drifted off to sleep.
Our sleep was interrupted by a bell ringing. At first I thought it was the alarm clock. As I glanced at the clock I saw that it was only 4:13 A.M. and I realized that the phone was ringing. Half asleep I fell out of bed as if somebody had violently pushed me. My heart was racing and my breathing labored as I rushed to the phone in the other room. Every fiber of my being intuitively knew that John had died. As I fumbled for the phone a part of me was hoping against hope that what I knew wasn't true. It was true, the Doctor at the hospital was now confirming it.
"What happened?" I ask with a voice half in control. "John went into a convulsion and didn't come out of it." "The convulsion didn't kill him, his heart gave out", was the terse reply.
Standing there in disbelief, I felt as if I had been given a thousand shots of Novocain. Tears started streaming down my face. I wanted to scream but couldn't. My body started to tremble and shake all over. As Mary Jo came running out of the bedroom I reached out for her. We clung to each other, looking for strength, not willing to accept what had just taken place.
Thoughts starting flashing through my mind: "What went wrong? Why did he have to die?
There was no expectation that he would die and he did. "GOD!!" I screamed, why did you do this to me? I have been a good Catholic boy all my life what did I do to deserve this? Is this how you reward the faithful? He was just a little boy God! He never did anything to anyone. He never harmed a flea. You took him and never gave him a chance to live. Why didn't you take me instead? God, GOD.....answer me....please..... I hate you God, I HATE YOU.
God didn't answer. There were no answers, only questions. Bewildered, falling apart, I felt my heart cracking like a fine piece of fragile china. My whole being was under attack by an invisible assailant called Death. I was in a rage. I didn't like what was going on, It wasn't fair. I wanted to fight back and there was no one to fight with.
Feeling hopelessly out of control I watched as Mary Jo grieved and cried. All I could think of is how much more difficult this must be for her. She carried John for nine months. I remembering watching the joy in her eyes when John began to move around inside of her. I remembered seeing John kicking against her stomach. Though she was in discomfort it was made bearable by the happiness she felt about the new life that she held and protected in her body. Looking into her eyes I knew that she was remembering.
Mary Jo was in pain, the most agonizing pain that I had ever seen another human being experience and I felt helpless to comfort her. I was her man, I had to muster the strength and fake courage if necessary because she needed me. A part of me resented that because I was dying inside and there was no one around to comfort me.
I suddenly saw myself as a little kid when I was hurting. Mom or Dad would pick me up, hug me and make everything better. This time they couldn't. It was something that I had to face alone and it frightened me. A part of me had died, my own flesh and blood. Why now? Why not later? If only I had known I could have prepared myself. There was an void in my life. Incredible waves of loneliness came over me and I wanted to vomit. I couldn't live. How could I? The loss was too large and the emptiness I was experiencing was too painful.
I started thinking, "John I can't live without you. Come back John. It's only a nightmare, isn't it? John you can't be gone, not yet! I have so many things to tell you, so many things to do with you, so many thing that I had planned for you."
"Little babies aren't suppose to understand, but you understand, don't you John. John? John, answer me, please?...
Did I ever tell you how much I loved you? How important you were to me? How happy you made me? No, I never did! I was afraid to tell you how I felt. I didn't want to get to emotionally involved because I was afraid of losing you. And I lost you anyhow, how stupid of me."
"I should have taken advantage of you when I had you and now I can't. If only I could do it all over again. I would cuddle you more, love you more, hug you more. I don't get a second chance, do I John?"
"I was playing the role of a man John. A man held his emotions in check. He didn't let them come out and I wanted to. Many times I wanted to let you know that I was afraid of losing you. Many times I wanted to tell you how very, very much I loved you and how you enriched my life. I never had the courage and now it's too late. John forgive me, I did my best and my best wasn't good enough."
"Secretly I hoped the phone would ring and somebody would tell me that it was all a horrible mistake John. It never did ring, it wasn't a mistake, was it John? You were gone and there was nothing.......... absolutely nothing I could do about it........................
March 6, 1981
Dear John:
It's fifteen years later and I still think about you. After all of these years I still carry the pain and hurt. I have hid my grief and I can no longer do that. I have to quit pretending to be a man so I can start becoming an authentic loving human being.
My suppressed grief has prevented me from loving others and being close to them and I have been dying of loneliness. I have allowed it to ruin my marriage to your mother, my career and my relationship with your brothers and sisters. I'm finally learning how to release my hurt John. I must, for it gets in the way of my caring and trusting in others.
I used to curse God for letting me carry all of this pain and sorrow. Only now am I able to see that He was urging me to let go and let God. When the pain became to unbearable I had no choice. If I was to live, I had to trust. I saw that I had to trust the God of my understanding, the God that lived within me and I had to trust that God unconditionally. In other words without physical proof that God existed or that He personally loved and cared for me. It took me these last fifteen years to get to that point.
At the moment I had the willingness to trust, I found God. He's real! Of course, you already knew that, didn't you? He exists and because of that I know that you exist. To love is to risk John. To not love is to be imprisoned in one's own personal hell. I have been there and have come back.
My invisible assailant of years gone by is becoming my friend. I'm going to die someday. The people I love will die someday. In the meantime I will risk, I will love, the best I can and as often as I can. With a new found peace I can now let you go.
Good-bye little John, until we meet again.
Love,
Dad
.
No comments:
Post a Comment