These are the last pictures that I took of Jeremy. These were taken on June 1st. Little did I know it would be the last time that I could gaze into those beautiful hazel eyes. On this particular day, Jeremy was sprinting off the ventilator. He was doing so well. This test had proved that his lungs could recover if they could get his heart to work properly. He struggled to breathe and that was so hard to watch. He hated that Bipap machine and he was so mad! It hurt me to watch him and to see him not be able to settle or calm down. That being said, it was also a beautiful day watching him seem to pass through another "hole of cheese". One of his doctors has described Jeremy's chances of survival like cutting up a block of swiss cheese and then lining them all back up again. Jeremy needed to pass through many holes of cheese on his journey at the hospital. He never seemed to be able to do things in the time frame that they wanted him to, he had his own time. He eventually would make each goal that was set for him but just in his own good time. Better yet, he was on God's time.
Sadly, I did not ever let myself let go of the hope that we would make it out of that hospital with our son in our arms. I never expected to get the tragic news just a few days later that he would suffer a brain bleed that was significant and would not recover from. I knew the day before that he was not right. I could not put my finger on it but I knew in my heart that something was very wrong and I remember not wanting to leave him that night. The doctors could not find anything obvious and we all settled into the thought that he had worn himself out working so hard to breathe without the assistance of the ventilator. The next morning would prove otherwise... I guess in our terms, he ran out of time. In God's time, he completed his work here, and it was time for him to go to his forever home to live eternally with Jesus.
The day these pictures were taken I also remember feeling so encouraged, like we were really going to make it. We had come so far and we were almost there...Another one of Jeremy's doctors was also running a marathon that day. She was out of state and yet we talked and shared success stories. Jeremy was rooting for her and she was rooting for him. They really had a connection and a relationship that was beautiful to witness. I wonder sometimes if he visits her and if she can still feel his heartstrings. Knowing her, she carries Jeremy and so many other children in her heart each and every day of her life.
As hard as it is to believe, we are running through the final stretches of the first year without our son, Jeremy. Some moments have been so painful and seemed to last for an eternity and yet a whole year has almost passed and it feels like his death was yesterday. Foolishly, my heart wants to believe that if I just go back to the hospital, he will be right there, right where I left him. That's just the way it feels. He left this earth and flew straight into the arms of Jesus. He left me here... I left him, at least his earthly body, at the hospital. I will never forget that moment when we walked onto the elevator for the last time. We would leave the hospital without our son for good.
My heart remembers and I am so sad today... I once again find myself dragging my feet wishing that I didn't have to face the pain that Monday will bring. If I have learned anything, I have learned that Monday will come and I will endure the pain. There will be footprints in the sand to prove that the Lord will carry me through that day too. He did promise to NEVER leave my side and he hasn't.
2 comments:
With all the mysteries of life, I will never quite understand those moments where we are granted a little bit of hope, only to find the grim truth so soon after. I'm sure that made it so much harder for you to move on. Jeremy was doing better, in a way. He was showing signs of improvement, when in reality it was his final stretch...his final week of life here.
When my best friend was in the ICU years ago, clinging to life, we had a very similar experience. I had arrived at the hospital one evening to a meeting with the doctors. They were discussing the option of putting her on a feeding tube to help her body fight the infection that was raging inside of her. As those around me were encouraged about the possibility of her improvement, I was so afraid to hold onto any hope as I felt it was false hope. "This is good news, Julie!" they tried to tell me, but I simply shook my head, knowing this was the end. As it would be, that day when I stood by her bedside, I could tell something was very different, very wrong. Those around me, including the nurses and doctors, tried to reassure me, telling me nothing had changed. The next day was when we learned the damage to her brain from oxygen loss was catastrophic. Days later she was gone. In the months that followed her death, I did the same thing you mentioned. Every time I would pass the hospital, I wanted so badly just to go up there and visit her. I kept thinking, "Maybe if I just go up to the hospital she'll still be there." I thought I was foolish but now realize it's just part of that grief process.
As for understanding those moments of "false hope" we go through, maybe God wants us to look at it differently. For you, I know you cherished every minute you got to gaze into those eyes, every second your little guy showed you what a fighter he was. Maybe it was just God's way of letting you know, "this will be a struggle you could never have fathomed, but like Jeremy, you need to take it one day at a time, not like a sprint, but a marathon." Maybe he just needed to teach us some lessons through Jeremy's last months. As you have said many times, those two months were some of the longest and painful days you have ever spent. You learned so much from them about taking one day, one minute at a time. I think we could all learn from Jeremy to approach life with the same attitude. This life with it's twists and turns and unexpected battles, such as the ones he faced every day, is going to wear us out. It's going to take every ounce of strength we have to get through it and make it to the finish line. Along the way, there will be pit stops, little tents where we can "re-fuel" with the drinks and snacks provided by volunteers. On the sidelines we will have those we love cheering us on, telling us to keep going, with us all the way until we are done.
As you face the pain of remembering this time last year, I pray that God will enlighten the eyes of your heart to see it from Jeremy's perspective. Maybe those hazel eyes were sparkling because they were beginning to see the end of the marathon! Maybe his last ditched effort and struggle to pull through was not to make it for this life, but to make it to the goal His father had in heaven for him! Maybe those beautiful eyes had already glimpsed the glory and majesty that awaited him at the finish line. May we all live life with such strength, perseverance, hope, and faith! You've made it through the uphill part of your marathon, sweet fighter. Hang in there and listen for the cheers and encouragement of those around you...you will make it through to the very end! I applaud you as well and can't wait until we reach that finish line one day with our glorious King!!
Fellow runner,
Julie
Amy we have never met, but I follow you through my dear friend. In fact I'm hoping to meet you at our retreat in the fall ;)!
Know that you have so many warriors out here, praying for you and your family. You are on my mind all the time and I praise God that you know Him and are trying so hard to understand it all. Yet, even in this sorrow you are choosing to still follow Him. How unbelievable!
I pray that He helps you through this day. Thank you for being such a wonderful example of God's unfailing love!
~Jenn
Post a Comment