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"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 13 |
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Most of us live as if we’re going to exist forever here on this earth. We seldom think about our days being numbered. What do you do when you are told you have two weeks left? Two weeks to cram all your feelings into; two weeks in which to do all the things you’ve always wanted to do, to say all the things you wanted to be sure to say; two weeks in which to live a whole lifetime. One night in the car on the way home from the grocery store I heard Evie sing, "If Jesus comes tomorrow, we’ve got just one more day." Thoughts started whirling in my mind. I left the groceries to be unpacked later and tried to put those thoughts down on paper. |
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The next day I asked Dutch to give my "poem" to Pastor Roufs to see what he tough of it. This is how he had it printed in the church Newsletter:
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There was to be a short play performed by children at one of the schools. Some of Todd’s friends were in the play so we were invited to come to the performance. I didn’t know if Todd would be up to it, but he promised to rest beforehand so he would be strong enough to go. We packed several thermos bottles full of ice, his constant companion now. He would chew it by the handful whenever he felt the urge to cough. He sat on my lap and enjoyed the performances. Afterward we had to go up an incline to get to the car. Once, Todd would have run up that driveway. Now he had to take it very slowly, one step at a time. He was so weak, and the air capacity in his lungs was so small. I couldn’t carry him- he thought that hurt more than walking. I could only support him slightly. Finally we made it to the car. I planned to take Todd home. "No, Mom, let’s go to Verdugo Park for a while. Please! I’ll even talk to you. About Jesus or anything. Just let’s go." It was one of those rare days with bright sunshine and clear blue skies. We found a nice spot in Todd’s favorite park and sat cherishing God’s beautiful world. He leaned against me, chewing his ice, for an hour. A man was throwing a ball for his little puppy. Time and time again the dog would run after it so fast that he tripped over his own little legs and rolled in the grass. Todd giggled and longed for his dog King. He hoped King was waiting for him in heaven. Reluctantly, we left, but we didn’t return home. We stopped by Todd’s school. School was out, but the teachers were still there. Todd came to say good-bye. I knew it; Todd knew it; the teachers knew it. Yet none of us said so. Todd hadn’t been to school for a while so he was eager to say hi to all the mice, hamsters, and other animals the class took care of. It was a private moment as he sat on the floor in front of the little cages. A warm embrace from his teacher, which he endured in spite of the pain, marked the end of our little visit. A sad little boy sat down in the car. Then his first grade teacher came running out, trying to hide her tears. By then Todd was so tired physically and emotionally that he hardly responded. The principal was not there, but he came to the house later. Todd was proud that his principal would come and practice cursive writing with him. His visit meant very much to Todd. His teacher came a number of times, bringing piles of cards the children had made for Todd. They were decorated with all kinds of things. Some even popped out when opened. It had been our practice to display all cards along the walls in his room, but there were so many now that we ran out of room. Then his teacher had the class write compositions, and she brought them by so Todd could correct and grade them. He worked hard, trying to be fair and kind in grading them. What an honor it was for him! We encouraged him to take his time, but he wanted to get them done. And perhaps he knew best. Had he waited, he probably would not have had the strength to finish them. All through his illness, we had tried to talk to Todd about what was going to happen to him so he could be prepared. We thought that would take away some of the fear of the unknown. But this was different. We thought he was going to die. How could we tell him that? Once he said, "I must be getting better, or you would be taking me to a miracle service." |
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didn’t have the heart to crush that flicker of hope. Always in the
past when things were rough, we could promise that little by little, he
would feel better. How could we prepare him for feeling worse each day?
So we said nothing. But he knew when he said his good-byes. He knew when we had our last hour in the park. Jesus I Double Love you |
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