"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 16

It was one hour after I had reminded God of his promise.

Dutch and I embraced and cried, and yet he detected a faint smile on my lips. I was so relieved that it was all over. The house was quiet - no more loud and labored breathing.

Dutch told me that while I had been sleeping, Todd’s breaths had come further and further apart. His hands grew cold and turned blue.

Dutch prayed: "God bless you, Son. Thank you Jesus."

And then the suffering was over.

Grandpa said: "He has been a good boy."

Dutch felt a coldness in the room. Todd’s spirit had left his body.

They laid him down to make him look more comfortable and tried to close his dehydrated eyelids.

Before entering the room, I stopped at the door and breathed a prayer: "Dear God, help me to bear it. Be with me when I go in there."

I tried again to close Todd’s eyes completely. As I looked at them I knew that that which was Todd was not in them anymore.

We had decided ahead of time that we would take Todd to the hospital ourselves and allow them to perform an autopsy. Perhaps it would help other children. Dutch shaved (he sprouted a one-week beard) and got dressed while I called the doctor. Yes, he would notify the emergency room that we were bringing Todd in and he would meet us there. I called Mother and some friends.

We wrapped Todd in a blanket and I slipped into the back seat of the car with him. His lifeless head weighed so heavy on my arm. I had draped the blanket over his face. Dutch, in a loving reflex motion, had pulled it back again.

After a 20-minute trip to the hospital, I was eager to have a nurse bring a gurney so I could place my lifeless bundle on it for her to take away.

There was paperwork. Todd was pronounced dead on arrival.

"Do you have his identification card with you?"

"No, but I do remember his number: 506679."

Then we sat in the conference room with the doctor. He served coffee and allowed us to talk. We were interrupted time and again by nurses coming in for morning report. They apologized and withdrew, but we realized it was time to go home. A new day had started at the hospital.

When we got home, Grandma had fixed breakfast. A friend met us at the door with, "I’ll bet he’s already organized a baseball game in heaven." She embraced us with tears streaming down her face. I went to Todd’s room. There were his books and an untouched bottle of pain pills. The monopoly game was set up, the dice ready to be thrown. "Little Toot" was till on the record player. It was all the same, but silent.

During breakfast Dona dropped by with some baked goods. "He is rejoicing with the Lords," she said.

Then we went to Forest Lawn to make the arrangements. The people there had respect for our feelings. They served coffee and made suggestions. Then they left us alone to talk.

A battle was going on within me. "Nothing but the best is good enough. How can we think of cost at a time like this?" And yet, it all seemed so pointless. Todd was gone. What possible difference could it make what we did with the body?

"It’s out of respect for his life that we do it," Dutch said.

The counselor kept us in line by suggesting medium-cost items. He pointed out our natural desire to go overboard and advised against it. Dutch stood on many different lots and checked the view we would have when visiting the grave. Finally he was satisfied.

Did we want flowers, and could we bring the clothes we wanted Todd to wear? Did we want a tent set up at the gravesite, in case it rained? How about announcements in the papers? Who would the organist and soloist be, and how many police escorts did we need?

"You don’t have to decide right now. Just let us know."

On the way home, it was my turn to cry. I was sitting at the kitchen table weeping when a neighbor came with food. My tears left her helpless to say more than "I’m sorry." I was still weeping when Pastor Roufs arrived. My head hurt and I was exhausted. I told him that everything seemed pointless. He said we didn’t need to make any more funeral arrangements that day.

"Pastor, we’d like you to think about giving an altar call at the funeral," Dutch said.

Mother lovingly transplanted Todd’s favorite flowers from his garden into bowls. She added a little white angel and pictures of the statue of Christ that Todd had so often admired. None of the many fancy flower arrangements matched the beauty of Mother’s creation.

After a short rest we went back to Forest Lawn.

"Todd is ready now," the hostess said. You can go see him."

"Oh, no! Not yet! I’m not ready!….. You go," I said to Dutch and Mother. "I’ll go later. Not now. I can’t."

My knees felt like butter, and my stomach was churning. How could I look at the lifeless form that had been my son?

"You don’t understand!" I felt like screaming.

"He was once a part of me. He came from my womb. I know what he feels like, what he smells like. I can trace the contours of his hands in my mind. What will he look like now?"

They encouraged me to come along. "You’ll have to see him some time. It might as well be now."

Why couldn’t the elevator be slower, the halls longer, to delay what I must face? Even at the door I pushed Mother and Dutch ahead of me and stood to the side so as to not catch a glimpse before I was ready.

"Dear God, you have to help me! I can’t take this! Please go in with me. Hold my hand."

There it was that……… body. It had all of Todd’s characteristics, but Todd wasn’t there.

I grew excited. "It doesn’t look like him. Praise God! I know Todd isn’t here anymore! He’s with the Lord. This isn’t Todd. It is just what is left of him here. I’m so glad."

Later I got out pictures of Todd smiling, full of life. "That’s Todd, here," I would say. "That body is not Todd."

A woman introduced herself as the one who had prepared Todd’s body. She apologized that, since Todd was bald, they had not been able to camouflage the incisions on his head left by the autopsy. Todd had been wearing his baseball cap everywhere but to bed, so we decided to put his hat on him now. No one else saw the body until the cap was in place.

We fell into bed early that night. We held each other and cried awhile, drawing on each other for strength.