When Do You Let Go?

I sang for a funeral today. A lovely, elderly lady, who had many children, grandchildren, family who loved her. The celebration of her life was simple, peaceful, perfect.

As I sang, I started to think of how we could have lost Andante this summer. Only 15 months from his birth, and I was already facing the possibility. I know, it could happen any day, any time, any where, from any thing. Still, no one thinks they will ever loose a child.

I knew I could not let myself think about this any further. I had a job to do. I had to sing this mother to her new mission: to lead her sons and daughters to their next existence.

As the Mass progressed, I came to the song that I wrote when my grandfather passed away. The family that I was singing for always requests me to sing this song. And before today, it was always a pleasure. Today, it was bittersweet.


I made it through. I sang the Ave Maria and Precious Lord, along with some others. As I sang, I was so into my “professional mindset” that I breezed through them like always. I gave the songs the emotion they call for, but as for what I was feeling… I was turned off, tuned out, shut down.

When the Mass ended, I walked my accompanist out to her car, and then headed for mine to go and pick up my son. The words to Heavenly Garden began to play in my mind.

I worry every day. What next? Will he be ok? Could that kill him? Will I loose him? What if I am not there? How would I ever survive without him?

And then I began to think of my friend Gracie, whose little boy Aaron is in the hospital again, fighting for his life. (See Right Column to read about Aaron) The Doctor’s do not know what to do other than to keep him comfortable.

How does one deal with the impending death of a child? When is it time to let him go? [Have I] done all that I can for him? What if we wait one more day – will he suffer more than is necessary? What if we let him go and then they find the cure soon after? How do I let him go?

All questions she has asked before privately; now openly. Who has the answers? Who has the right to even try to give suggestions as to what this poor mother should do? Why Lord, does she have to make this choice?

I know what I have told her. I can only hope that if I was ever in this situation, God forbid, that I would be strong enough to be able to make the choice. I don’t know if I could. It is easy for me to say what she should or shouldn’t do now. I am not in her position. But I do think about it often since Aaron has been in the hospital. What if I have to let go of my precious son, or just as worse, one of my girls?

God, see me not to that day.

Another mother of our group, Kendra, who’s two sons have Eosinophilic Esophagitis (EE) knows all too well how much closer to death we all live. Reprinted with her permission, she wrote this in response to Gracie’s call for answers:

When do you let go? You let go when Aaron is ready to be let go. When what is keeping him here is his love for you, knowing that you are not ready to let go. Is he there yet? I don't know. You've heard what Aaron has to say. What does your heart say?

Praying for wisdom. No. I cannot bring myself to pray for wisdom. To pray for wisdom is to yearn for something logical in the most illogical of circumstances. That is a prayer that will most certainly go unanswered. I will pray instead that you [and your family] can open your hearts to acceptance. Acceptance of God's will, whatever that is. Acceptance of Aaron's life as it is now, and as it is intended. Acceptance that the answers you seek may remain unanswered. Acceptance of the hurt that you have now (will always have!) ,for the pain that you child has endured.



When does one let go of a loved one? When they are only remaining here for your sake and not theirs.




Seriously!

TinaMarie