Psalm 23

I remember when I learned I was pregnant with my youngest son, Rick.

My husband and I went to visit some of his old college buddies in the Midwest and while we were there we did a lot of partying and drinking. The night before we were scheduled to come home we went to a night club and then stopped at White Castle for a late night snack.

The next morning I woke up with horrible stomach pain and nausea. My husband bought me some ginger ale to help settle my stomach, but by the time we got to the airport and boarded the plane I was a hot mess! Thank goodness that there were two restrooms on the plane because that’s where I remained for the duration of the flight. By the time we landed, I wasn’t able to stand or walk and I swore I would never eat another White Castle burger ever again.

My husband took me to the hospital where the E.R. doctor asked if I would be able to pee in a cup. I gave him that, “you must have lost your pure-Dee mind” look. Since I was dehydrated there was no way they’d be getting anything out of me anytime soon. They drew blood and a while later the doctor came in to talk to me. He began asking me questions about contraception and the date of my last period. Again, I looked at this man and wondered where he’d earned his medical degree. Clearly I had been poisoned by White Castle. Why was he asking me about my menstrual cycle?
I nearly fell on the floor when he told me that I was pregnant! It was Easter Sunday and I told my husband when he came in the room that the Easter Bunny had brought us a special present.

I had a very difficult pregnancy, went into premature labor at six months and spent the remainder of my pregnancy on bed rest, but delivered a healthy baby boy full term.

Rick and I always had a special relationship.
He’s my baby boy and I call him my comic relief because he always has a way of making me laugh.
He’s eighteen now and we butt heads a lot more often, but I love him dearly.

A few weeks ago I was sitting at home on a Saturday afternoon when I saw an article someone had posted on facebook. It was about a car accident involving two teenage boys from the suburban town where we used to live. The boys were seniors at the area high school. One was dead and the other had been taken to the hospital in critical condition.
I frantically read the article, praying I wouldn’t see a familiar name. We moved to that town when Rick was three years old and he had grown up with most of the kids there.
Because it’s a small town and small school district, the kids know each other well. I volunteered in Rick’s elementary school, chaperoned field trips, attended Cub Scout meetings, school plays, athletic events and birthday parties.
I saw a lot of Rick’s friends grow from pre-schoolers to high-schoolers.

The newspaper hadn't released the boys' names.

I called the news room where I used to be a reporter and asked the assignment editor the names of the boys.
She put the phone down to check.
My heart began to race.
“Please don’t let it be anyone we know, please don’t let it be anyone we know.”

I heard her pick the phone up and as she read the first name my heart dropped, my hand went to my mouth and I began to sob.

“Oh my God,” I wailed.

“Did you know the boys?” She asked.

“Yes,” Was all I could say and I sobbed some more.

I had just seen one of the boys at a black tie affair back in November. I hadn’t seen him since junior high and he had gotten so tall. He looked so handsome in his suit and I told him so. He asked how Rick was doing and asked me to tell him hello.
He was now in the hospital in a coma.

The other young man played football with Rick. He was a beautiful boy. My last memory of him was at a football game with a huge puff of brown hair jutting out of the back of his helmet.
He was dead.

That evening I picked Rick up from work and on the way home asked if he had heard anything about the accident.
He said he’d seen a few things on facebook, but didn’t really have much information.
I told him what happened and asked him if he was okay.
I asked him how he was feeling and we had a discussion about life and death.
Rick told me that he knows everyone has their “time”, but he was having a hard time understanding how it could be someone’s time that was the same age as him.

Over the next few days Rick rode an emotional rollercoaster. It was hard to see my son in pain and even harder when he shut me out. He spent hours in his room talking on the phone with a friend. My only comfort was that he at least had someone he could open up to.

Five days later we attended the funeral.
The high school cancelled classes for the day so students could say goodbye to their friend and classmate.
Rick wept periodically throughout the service.
He would occasionally drop his head and wipe tears from his cheek. I offered him a tissue, but he wouldn’t accept it.
It was a beautiful service and I cried a couple of times, but tried to hold back the tears and be strong for my baby.

The coffin was opened for viewing and I watched as hundreds of students passed by to pay their respects.
Some couldn’t look in his direction; others gave the Catholic sign of the cross as they passed. Tearful girls held each other and his teammates wept over the loss of a brother. Students, teachers, coaches and complete strangers all came to pay their respet to this popular young man.

His mother was the last to stand before him. Several minutes passed and music played softly as she had a private conversation with her first born son. She positioned items to rest with him in his coffin, adjusted his suit, stroked his face and said farewell to her baby.

The coffin was closed and the pallbearers gathered around. They each grabbed a handle and lifted it to their shoulders and prepared to carry him out. The finality of it all was too much for Rick and he began to sob. I pulled my child to my shoulders, just as I had done when he was a baby and comforted him. His body heaved in my arms and I held him tighter.
Tears rolled down my face and the sanctuary filled with the cries of hundreds of broken hearts.
The interment was closed to anyone outside the family because it would have caused traffic issues, but we managed to go with members of my family who were Godparents to the young man’s mother. Rick was able to place a flower on his friend’s coffin and say a personal goodbye.

On the day of the funeral, the surviving boy was released from the hospital and transferred to a rehabilitation facility. I asked Rick if he’d like to go visit him and he looked at me with eyes full of hope and joy.

The ride home that afternoon was a quiet one. Rick asked if he could spend time with friends and I wasn’t going to deny him that. He left the program and obituary resting on the arm of the sofa so I took it upstairs and placed it in a drawer for safekeeping.

The morning of the accident I remember being upset with Rick about something that he hadn’t done that I’d asked him to do the night before and I was SO annoyed with him. I wondered what this mother’s last words were to her son the morning he left to coach a youth basketball league. Was she upset with him as I was with Rick? Had he forgotten to take out the garbage? Did he tell her that he loved her? Was she able to say the same?

It will be hard at times, but I’m going to be sure from now on to make sure I tell my boys how much I love them… especially when they walk out the door because we never know if it will be our last opportunity to hold our babies.