I went over to his house today. I've been wanting to share all that stuff with him that I wanted to say. But time keeps ticking by and instead of making excuses for why I couldn't do it, I just did it. The first thing I see as I walk in is his wheelchair. There are baby monitors around just in case he needs help. There's a special seat over the toilet. There's a wheelchair ramp. His face is puffy from steroids and the right side of his face droops. His right arm lays next to him almost like it wasn't part of his body anymore... a noticeably thinner arm than the left. The muscle tone is disappearing and his skin is softening.
I wonder how he is feeling and what he is thinking. And I don't know whether he's able to share that with me. I don't know whether he wants to share that with me. How must it be, to helplessly watch your own body wither?
I couldn't even get through five minutes without tearing up. And so I cried. And I told him a few things that I had wanted to say. And there were things I forgot to say. And things I wasn't ready to say. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. That's for sure. And maybe that's something I should never say until he is laid to rest.
It breaks my heart that he is dying. I wonder if his mother is scared each morning when she wakes, wondering if she will find her son has passed away. I wonder if he is ready. I wonder if she is ready. You know, when you are in a situation like that, you just do what you have to do. And abnormal situations become normal. When you have no choice... no alternative, you have to embrace the only situation you have. And his mom is doing really well. She is amazing. And I know it brings her joy to be able to care for her son.
God... it looks to me as though there is no coming back from this. You know what is going on. So please consider it all. And let him pass on in peace, away from pain and away from heartache. Away from frustration. Thank you for him. For his love and patience and faithfulness. And take him Home.