My dad's journal about losing his son 2 and half years ago at 18 years old. My older brother, my hero.
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BOYS MADE OF CLAY.
The night before Tegan passed away we sensed time was running out. As the sky quickly darkened the air grew eerily cold... and with each breath we felt a heavy, somber feeling grow within our hearts. That abyss that was inching to devour our son has its mouth stretched wide and was beginning to swallow him up.
We were preparing to cuddle with Tegan in his room to comfort him when we recieved a call from his best friend and next-door neighbor who wanted to see Tegan. Unaware that Tegan was already slipping away and was coming in and out of consciousness, we asked this young boy if we could speak to his mother. We told her Tegan didn't have much time and that perhaps her son would want to come over one last time. Within a few minutes of that call, this young boy came over to say goodbye to our baby, his best friend.
Tegan absolutely loved Luke. Tegan was always excited to spend time with him... So this last visit would mean more to Tegan than I think Luke realizes to this day.
What I witnessed in the quite of Tegan's room was the most tender interaction between two teenage boys I have ever seen. It was a sacred exchange between two boys made of clay - each being shaped by experience, hardship, sacrifice and love.
Lying on the bed was our young boy much too young to die. Standing next to him, another young boy holding his hand, bearing his young soul... much too young to say goodbye. It was not my place to ask God why such heavy things were required by hands of these two innocent souls. Instead, I began to ponder deeply and pray in my heart to understand what we were meant to learn from this hardship.
These aren't the only two teenagers to experience this, and they won't be the last. But they were our kids.. and we loved them so. It hurt so very much to see.
Luke, who had loved Tegan like a brother and faithfully served him with all his heart told Tegan how much he meant to him, that because of Tegan he learned what it meant to be a true friend and that he would never forget him. Luke struggled to hold back tears, his voice was broken with emotion, as Tegan lay unable to move or speak. His eye barely open, my little son listened to tender words of affection and friendship. My wife and I wept as we witnessed love and friendship in its purest form. I knew that Luke, Tegan's faithful friend, was breaking inside.
Afterward I hugged him and told him how much my wife and I loved and appreciated him. I told him I was sure if Tegan were able to speak he would tell Luke that he loved him like a brother and that he appreciated how he was always there to help him, and how much it meant to him that he always cheered him up when he was sad. I told Luke that he taught Tegan and his parents what it meant to be "your brother's keeper" and that we were so grateful to him.
Later that evening I couldn't help but think of that tender experience between these two boys who were forced to grow up much to fast.
I admit the burden of losing my presious son has my knees trembling, hands shaking and my soul in tremendous pain. There exist no words in human language to describe the depths of this sorrow. It is simply, utterly, bewildering heavy. But, like all suffering, the sting of that pain can make way to a deeper compassion towards others, a greater capacity to love, a stronger desire to reach toward God and understand His purposes.
The truth is, we are [all of us] no different than these two boys. We are all made of clay. And with each choice we make, each reaction to events in our life, we carve out something beautiful or something hideous - something that loves or hates. We need only look at our own life experience to know this is true... We have all seen some let the clay in their hearts harden and become brittle or unmovable. Others allow the tears of suffering to keep their clay soft and pliable.
It has been an agonizing 1 year and 7 months since I have seen my precious son. My clay is still drenced with tears and soggy. One day the tears will eventually dry and I will do all that I can to remain piable.
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Andie*
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