The son of a good friend was stricken by the sudden onset of a serious illness. This young man lived with health problems for most of his life, and we greatly admired the courage of his entire family. His mother was a member of our social group, and when I learned about the extreme nature of her son’s condition, I could think of nothing else.
I called the hospital, and the minute I heard her voice I knew I had to be there. It was late at night, but the kindness shown to me at the hospital is something that I will remember for a long time. It’s the kind of treasure that one can pass on.

We met outside the son’s room, and we clung to each other. My friend said over and over again, “Why is this happening?”

I searched for the right words, but they did not come to me, “I have no answer for you or for me.”

Sometimes, during times of great need, a person lets you know the basis of her faith in the goodness of life. This was such a time. I know in my heart that we are never given a greater burden than we can bear, but it is so hard, so very hard. Once again, I searched for the right words, and this time they came. “I know in my own heart, that this is so true.”

We entered her son’s room and listened to the doctor read from a print-out describing what had just happened. The information was very bad indeed. I sensed, rather than
heard, that life was ending for this young man, and that the end would come soon.

I knew that my friend was close to exhaustion and had had little to eat that day. The nurses helped us prepare some food and drink, and we retreated to a waiting room. I tried to persuade her to go home and get some rest, but she needed to be near her son.

The hour was very late, so I asked if we could go back into the room before I left. We stood by the bedside, and my friend started to talk to her son, caressing him gently. As I listened, I knew that I was hearing a mother speaking softly to her child. She talked about what the doctor had said, what was being done, and what might be the most important piece. His wife had been to visit and was now home with their children. It was a very private and tender moment between a mother and child.

In the parking lot, I met a mutual friend who had come to visit. I was so thankful that my friend would have someone else with her who cared for her and could understand some of what she was experiencing.

The next night, I came to visit and tried, once again, to persuade this mother to sleep at home and to get some proper food. She wanted to stay in the hospital. We visited for a time before we went into her son’s room. We stood there and again, knowing how exhausted she really was, I suggested that she spend the night at home.

She put one arm around me, and not taking her eyes from her son, she said, “I was with him when he came into this life, and I will be with him when he goes to his next life.”
We stood there while I thought about my own children, the love of their mother, and what it would mean to me to lose a child. My friend’s son died two days later, with his
mother at his side, when there was nothing more to be done.

While I have heard many stories of the courage of parents who have lost a child, this is the story that I remember best. I know many bereaved people who lost a child, often decades ago, who talk about the death as if it happened yesterday. I am continually in awe of the strength, the gentle acceptance, and the absence of blame on the part of these parents. What becomes most clear is that the impact of a child’s death is so evident after so many years have passed.