In January, my son Michael died. The day we took him to the hospital, I wrote this Facebook post. It received such a response from my FB friends that I decided to share it with you...


Last night, Mikie had a long seizure that required he go to the hospital. When we got him stabilized, which in this case was also sedated, I was sitting by his bed, watching him sleep and I thought back to the time many years ago when he had an awful seizure that required he be so sedated that he had to be put on life support. (This was a while back, so I may have some medical terms wrong…bear with me. :) I think the story is worth it.)

The next day, when he awoke, he told me that he’d died and talked to God. I said, “Really.” He said, “Yes. I sat on Jesus’s lap and he said, Sorry, Buddy, but somebody’s got to have this disease. Allen (his brother) has important things he has to do. So he can’t have it. Sarah (his sister) is flighty. She can’t handle it. So it’s up to you. Because this is really important.” Mikie asked him why it was important that someone have epilepsy, and Jesus said he wasn’t allowed to tell. But it was important and being sick was going to be hard, but he could handle it.

And…

Mikie sat up and looked me right in the eye and said, “And Jesus said tell your mom she has to help you.”

The interesting thing about that story wasn’t that Mikie might have visited heaven – though that’s pretty interesting – the thing is, after that chat, Mikie was empowered. His suffering had purpose. Every time he couldn’t do something like play high school football or drive, his mind would take him back to the chat with God, wherein he was told his disease, his suffering had meaning and it wasn’t just a matter of him “handling” whatever problem came up. He handled it with pride. Because he had a mission. A purpose.

We all probably have a purpose. But most of us see our mundane existence as reason to doubt it, and we see our troubles as reason to think God doesn’t love us. Mikie sees his troubles as proof God DOES love him. In fact, God loves and trusts him enough that he gave him a mission. A hard one.

As I sat there watching his chest rise and fall with the help of a ventilator, I also remembered the time when he was six or so (before the visit with Jesus) when he had had some sort of problem at school. I can’t remember what the problem was. Six was over thirty years ago. LOL But I do remember stooping down in front of him saying, “Look. You’re not different. You’re not special. You are Mikie and this is Mikie’s life. The only life you get. Enjoy the good. Accept or handle the bad. And be Mikie.”

When driving to the doctor’s office or making one of our many shifts in meds that weren’t always fun, I’d remind him, “This is part of being Mikie.” I’d also remind him of that when he got out of school early for an appointment, so he’d see being Mikie had its upside.

Anyway, I never really thought too much about it. To me, I was teaching Mikie to recognize that his roll of the life dice might not have been perfect, but there was good in there too. And if he looked for the good, he wouldn’t just recognize it, he could exploit it. Enjoy it. LOL

In this day and age of parents telling their kids they are special snowflakes and they can be, have or do anything they want, while our country’s depression rates go up and up and up, I sometimes wonder what would happen if more parents told their kids…You’re not different. You’re not special…You’re Alice or Pete or Julie or Carson. And this is your life. Enjoy the good stuff. Handle or accept the bad. But live your life. YOUR life. As it is. Warts and all.

As I write this, Mikie is still heavily sedated. Right now, we don’t know how this will turn out. If he’ll have brain damage. If they’ll discover he also had a stroke. Or if he’ll wake up and remind me that Jesus told him I had to help him…LOL

But we do know we’ll make the best of it. We might not always be happy, but happiness isn’t supposed to be a permanent state. It’s a high point.

We’ll enjoy the good. Accept or handle the bad. And live our lives.