Mister Speaks

If you stay on this planet long enough, you’ll find you end up back where you started. No matter your path, direction, gender, nationality, it remains that noon will always come around again, and you’re guaranteed one sunrise and sunset.

I’ve taken that journey myself, although it seems I’ve had the longest night I can remember. If you’ve been reading this blog of my wife’s, you know what has happened, so I’ll spare you the details. If you don’t, then know that two and one-half years ago, our second son was born to us much too early, Laura having suffered a stroke in addition to other undiagnosed medical issues.

You don’t ever get over it, but you do get better with it—some days are a struggle for me to put one foot in front of the other, and other days are, well, as normal as you can be for burying your son. The point is, it’s been a long night of fitful sleep, the occasional nightmares, and longing for the dawn.

Surely, there’s some great lesson in all of this, or so people tell me. Sometimes I let that advice pass; sometimes I want to shake the person that tells me this. Reality is harsh on raw nerves and ravaged souls. My great lesson was this: take what you have and be thankful, thankful that my wife lived, thankful that my oldest son is such a gift, thankful for the friends and family who offered their love and support. But mostly, BE THANKFUL FOR WHAT YOU GOT AND DON’T ASK FOR MORE. We dodged a bullet that rightly should have devastated my family. Laura escaped a stroke with no neurological deficits and came out with a diagnosis her doctors could treat.

No sane person looks down the barrel of a gun, dodges the first bullet, and asks for another trigger pull. We lock these people away. But what if the lesson is different? What if, as the long awaited dawn approaches, there is another purpose? Daylight can certainly bring clarity to a dreadful situation, for at the break of dawn comes hope. My favorite author, J.R.R. Tolkien rescues the hopeless at dawn. My faith’s oldest celebration, the Resurrection, is celebrated at dawn.

I am seeing the approaching dawn, and life is not hopeless. As a medical professional, I’m accustomed to risk, benefits, probabilities, prognoses, and the like. Medicine and nursing have taught me we know what we know, and that I don’t like to gamble. Gambling gets people killed.

Simply stated, my personal lesson is this: the test of my faith was not in whether or not my family and I would survive the awful loss of Liam with God’s help, but rather do I have faith that God will see us through to another child? Should I be content with what I have and not tempt destiny, or place my self and family solely in the hands of God? This is surrender.

We are no more in control of the giving and taking of life than anyone else on this earth, so let me get that out of the way. However, with the close monitoring of our doctors, adjustment of medications, the continuing remission of Lupus, and of course our faith, we have started our journey to attempt to bring another Zumwalt into this world, another sibling for Isaac and Liam, hopefully bringing our new count to Zumwalt, party of five. You see, it’s been a long night for us, but at dawn, we’re back where we started.