Boys

Three little boys died in our state this weekend.  One only lived two weeks; the other two lived longer, but certainly not long enough by our mortal standards.  I don't know why the baby died -- have only heard about his death through a Facebook reference, and am uncertain whether it was due to a birth-related illness or to prematurity.  It doesn't matter. My Cody arrived prematurely; I have been in that spot where every breath becomes a prayer for that tiny child's survival.  I cannot imagine the crushing despair when that prayer is not answered.  Does that baby's mother still have the strength to believe in God?  I don't know if I would. 

The other two deaths were the results of accidents.  In other words, a simple moment -- a terrible, reversible, simple moment -- stole these two boys from their families.  These are the deaths that will keep me awake tonight.  These are the deaths that chill me, even though I faced Cody's death daily when he was born nine years ago.  It is one thing to anticipate a death, even when your soul cries out against it. It is another thing to assume your child is safe and healthy, only to have death snatch him from you in the time it takes to turn your head.

Cody is nine now; at one time in his life, he could have been that baby.  Now, he could have been either of those two older boys. One died in a freak ranching accident -- the kind of thing that is so rare, one doesn't even think about taking precautions against it.  The other died in a dangerous experiment, unattended.  He was 12 -- old enough to be left alone for a while.

Again, I don't know if I would have the strength of spirit to be those parents.  From what I understand, none of them can be blamed for negligence or for allowing their child to indulge in risky behavior.  From what I understand, one family had to make the decision to turn off the life-support equipment and allow their son to die.  I barely managed to heal from this decision when my 62-year-old father's death was the result; this was a 10-year-old boy.
From what I understand, the other boy was discovered by his sister; her heart is broken, I'm sure.

Living here in the country, we are well-attuned to the risks inherent in this life.  Shawn and I take any reasonable precaution to prevent the accidents we can foresee.  Cody doesn't drive the four-wheeler or shoot a shotgun; he is allowed to play with his B.B. gun only with permission and supervision.  The horses he rides meet Shawn's high standards for reliability and safety.  I've carefully outlined the boundaries where he and his sisters can play outside, and rehearsed what to do if they encounter a snake.  There is a list of emergency telephone numbers posted by the phone, and he knows how to dial 911.  On the days I work in town, his dad makes sure to meet the bus after school and stay around the ranch yard until an older sister is home to babysit.  We use seatbelts, sunscreen, and riding helmets.  And yet . . . . in any moment, an illness can strike, an accident can happen, and every precaution we take will not be enough to save our children.

My Cody's weekend was filled with chores, homework, church, errands, and even a wonderful surprise and dinner with good friends. Tonight he attended his first 4-H meeting.  His life is full to overflowing, and he fills our lives, too.   I don't know why I have my son with me, and three other mothers are mourning theirs. There is much that I don't know.

What I do know is that life is not fair. I know that, here on the ranch or anywhere, we are just not in charge. I know that the only time I have for sure is right now. And I know that, right now, I just want to hold my Cody, to thank God for my boy . . . and to pray for the three boys who are with God right now.