No Such Thing as False Hope

Nov. 11. This day last year I was beside David's bed on the 11th floor of the Critical Care Tower of MCV in Richmond, in the Neuroscience ICU, while he lay in his coma. I had great hope that we would have a miracle given to us and have our beloved son, brother, lover, and friend returned to us. One of the young neurosurgeon residents came by that day and told me he didn't want me to have false hope. I was able to look him square in the eye and tell him without any doubt, that there is no such thing. I told him I hoped that on the day his first child is born, whenever that may be, he would think of me and realize that hope is the only option we have when we have a critically ill child. There is no other reasonable option. We can only have hope that our precious one will heal and live. Hope by definition can't be false; it is "a wish or desire accompanied by a confident expectation of fulfillment... even when there is little reason or justification(American Heritage College Dictionary,Houghton Mifflin Company, 2002). I told the doctor I believed that when the day came when he would hold his first child and looked into his or her eyes, he would know with certainty that if she was ever to be in David's place, where the doctors tell you there is less than a 1% chance of her survival, that he would hope the doctors would soon join him in celebrating a miracle. Period. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Would I do it again, given the same or worse prognosis? Yes, without question, though I shudder to think I could ever survive it again.

The past few months have been a time of growth. Many times I thought to write but couldn't even think of how to wrap words around what was going on inside me. Still there are waves of acceptance, pain, horror, panic, guilt, anger, and then releasing my disbelief and submitting to the finality of my boy's absence. The pain, though it is less intense most of the time, still has the disabling power to bring me to my knees. I cry mostly alone now; in the beginning months I needed my loved ones' embraces. I have more vision of a future without David in our family than I did a few months ago; for a long time I just couldn't consider imagining it. If the thought of a future holiday without David came to mind, I would toss it out just as quick. I have developed strategies for getting around falling apart at inconvenient times, like at school, without feeling like I am dishonoring the memory of my son. I have learned to listen to him more; if I pause and ask him what he'd have me do, or what he would do if he were here, I can usually "hear" him. This encourages me. It makes some decisions easier.

I finally had a dream of David a few weeks ago. In the dream he had been injured in the recent past, though he appeared unharmed and normal. We knew the injury would be fatal, in time, and that there was nothing to be done about it. There was no panic or extremem emotion at all in the dream, even though I was asking doctors and nurses if there couldn't maybe be one thing they hadn't thought of .... and then there was David, his old happy self, with a smile and a chuckle, with his hand on my back, saying, "It's okay Mom, it really is. Everything's as it supposed to be." Then we went about our family event, maybe it was Pizza Night, or some other time, like so many we have where all the kids are at my house, hanging out, eating, laughing and just enjoying each other's company. When I woke up I looked at the clock. It read 4:40. The exact time of David's death. I felt that entire day as though we'd had a visit, a real visit. I was able to hear his voice and laughter, see his handsome face, feel his loving touch and experience a peace and acceptance with him that everything is okay. It was a bittersweet feeling, but I've had more peace since.

I haven't dreamed of him since. I changed my morning alarm setting to 4:40; just to make another small way to stay connected, to keep the "silver cord" strong between us. I have also gone to drying my hair with his old t-shirts, for the same reason. Even if I never dream of David again, I will remember this visit we had, and know it was real, and that he wanted me to know I should be at peace, that he is, and that I can hope for the day when I will join him in the hereafter.

For this anniversary weekend coming up, I will focus on what David would want, set tingabout making Jonathan's birthday celebration on Saturday a big gig. Last year the 13th was the day we all said our goodbyes. Jonathan is sure it took the cake for the crappiest of all birthdays, ever. I know we will never forget that Jonathan's birthday and David's death were one day apart, but this year we will honor David's spirit by not being sad at all- we will celebrate our lives and how lucky we are to have today together, as he would have it. I think there will be a keg and wings involved.

xxoo