If I Believed in Angels

The following is dedicated to all the children who die far to early and to the many, many families left in grief and pain. Time may be the only confort......

My grandson, Jon-Michael, died just four days past his eighth month birthday. As this is written, that sad hour occurred just over thirty days ago. The inoperable and aggressively cancerous brain tumor pressed inexorably into his delicate mid-brain structures and, acting as would a hand that turns back a rotary switch, caused him to drop into a thankfully painless sleep before finally closing off the life force that had once sustained his innocent heart.

Six days prior to his death, someone in the family caught his digital image while he rested in the arms of his mother. It´s one of my favorite pictures of Jon-Michael. In it, and for one of the last times before he slipped into irreversible sleep, his eyes are open and focused. His left hand rests at his chin. It conceals the surgically inserted trach - placed there at almost three months of age to help him breathe and swallow. His face and eyes are turned towards his mom. The picture has a glow about it, an angelic aura projecting a sense of peace and understanding. His gaze seems to reach out and say "This dying thing? It´s not so bad mom. I know you and dad did all you could. I love you. I love you all".

If I believed in angels, then in this one picture, I can see Jon-Michael at the threshold of becoming one of the heavenly hosts. I see his body free of medical tubes and sensor devices, free of surgical scars. I see him whole and functional. In this picture, I can see and feel that a part of his essence may have already visited paradise - and seen god. He looks as if he knows where he is going - and he approves. In this picture, a lifetime of love and trust are condensed into an enigmatic smile that animates his face.

In this captured image, this moment in time, he speaks a thousand words and thoughts that will forever remain unspoken. Words to explain how very much he regrets leaving before he had a chance to live a life. Words to express his sorrow at missing the experience of feeling damp beach sand squishing between his toes or the feeling of cool wet grass under his bare feet following a summer´s rain, or catching a lightening bug in a jar or knowing the smell of his mothers favorite perfume or the exhilaration felt when first using a bat to hit a ball thrown by his dad. But words to also say that he did not regret living such a short time because he knew more love in those numbered days than many do in decades of years. Words to tell of his thankfulness for being placed into the special care of his mom and dad, surrounded by the love of his sister, his brother, his granddad and grandma and all the other wonderful people who populated his world in his short time on earth.

If I believed in angels then I could take comfort in knowing that somewhere out there Jon-Michael was high above and beyond the troubles and strife of this planet, looking down on us all and smiling still with a sure and certain knowledge of what is beyond life´s brief flashing moments.

If I believed in angels, then I could take that belief and wrap our pain inside it and dry all the tears. I could comfort others. I could reassure myself that someday I would again have the privilege of looking into his dark soulful eyes and feel the peace and calm of his heart.

If I believed in angels.