The Longest Day and a Trip Home

Today didn't hold what I'd expected.

Abby and I set off for our mother/daughter dance class at 8:10 a.m.. I didn't really want to go, but decided that we should since, well, we're paying for it and all. We've missed several classes so we're a little behind, and I slogged my way through the routine, grumpily thinking that I just wanted to drop the class once and for all. But then suddenly, as we ball-changed our way to the back row with lightning speed, I laughed in spite of myself. I don't know why, but a thought occurred to me: "I have to do this dance. Logan would love to see this dance. I need to do it for him."

We swung through the McD's drive through and then headed home. Much to my surprise and alarm, Adam was sitting on the driveway with Isaac and Brady awaiting our return. He motioned that I should turn the car around, so I did. I asked what was going on, and he said that the PICU doctors had called several times to tell him that Logan's condition was deteriorating rapidly. We were, in no uncertain terms, to get there as quickly and as safely as possible. I cried as we headed for CHO. There was nothing else I could do and my mommy's heart sensed what was to come. I tried to fight it, but I knew.

We got there and Adam's dad took care of the car for us as we high-tailed it to his room. He was stable, but with a very, very low heartrate, very low blood pressure and very low oxygen saturation. When I saw the numbers on the monitor, my heart fell into my knees.

We had the kids come in to see him. Abby resisted at first, but finally relented. Isaac marched in, said hi to Logan and then asked to play a game on Adam's phone. Brady, well, he's 13 months old. He wanted me to nurse him. So I did. Logan's nurse, Ramona, took a few photos for us, and then Adam and I were left alone with Logan. The doctor came in and explained that there was so much CO2 in his blood that he was unaware of anything and in no discomfort. As we watched his blood pressure and saturations drop, he explained that we had two choices. We could either let him suffer a heart attack, or we could take off the BIPAP mask, hold him and see what would happen. As we mulled the torturous decision, our pastor showed up and I asked him for his thoughts. I'm so grateful that he came and that he was there to walk with us through such a horrible day. We opted to spare him the heart attack --which would likely have been painful-- and the team transferred him to the palliative care bedroom on the second floor. When we got there, I sat on the bed and he was lifted into my arms. Adam came and sat close-by, and Abby came in to say her good-byes. We were so proud of her for doing it; we didn't pressure her at all but she wanted to come tell her little brother and best friend that she loved him and would miss him, but that she knew she'd see him again in Heaven. We sang to him; I sang "You are My Sunshine" one last time, and Adam sang a collection of bedtime ritual tunes. He opened his eyes just a bit and I saw him take a few very weak, very ragged breaths. And then he was gone.

Shortly afterward as I sat there cradling his little bruised, battered body, I had a vision. I remember telling Adam 'Do you see it? Do you see it?' My mind was filled to the brim with an image of Logan. He was standing in white light. He had his beautiful strawberry blonde hair back and a smile on his face, and he was waving. He was happy. It gave me peace and broke my heart all at once.

But in spite of myself and my human imperfections and worries and fears and doubts, I know that I will see him again. I know that we'll dance together. I know that we'll laugh together. I know that this life is not the end. I know that some of you don't believe that's true, but I hope that you'll open your heart a little and give God a try. Logan did. And he's my hero. He's the bravest, most peaceful, most tolerant, kindest person I've ever known and I'm lucky to be his mommy, even if I can't hold him again during this life.

I think it's important that I reiterate that last point: God loves YOU. Just like He loves Logan and my family. Logan didn't get called home because God was a jerk or because He didn't care. I don't know why he was called home so soon. And I'll never really know. But we live in a fallen world, and I don't want anyone to ever blame God for what happened to Logan. Sin is rampant, evil is rampant. And sometimes, it looks like evil wins. But it doesn't. Because Logan is in Paradise. My arms and my heart ache to hold him, but he's in arms that are better than my own.

I cried as we drove home tonight. I have Lambie now, and Logan's best lovey has a very special place in our hearts. He was there for every shot, every round of chemo, every poke, every everything. But I cried because I don't want my sunshine to be forgotten. And then I got home and looked at Facebook. And I was completely overwhelmed when just about every post on my News feed --not my wall, but my News feed-- was devoted to my sweet boy. Thank you for making us feel loved and supported as we begin this journey to healing.

I also ask you to do one more thing for me, if you would. Logan was all about fun and laughing and dancing and sunshine. (And still is; we just can't see him for now and that's hard.) In memory of him, will you do something fun tomorrow, and then tell me what you did? And in a few days or when a thought strikes, would you share a way that Logan's life impacted you personally? It doesn't have to be something earth-shattering; just a thought. If you'd prefer to contact me privately, you can do so at slwight@gmail.com.

I thank you sincerely for your prayers over the past 18 months. We've thrived on them. We've survived on them. And our family needs continued prayers. Although Logan is whole and healed and dancing in Heaven, we have a long road to healing ourselves.