It’s a simple question. One, except in the most extreme circumstances, with an obvious answer. It seems almost silly to ask, but the instant self-assessment and instinctive answer it arouses can often bring comfort to any newly bereaved soul.
Would I do it all again?
As the bereaved father of a sixteen-year-old son who entered this world with a severe congenital heart defect, that question directed at me usually includes an additional qualifier; Would I still do it all again knowing the multiple surgeries and painful challenges that my child would face? Would I do it again knowing it would all still end with his death far too early in life?
Like most, the answer for me remains a spontaneous yes. If given the opportunity to sit with our Maker today and be told that I could relive those sixteen amazing years of unconditional love with my child, but only those sixteen years, of course I would. It would be a no-brainer, regardless of not being able to change or control the ultimate outcome.
Then, inevitably, comes another follow-on question; If I couldn’t change his passing, would I change anything else? Yes. Yes, I would.
At sixteen years of age, my son had grown to be quite the young man. Yes, over the years he had undergone several life-threatening heart surgeries to correct his defect, but he recovered quickly from each and thrived. Through it all, he loved and doted over his father. From the time he could toddle, he wanted to be with Dad. If I walked, he wanted to walk with me. If I went to another room, or out in the backyard, my young son wanted to go with me.
I suppose my son’s adulation was, in part, because there was not a single night he awoke in a hospital crib or bed throughout all of his medical procedures over the years that I was not right there holding his hand. Whenever he woke, I wanted him to know that Daddy was right there. I would always be there holding his hand whenever he opened his eyes and was scared. I would keep him safe.
Throughout his childhood, I took my little buddy with me everywhere I could. If I needed to run to the grocery store, or the hardware store, or wherever, he wanted to go, and I wanted to take him. He wanted to walk right beside Daddy, and as we instinctively do with our children in a public setting, I held his hand to keep him safe.
The years passed too quickly for me as my son entered his teen years. He took up golf and was determined to make the high school golf team in his freshman year. He spent more time with his friends and homework, and began discovering the lure of girls. It seemed he was no longer interested in where I was going when I backed my car out of the garage on any given weekend day.
Then, just a few months before his fragile heart would unexpectedly fail, my son surprised me as I headed out the door for a routine grocery run.
“I wanna go, Dad.”
Fantastic!
So, off to the store go a father and his six-foot, one-hundred and ninety-pound man-child. Arriving in the parking lot, we popped out of the car and began our trek across the pavement when I suddenly felt a hand gently slip into mine. My baby was holding my hand.
It seemed as if a thousand loving memories warmly flashed through my heart. “I’ve got you, baby. Hold Daddy’s hand and we’ll watch for cars.”
There in my mind, I pictured a bow-legged child, barely able to make a stride in his bubble-inspired toddler pants, reaching his wee hand up high enough to take hold of mine…and looking up at me with love.
A father’s job is to raise his son, right? A teen-age son holding his father’s hand? Well, that’s not right, is it? I mean, I was only looking out for him, after all. We were in a small town and knew almost everyone. Surely, I would run into one of my buddies, or even one of his school mates inside. It always happens. And certainly, my boy was too old to be caught holding hands with his father. He would be embarrassed. At least, that’s what I told myself.
Just as we neared the automatic doors of the store, I turned my head toward my son, gave him the raised eyebrow look and held our joined hands up in the air. “Oh,” he said, knowing my thoughts as he had a talent for doing. He pulled from our mutual grasp and slipped both hands into his pockets.
Together, we walked side by side into the store as father-son “buddies.”
That would be the last chance I had to hold my child’s hand and keep him safe. The next time I held his precious hand, he was afraid, and I couldn’t keep him safe. The next time I held his precious hand, his heart was failing. The next time I held his precious hand, my son was afraid as he looked into his father’s eyes, took his final breath, and passed away.
So, would I do it all again even knowing the ultimate outcome?
Yes!
Would my son do it all again? I’m sure he would. He loved life, loved love, and loved me. He had a tremendously positive impact on everyone around him.
Would I change anything?
Absolutely!
I wish I could change the fact that he came into this world with a rare heart defect. Actually, there’s probably many things I would change.
The one thing I would change that sticks out most in my heart, however, is that day in the grocery store parking lot. If I could change anything at all, I would take hold of my teenage son’s precious hand again, and lovingly hold it tight…
…if only I could hold his hand again.
May you have peace and purpose,
R. Glenn