“I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.” – Abraham Lincoln

Last Monday my colleague’s family lost a child.  His name was Owen, and he was 8 months old.  He had a liver disorder and was #4 on a transplant list when he got an infection that shut down his organs.  His parents had to make the unspeakable decision to terminate life support for their infant son.  All I could think was, “How?”

I am pregnant.  Due in a couple weeks’ time, this little boy will be our second child, three years after our first, and this time around is vastly different.  I am a parent now, which means I have experienced love for a child—my child—and there is nothing on Earth that compares.  There is nothing I would not do to protect him, give him life, save his life. Anyone who is a parent knows what I mean. 

When news of Owen came I was paralyzed.  Suddenly I felt the weight of the life I am carrying, heavy with the possibilities.  Things can go wrong.  Sometimes terribly wrong, and there is nothing I can do about it.  Since then, every move I make feels like an experiment in gravity, and it is all I can do not to fall on my knees.  With only a couple weeks to go, I am running on faith.  Ten fingers, ten toes, good health, long life.

As I write this blog, Owen’s family is celebrating his life at his funeral services.  His parents had one request of their guests, no black. This morning my colleague was dressed in bright pink.  She looked radiant, and sad, and so beautiful.   I felt a familiar thump in my belly as I watched her leave the office.

There is a poem by Kahlil Gibran called On Children that hangs above my son’s bed.  It was given to him by his godparents when he was born, and is done in breathtaking silver calligraphy against a brilliant blue background.  Sometimes when I look at it, it feels like perfection.

On Children

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

God bless you, Owen.