It felt strange to think that we were leaving Wilford Hall. For so many months we hoped for the day to come when we would leave the hospital with Christopher in our arms. It never really crossed our minds that we would never have this moment. As we left the parking lot, we couldn't even begin imagining what our lives would be like without our daily visits. So much of our lives revolved around spending our free time visiting Christopher.
We made the ten minute trip to the mortuary and found ourselves in a back room closet looking at caskets for small infants. They, like Christopher, were small and tiny and looked out of place. With what little enthusiasm we could muster, we chose the powder blue casket they had for infant boys. They asked if we wanted the body to be embalmed, which we declined. We then made preparations for the funeral. It was to be on Friday morning, September 26. Additionally, our pastor graciously offered the church facilities for a memorial service where we could have an opportunity to say "thank you" to all of the hospital staff as well as the friends and family that supported us during the past seven months. It was to occur on the following Monday evening.
When we finally arrived home, it was difficult realizing that we would never be able to bring our son home. The nursery, now almost complete, housed a crib and a dresser with a bookshelf. It had a fresh coat of white paint with a dusty blue and cranberry colored wallpaper border of rocking horses circling the room. We spent much of the remaining day tearfully reminiscing over the incredible journey the Lord had taken us on. Quickly, word of Christopher's death had gotten out and we began receiving phone calls and flowers and food.
Times of death are so difficult. I have experienced that feeling of inadequacy of not knowing what to say or do when my friends have suffered through deaths. Because of that, I will always remember the friends that were brave enough to make an effort to express their love. I specifically remember the two young people who called us that day, both of whom we knew from the high school class. And while I am unable to remember their exact words, their actions spoke "I love you". In a way they will never fully realize, they obeyed the instruction, "Carry each others burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2)
All this time we kept thinking that we would be able to see Christopher's body again, but we never did. The next day we went to the mortuary with a clown that my parents had given Christopher while he was at Wilford Hall, and a little white tuxedo that Chuck and his wife Ruth had given him in anticipation of a dedication day that would never come. We ended up leaving the clown and the tuxedo with one of the employees at the mortuary. Because we did not have him embalmed, the people at the mortuary strongly suggested that we not see him again which we accepted. Upon leaving the mortuary, I avoided thinking about the events of the next day. Only the Lord could give us strength to endure the funeral. Amidst all of the thoughts that crossed my mind, a small flicker of hope still shone inside of me. I continued to hope and pray that the mortuary would call and tell us that it was all a mistake, that Christopher was alive. They never did.
As Woody had hoped, Friday morning arrived with the clouds breaking open to a bright, sunshine filled day. The prior days had been overcast and wet. Woody's parents had flown in for the funeral and drove us to the cemetery. Arriving, we could see the sad faces of friends and family waiting for our arrival. The little coffin sat on a stand before an empty row of chairs. It looked so tiny. A bouquet of seven roses rested on top of the coffin, one rose for each month Christopher had lived. A sea of grave markers surrounded the gathering of people. In a funny way they offered comfort by telling us that many other families had walked this path before us. As we approached the coffin, we began sharing tears and hugs with many of our friends whom we hadn't seen since before Christopher had died. I broke into tears as David’s sister, Debbie, greeted me. Seeing her brought back memories of Christopher's birth, and of her love and kindness the day he was born.
We asked Chuck to conduct the graveside service. As he spoke, floods of memories returned as I thought over the journey the Lord had taken us upon. I never thought it would end here in a cemetery. After the ceremony, people shared their best wishes with us once more and made their way to their cars. Gayle, our pastor's wife, asked us if we would like her to preserve one of the roses from the casket, which we thankfully agreed. After all but a few close friends and family members had left, I began wondering what they were going to do with the casket.
"We'll take care of it," a representative from the cemetery said. Off in the distance, I could see a freshly cut grave in the ground.
"I want to bury my son," I replied back to him. His expression made it apparent that my request was not normal.
After a few minutes, he brought a worker who came and put Christopher's coffin in a pine box. As he went to pick the box up, I asked if I could carry the coffin to the grave. Somehow it didn't seem right to me to have a complete stranger be the last person to carry my son's body. In addition, I knew that this would be the last time that I would have an opportunity to carry him here on earth. For all of the time Christopher was in the hospital, I was only able to hold him one time.
After placing the coffin into the grave, we paused for a moment to say our last "good-byes". We lay the six roses that remained from the bouquet on top of the box. But as we stood there looking into the grave, I knew that I needed to do more. I asked the worker for a shovel and he obliged. I then began shoveling the dirt over the coffin. With each shovelful of dirt I began crying harder and harder. As I did, a great healing began to take place in my heart. I was beginning to understand the words of Job, "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:21) I also caught an understanding of David who, upon hearing his son had died, went and worshipped the Lord. (2 Samuel 12:20) Immediately my attention was drawn to the six roses. I remembered how the number six in the Bible was a symbol of man's humanity. It was one short of the number seven, the number often used to represent God. Through these six roses God reminded me of my own humanity. In my own strength, I knew that I too am destined to the grave. Every action that I took in His kingdom that is born of flesh is also destined for the grave. It is only by the empowering of the Holy Spirit that I had entrance into the things that are eternal.
Prior to this day, I had been kept from death. None of my immediate family members had died or any of my closest friends. My grandparents had died, one before I was born, and the others while I was going to school. But I barely knew them since we lived so far away. In fact, at the age of twenty-nine, the only funeral I had ever attended was for an aunt's stillborn baby, and even that as a young boy.
But here I stood over my own son's grave. I was just beginning to feel like a real father. Every time I had walked into the nursery, I would see my name attached to his bed. Was this really happening? The grave that lay before me said, "yes". And the knowledge of my son's body lying in a box in the ground seemed so cold and final. But it was here at his grave that I began to more fully understand the hope that we share in Jesus. There had been times that I had thought and even taught about eternal life. But I thought and spoke without experience. Now I really understood. Without the blood of Jesus, I would never see Christopher again. Without the blood of Jesus covering over my own sins, I too had no hope. Death and the grave would swallow me up with the finality that I felt for my son. But Jesus said, "I am the Life and the Resurrection! He that believes in me shall not die, but have everlasting life." (John 11:25)
As this writing attests, I felt the Presence of God throughout Christopher's life and death. Here before my son's grave I felt the Presence of God once more. He too knew of the agony of sending His Son to the grave. He alone fully understood my grief and sorrow. "Lord," I whispered in my heart, "I accept this path that you laid out for me to walk."
Upon filling the grave with much of the dirt that lay to its side, I felt as though I had finished this task that the Lord had authored in my life. I wiped off my face now covered with tears, and left the cemetery with a new understanding.
Today, the single rose sits preserved on a dresser in our bedroom. Like Christopher's body, the six roses have long since returned to the earth. They serve as a reminder to me that life is precious, time is fleeting, and that apart from the Spirit, I am nothing. Accepting Christopher's death was a difficult thing. The dreams of one day taking that first bicycle ride, of throwing a ball, of sharing a cookie were all buried in the grave that day. These things would have to wait for that better day we now see dimly. But also, much of my pride and misguided thinking of what life should be like as a Christian was buried also. God had brought me to that place of recognizing that to truly know Him is to trust Him even when all circumstance denies His Presence.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB.
© Copyright 1987, 2016 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.
We made the ten minute trip to the mortuary and found ourselves in a back room closet looking at caskets for small infants. They, like Christopher, were small and tiny and looked out of place. With what little enthusiasm we could muster, we chose the powder blue casket they had for infant boys. They asked if we wanted the body to be embalmed, which we declined. We then made preparations for the funeral. It was to be on Friday morning, September 26. Additionally, our pastor graciously offered the church facilities for a memorial service where we could have an opportunity to say "thank you" to all of the hospital staff as well as the friends and family that supported us during the past seven months. It was to occur on the following Monday evening.
When we finally arrived home, it was difficult realizing that we would never be able to bring our son home. The nursery, now almost complete, housed a crib and a dresser with a bookshelf. It had a fresh coat of white paint with a dusty blue and cranberry colored wallpaper border of rocking horses circling the room. We spent much of the remaining day tearfully reminiscing over the incredible journey the Lord had taken us on. Quickly, word of Christopher's death had gotten out and we began receiving phone calls and flowers and food.
Times of death are so difficult. I have experienced that feeling of inadequacy of not knowing what to say or do when my friends have suffered through deaths. Because of that, I will always remember the friends that were brave enough to make an effort to express their love. I specifically remember the two young people who called us that day, both of whom we knew from the high school class. And while I am unable to remember their exact words, their actions spoke "I love you". In a way they will never fully realize, they obeyed the instruction, "Carry each others burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2)
All this time we kept thinking that we would be able to see Christopher's body again, but we never did. The next day we went to the mortuary with a clown that my parents had given Christopher while he was at Wilford Hall, and a little white tuxedo that Chuck and his wife Ruth had given him in anticipation of a dedication day that would never come. We ended up leaving the clown and the tuxedo with one of the employees at the mortuary. Because we did not have him embalmed, the people at the mortuary strongly suggested that we not see him again which we accepted. Upon leaving the mortuary, I avoided thinking about the events of the next day. Only the Lord could give us strength to endure the funeral. Amidst all of the thoughts that crossed my mind, a small flicker of hope still shone inside of me. I continued to hope and pray that the mortuary would call and tell us that it was all a mistake, that Christopher was alive. They never did.
As Woody had hoped, Friday morning arrived with the clouds breaking open to a bright, sunshine filled day. The prior days had been overcast and wet. Woody's parents had flown in for the funeral and drove us to the cemetery. Arriving, we could see the sad faces of friends and family waiting for our arrival. The little coffin sat on a stand before an empty row of chairs. It looked so tiny. A bouquet of seven roses rested on top of the coffin, one rose for each month Christopher had lived. A sea of grave markers surrounded the gathering of people. In a funny way they offered comfort by telling us that many other families had walked this path before us. As we approached the coffin, we began sharing tears and hugs with many of our friends whom we hadn't seen since before Christopher had died. I broke into tears as David’s sister, Debbie, greeted me. Seeing her brought back memories of Christopher's birth, and of her love and kindness the day he was born.
We asked Chuck to conduct the graveside service. As he spoke, floods of memories returned as I thought over the journey the Lord had taken us upon. I never thought it would end here in a cemetery. After the ceremony, people shared their best wishes with us once more and made their way to their cars. Gayle, our pastor's wife, asked us if we would like her to preserve one of the roses from the casket, which we thankfully agreed. After all but a few close friends and family members had left, I began wondering what they were going to do with the casket.
"We'll take care of it," a representative from the cemetery said. Off in the distance, I could see a freshly cut grave in the ground.
"I want to bury my son," I replied back to him. His expression made it apparent that my request was not normal.
After a few minutes, he brought a worker who came and put Christopher's coffin in a pine box. As he went to pick the box up, I asked if I could carry the coffin to the grave. Somehow it didn't seem right to me to have a complete stranger be the last person to carry my son's body. In addition, I knew that this would be the last time that I would have an opportunity to carry him here on earth. For all of the time Christopher was in the hospital, I was only able to hold him one time.
After placing the coffin into the grave, we paused for a moment to say our last "good-byes". We lay the six roses that remained from the bouquet on top of the box. But as we stood there looking into the grave, I knew that I needed to do more. I asked the worker for a shovel and he obliged. I then began shoveling the dirt over the coffin. With each shovelful of dirt I began crying harder and harder. As I did, a great healing began to take place in my heart. I was beginning to understand the words of Job, "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:21) I also caught an understanding of David who, upon hearing his son had died, went and worshipped the Lord. (2 Samuel 12:20) Immediately my attention was drawn to the six roses. I remembered how the number six in the Bible was a symbol of man's humanity. It was one short of the number seven, the number often used to represent God. Through these six roses God reminded me of my own humanity. In my own strength, I knew that I too am destined to the grave. Every action that I took in His kingdom that is born of flesh is also destined for the grave. It is only by the empowering of the Holy Spirit that I had entrance into the things that are eternal.
Prior to this day, I had been kept from death. None of my immediate family members had died or any of my closest friends. My grandparents had died, one before I was born, and the others while I was going to school. But I barely knew them since we lived so far away. In fact, at the age of twenty-nine, the only funeral I had ever attended was for an aunt's stillborn baby, and even that as a young boy.
But here I stood over my own son's grave. I was just beginning to feel like a real father. Every time I had walked into the nursery, I would see my name attached to his bed. Was this really happening? The grave that lay before me said, "yes". And the knowledge of my son's body lying in a box in the ground seemed so cold and final. But it was here at his grave that I began to more fully understand the hope that we share in Jesus. There had been times that I had thought and even taught about eternal life. But I thought and spoke without experience. Now I really understood. Without the blood of Jesus, I would never see Christopher again. Without the blood of Jesus covering over my own sins, I too had no hope. Death and the grave would swallow me up with the finality that I felt for my son. But Jesus said, "I am the Life and the Resurrection! He that believes in me shall not die, but have everlasting life." (John 11:25)
As this writing attests, I felt the Presence of God throughout Christopher's life and death. Here before my son's grave I felt the Presence of God once more. He too knew of the agony of sending His Son to the grave. He alone fully understood my grief and sorrow. "Lord," I whispered in my heart, "I accept this path that you laid out for me to walk."
Upon filling the grave with much of the dirt that lay to its side, I felt as though I had finished this task that the Lord had authored in my life. I wiped off my face now covered with tears, and left the cemetery with a new understanding.
Today, the single rose sits preserved on a dresser in our bedroom. Like Christopher's body, the six roses have long since returned to the earth. They serve as a reminder to me that life is precious, time is fleeting, and that apart from the Spirit, I am nothing. Accepting Christopher's death was a difficult thing. The dreams of one day taking that first bicycle ride, of throwing a ball, of sharing a cookie were all buried in the grave that day. These things would have to wait for that better day we now see dimly. But also, much of my pride and misguided thinking of what life should be like as a Christian was buried also. God had brought me to that place of recognizing that to truly know Him is to trust Him even when all circumstance denies His Presence.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB.
© Copyright 1987, 2016 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.