Trucker passed away today.
In his mother’s arms, just like when his little life began. I imagine death to resemble birth, slipping swiftly from one world to the next. I also imagine that his mommy labored through his passing, as she did when he was born. As did his father. And his brothers and his sister. Their hearts and bodies contorted by sorrow and comforted by grace as nature turned the wheel. And then I imagine that he boldly stepped into heaven. Pain free and jubilant.
They say that becoming a parent opens you to the world’s greatest heartbreak.
There are a million ways to lose a child; some die before they are born, some live to be adults–lost to substance abuse or mental decease. And everything in between. It’s not a matter of if these things exist in the world, but who they happen to. And yet most choose to become parents regardless of this fact. Because a parent’s love surpasses life, time and space; it surpasses pain and suffering. We love our children before we even see their faces. And yet, those whom are handed these tragedies, would say, I am certain, that if given the choice they would choose that child again. And again. And again.
This doesn’t make it any better.
This doesn’t stop my own tears from falling or my face from twisting in pain at the sad things in this world. Nothing makes this any better. There is no fancy or beautiful thing to write here that makes it. Any better.
I just want to thank the family for sharing him with us.
For letting us care and worry and pray and cheer him on and fall for him the past couple years. For letting us be inspired. By him. By you. By the courage of your older children. Thank you for letting him show us to never take for granted our own lives, and the lives of those we love. Thank you for letting us be your community. Thank you for every update. Every picture. Because I can’t tell you how much we’ve clung to each and every one of them. We wanted to watch Trucker punch cancer in the face. And he did. He really did. You could have kept him to yourself. You could have fought this fight privately. But you let us in, and WE are better for it. I am so sorry that you have lost your son and brother. Thank you for letting our hearts ache for you. It is an honor.
Trucker you beautiful boy.
Your physical life was far too brief, and it has opened up some awareness about the injustice of funding for childhood cancers, but I won’t go into that today. Today is for you. You did some amazing things. I am so glad you lived to know the joy of the sun on your face, the rush of the surf, the chill of the snow; you lived to see the buzz of the city and the quiet, contentment of your home in Maui. You are a part of all that now. How amazing that all must be. I know that you are still here and that you are not as sad as the rest of us. I hope you now get to see what you have done for us, even if we cannot understand it ourselves. How amongst our cries is immense gratitude for the lessons you’ve taught us. Thank you.