The oldest sorrow.

Bird, ready to play

Yesterday, just as it began to snow here in Georgia, a little boy in Texas was finally letting go of his struggle with cancer. While my family and I frolicked in our seemingly magical winter morning, Julian's family were bathing his empty shell, dressing it, holding it, grieving over it.


My son, Bird, is just five. Julian wasn't quite five. Forgive me if I take this to heart. I only know about Julian because of Dawn's blog over at http://mom2my6pack.blogspot.com/ . I am unutterably sad for this boy's mother, even while I thank the powers that be that this child doesn't have to struggle any more. Now he can find respite, and perhaps one day return in a body that won't betray him.


Of all the injustices in the world, a child's death seems the greatest. Children should be loved, treasured, and grow up to become annoying teenagers and adults. They shouldn't waste away when they've hardly begun, denied the simplest joys by a disease with teeth and claws and no mercy.


Julian's mum has made her pain, sorrow, grief, and joy public. I hope it has helped her, because I know it took a hell of a lot of guts to let strangers in on what is usually deeply personal and private. Want to reach out to a stranger who has lost so much in such a short time? Go here: http://www.gratefulness.org/candles/view.cfm?l=eng&c=5169254 and follow the directions until it tells you to click on the candle with MLKB on it, then instead find one with an unlit wick and click on that, then follow the directions.


Then go hug your kids, or your neighbor's kids, or some random kid within reach and thank your gods they are whole and healthy enough to irritate the crap out of you today.

The sorrow that accompanies death, even a death that is more gift than not, is the oldest of sorrows. If only it didn't visit the youngest of lives...