Last night the bubble burst and the horror hit me.

“There are no words” (that’s what they all say)

But only tears and cries from the deepest place,

Gut-wrenching sobs and groans,

My whole world crashing round my ears:

This is the sound of Rachel weeping for her children.

I wish it was me, not him.

I would trade places in an instant

And I would welcome death, run into it,

To reach the balm of heaven.

I don’t want to walk this path,

To see my son, with gritted teeth,

Submit to clinical excellence and side-effects,

To lose his hair

And later, perhaps, the ability to think, to move…

WE HAVE TO FACE THE WORST!  Eyeball Death!

I refuse to pretend, to claim an escape clause,

Why should we be exempt while others around us

Drop like flies

With no hope or happy endings?

BUT GOD! There is a God of miracles!

Perhaps it could be you…

If we but knew the time and place

We could make a hole in the roof and lower you down.

Or maybe the miracle will be the grace to walk this path

Without the torment of hell, the mocking of demons…

No fear or despair, but angel companions,

Surrounded by friends and enveloped by love,

Glory in suffering, grateful for journeying,

Weeping tonight but there’s joy in the mourning…

For we are protected from the flames by the Son of Man,

Who also had a prognosis of three years…

While a sword pierced His mother’s soul.

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