We made the annual trek to Children's Memorial yesterday with David. First time from Elkhart, though; it was my first time to drive through the Indiana tollroad and Chicago Skyway. (The first time ever, I slept...)
It has been four years since the summer of 2007, when David had a couple episodes of unexplained vomiting. At this point, we could explain it away by saying, he got car sick or maybe it was food poisoning. I remember the day vividly when John queried me about whether we should be concerned. I remember falling into "nurse" mode and remembering textbook lines...ending up with "well, the worst case scenario, it could be a brain tumor", not really believing it really was so.
I remember the shock and disbelief when I knew we were going to get the dreaded news. I know this sounds like a Cancer Treatment Center commercial, but I am going to say it anyway. "You know you are going to get bad news when the ER doctor walks in with a neurosurgery resident, a nurse, a social worker, and a chaplain..." (All true, by the way--I was squished into a little room with them all, and then got the pleasure of telling my son, myself.) My 13-year old was stoic, calm as he received the news, but our conversation revealed fear, on both our parts, of the unknown hours ahead.
It is difficult to receive bad news. It is worse to have to tell your son bad news. There is nothing like telling your son that he could die. It is just as hard to say he could live the rest of his life severely compromised. It is harder than you can imagine.
Would I trade that difficult moment? Never.
This was the deciding moment for David. The defining moment. It was the time he asked me to go over the salvation plan again, and it was the moment he repented and chose to give his life over to Christ.
I would never trade that moment for anything.
P.S. So grateful to God that he continues to do so well!
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