Today, I can’t.
And when I can’t, I write.
Sharing memories of Tanner is the only thing that will momentarily pull me from grief without taking me away from him.
I have to call the mortuary… but it seems impossible: they deal with dead people and my baby’s not really dead. Utter denial.
So today I’m focusing on the gifts God gave me in Tanner’s final weeks. Because, after all, that’s what Tanner was: a gift.
Always my baby, Tanner had started holding my hand more the last few weeks before he left me. Really, he always held my hand as we walked, but in the quiet moments, the car rides, he would just quietly hold my hand. It’s that feel of his precious hand that I still hold on to.
A kiss. Tanner had this adorably flat little Cambodian face and, in his younger, pre-glasses days, I would kiss him sideways right between the eyes. It was just one of our many little things… and these kisses often resulted in eyelash battles and giggles. In the last few years he began wearing glasses and I had stopped kissing him in that little way. Until a week before he left us, I started to walk by his cute little face and felt a nudging to stop and give him a sweet little kiss in our spot. He let me and I was so aware, in that moment, of how long it had been and how precious it was to me. I’m so grateful for that last kiss.
Tanner’s been in the hospital many times. Like a zillion — or so it felt. And, like every mom, I would make my bed on the rock couch next to his hospital bed and keep a close eye on him.
But his last night with me, we were moved to the CVICU and the only room available was a post-surgical room. It was huge. My baby’s bed seemed a million miles away from the mom-couch — even if it was only 10 feet. So, on his last night on this Earth, for the very first time, I climbed into his bed and snuggled up and slept with him. Never in my ugliest nightmares did I imagine that was my last night with my baby, but what a gift that God arranged for me to be right by his side. I will forever cherish the feeling of his body squeezed in next to mine.
His last smile. The grinning photo of Tanner eating his orange Popsicle is one of the very hardest for me to look at. I still can’t. It’s the most pure, innocent, genuine smile of my little fighter. He was grinning over a popsicle he earned after his seventh IV poke in 12 hours. He was a perfect angel of a child. It turned out to be his very last smile, and I have it recorded forever. There is too much pain with it now, but some day, I will cherish that precious gift.
And then… we had a God moment a few weeks ago and I didn’t know it until the other night.
I have a large purple plastic file box that sat atop a six-foot storage cabinet in the garage. It’s been there for years and where I stash toys for the boys: little things I find on sale and am saving as stocking stuffers, Easter Basket fillers or for a rainy day. Neither boy knew what was in the bin, nor ever had cause to look.
Out of the blue, two weeks before his passing, that bin caught Tanner’s eye and curiosity caught the better of him. He got a chair, and somehow lifted the heavy bin down.
And there, he found toys meant for him: a small assortment of Hot Wheels Cars, Power Rangers and a few other things.
And he happily took them. Finders keepers.
Proud of the treasures he’d stumbled upon, he opened them and began to play with them.
When the toy wrappers were found and he was questioned, he very proudly said as he puffed out his chest: “Yep! I did it. I got down mysef!” He showed off his new Hot Wheels cars.
“You did it all by yourself?!” I asked. “No help?”
“Yep! All by mysef!!”
So, we high-fived and he went off to play with his new toys.
I thank the Lord for letting me give Tanner his gifts, for saving me from the wave of pain I would have felt to find his unopened treasurers stashed away. They had sat there for years. And Tanner opened them days — just days before he became an angel. Tanner thought Hot Wheels were the greatest gift… but the joy I felt in giving to him, there was nothing better.
I didn’t mean for Tanner to find those gifts, but God knew the timing was right.
In all of those moments, I can now see Him preparing me for the loss that was coming. I can see the gifts He was giving me. He knew the pain to come, He knows my brokenness now. But even in the loss of my child, I can still see He loves me.
After all, he gave me the greatest gift: my son.
