We call this a journey, because a journey is always quite an undertaking. And true to the nature of journeys, it never leads to known places already tread, or to casual experiences already had.
At the end
of the journey we look back and marvel since had we known at the outset what
was in store, surely we would have forsaken the task, with its onslaught of
misfortune, the weathering of misery and the triumphs that elate. For some the
journey continues and for others the time has come to say, ‘I have traveled as
far as my feet can carry me and I will rest here by the side of the road, on
this tree stump, while you carry on, with the memory of our travels to sustain
you on the cold winter days’.
The precision
and muster, the careless disregard for self in caring for a severely disabled
child, unremitting, is a rarefied
environment where few can tread. And some lead us there with their
forbearance and sacrifice, their need to
see it through to the end, whenever it may come.
I know such
parents, those that I look up to in order to find strength when I have wrenched
the last drop from the stone of my own belief. And I see only triumph and not
one iota of failure, when, as now, a child who has benefited from the utmost
caring, passes through a field of poppies to move on from this life and leave
his siblings and parents to stare in awe.
Such a
parent is Ann Rochford Schrooten, (here) the mother of John “Jack” Michael Schrooten,
who passed away this week, age fifteen, after an intense life of both struggle
and reward. With grace and graciousness Ann documented her incredible,
unrelenting desire to provide the best for her child, even to the point of
realizing that true selflessness encompasses equally the tenacious holding on
to life as well as the ephemeral letting go of it.
With peace
dwindling in this life, Jack closed one
chapter, having written all that he could, so that legends could be made.
Brave, brave little thing,
Across the sky you will sing.
That twinkle in your eye,
That laugh on your wing.
And what of our tears that reach so high
When they meet the song that you will sing.
Dear, dear, dear friend
Will I see the poppy grow?
It's red, red as white as snow.
Little, little little man
All grown up as far as you can.
Brave, brave little thing
Across the heavens you will sing.
יהיה זיכרו ברוך
(blessed
be his memory)
Eric
I'm so sorry for your friend's loss, and yours as well. Yours is a lovely tribute to Jack.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful tribute to a life well-lived...there is so much that we learn on this journey, from our kids and from each other ... I am glad that there are many good people on this journey, it's nice not be alone
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