racoma.com.phJ. Angelo Racoma on technology, economics, writing, problogging, and getting things done

Last Friday, October 3, 2008 marked the first anniversary of our son Joseph Michael’s passing on to the next life. It has been one year since he left us. He was exactly forty-five days old when he died.

Forty-five days isn’t much for a lifetime. It’s barely two months. It’s too short a time for any one of us, and so we are all ancient in comparison. But in hindsight my family has come to realize that each and every one of those days, each and every one of those hours, those minutes, those moments, were important to us, and had taught us life lessons that we may never have learned otherwise.

Joseph Michael was born at a time when my family’s life was at a crossroad. We had just begun to attain that certain level of material comfort in our lives. We just moved to a better place, acquired our first car, and my online jobs and businesses were just starting to improve. And so we thought we were on our way to a good life.

However, when Michael arrived, it was at first a bit difficult for us in terms of material needs. Considering the costs of delivery (Caesarean, and in the hands of one of the country’s best obstetricians), we had to spend those few weeks in simple living. Those were challenging times. Those were hard times. But then were able to overcome that, and things started to become better again.

We didn’t realize the challenges were not yet over. We woke up in the early morning of October 3rd and found our son seemingly lifeless. He was not breathing. We tried to revive him, and rushed him to the hospital as fast as we could. The doctors tried to revive him, but the attempts were futile.

Our son had passed away.

We didn’t know exactly what time he breathed his last. We never opted for an autopsy. Having a loved one cut apart would only add to the pain. Michael was a healthy baby boy, and a lively one at that. And perhaps knowing the exact cause of his death would add even more to the pain (in fear that it could be directly our faults, perhaps).

We didn’t know exactly how it happened, but one thing we remember that time was that my wife awoke at past midnight that day, and shared with me a very vivid dream she had. It was about the two of us carrying a white box and standing in line to board a big plane. People in white had been eager to help us and carried the box for us, marking it with a very distinct number 7. The box was carried onto the plane, and the next thing we knew we were standing on some very wide plains, with lush greenery.

We thought the dream meant that we were about to travel, to migrate or simply to go places–something that she and I had been talking about previously. Little did we know that somehow that dream meant more than traveling physically.

My eldest daughter awoke that midnight, too, and asked me to accompany her in bed because she was scared. I assured here there was nothing to be afraid of and accompanied her. But I would open my eyes only a few hours later and the worst fears of a parent would materialize.

It was the lowest point in our lives. We could not understand why this had happened to us, nor could we find out the reasons–the whys and hows–our son had to leave us early in his life.

No father should ever have to bury his son.

That being the lowest point in our lives, however, we realized there was no way but up. And look up, we did. Having no longer any control in this life over the life of my son, my family and I turned to God. While I have had a religious upbringing thanks to my father, it is only now that my wife, children and I have learned to appreciate faith. We have learned to practice faith, and share it, and try to live what we learn.

Early in life, our two girls have had a concept of death and dying. It is in these times that we also try to impart with them a concept of the afterlife. They still ask us questions, though. The whys. The hows. Those we could not answer. But they do understand far better than other children their age do.

We no longer mourn. In losing someone the pain never goes away. You only learn to live with it. In our living with this loss we now try to see things in a more positive light. We have grown more mature, more discerning. We have grown more faithful, and more active in our faith. For this is the only way we know through which we can be reunited with our son Joseph Michael once again. And of course, it is how it should be, for we believe our son was a gift to us by God in the first place.

This experience has humbled us greatly. But it has taught us to value life more. It has taught us to value our family more. And it has taught us to value our time more. We are born to this world naked and with empty hands. But God gives us gifts so that we may create and do good things. We have but limited time to accomplish this–some of us have more, while some less. Therefore the time to act is now because you never know when your time is up.

Our dear Joseph Michael, we shall meet again one day. But until then do pray for our family that we may continue to be strong and faithful on this journey called life.

• Tweet
• "&title=""">

Share: