"He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."
Aeschylus
Don't ask me how to pronounce Aeschylus. I just refer to him as "the Greek Guy," and its incredible how this statement of his rings true to a parent who's lost a child. It is a "parent's worst nightmare," because your children are supposed to outlive you. That's the natural order of life, but what happens when that doesn't occur? The best way I can put it into words, is that its a "trainwreck that hits the very essence of your soul, with knives bearing into your heart, that never stops bleeding." Until the day I die, I'm going to grieve the loss of my son Tommy, who passed away from a seizure on November 4th 2009.
Yet I am not alone. Too many parents have been in the same situation, and recently other parents have had to lose their little ones to seizures. The past year plus has been difficult, as there have been days I haven't wanted to get out of bed, and the tears can be brought up in the strangest of ways. It could be a particular place that my son used to play, a song that I heard while driving him home from school, or seeing a child that looks like him. There's no "rhyme or reason," behind these feelings, but my faith has grown stronger. I'm by no means perfect, nor will I ever be, but what I see now is different. This doesn't mean better, but it has led to the discovery that we are capable of so much.
The Greek guy was right. You learn a lot from pain, and its proof that life and death can teach you a lot. There are two choices, and they are simple enough. Either you wallow in misery, or you make the misery go to good use. There are people you meet in life, who provide guidance at a time, that may not make sense right there, but they do at important moments. One of my favorite quotes comes from a man, who had a simple outlook in life, although what he said was brilliant. "If you get kicked off the horse, you will get right back on THAT horse, and ride again." Getting kicked off of a horse is a scary experience, much like seeing your child in a coffin, and its going to leave you paralyzed. Yet you've gotta "get back up on that horse and ride again."
My son is now with God. Through prayer and quiet reflection, I've decided to go with option #2. Its not easy. In fact, there have been good days and bad, but ultimately each person is capable of this. Through tragedy, you can discover what God wants from you. He squeezes, throws us through "trials and tribulations," but He does not choke. It doesn't matter what your faith is, but for Christians, the "crosses we must bear," is a powerful one. Life isn't fair, its a battle of sorts, and you have to decide whether you want to succumb to it, or come out strong. And that alone leads to the efforts to eradicate seizures once and for all.
What can you do? It can be simple. You can help Vanderbilt's Kennedy Center Angelman Seizure project with a donation, or you can let others know about the fantastic work they are doing. There's no denying their dedication, and with the guidance of God and our footwork, we can be part of something special. It is too late for my son. It is too late for far too many parents, who've lost their child or a loved one from a seizure. However, now is the time to "climb out of the trench, reach the summit, and get rid of this menace at once." There's no time to waste, and by reaching out to religious organizations and businesses, along with what we can do individually, I have no doubt that a cure for seizures will be discovered. Then we can all sit back and breathe a "sigh of relief," but until then we must fight with determination and pure grit.
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