Now Playing: MY NEW FRIEND
Just thought I would use this forum to throw out some short stories, poems, etc. I have written in the past, or that grab me to be written now. The first one is a story a wrote while snowed in a hotel room in Denver back in April of 2003 (could have been 2004). I have to admit that I balled my head off while writing it. Hope that doesn't make me seem any less manly
. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I am thinking of another short story I might write very soon so keep coming back. I know that some of you may be thinking, "Why is he wasting his time on this when he should be working on book 3?" I agree to a point, but confess I have hit a small bump in the road so hope some outside writing will get the juices flowing again. Thanks for your patience.
Tom
My New Friend
The headaches started on Tuesday. I remember it was Tuesday because that was the day that Wesley had Primary. It was before the block meetings that now group everything onto Sundays. It was early spring. I remember that because Wesley was still in school but it was warm enough for him to walk to Primary after school. The church wasn’t far from the elementary school so I had him walk when the weather was good so his younger sister, Amy, could have a good nap before I had to pick him up at the church. That afternoon he wasn’t running around on the grass like he normally is when I drive up. He was sitting alone on the steps. I could tell by looking at him through the windshield that he was pale. He also lacked the bouncing step that marked him as a happy, carefree, nine year old boy. “What’s the matter sweetheart? Are you feeling okay?” “My head hurts. It has since I got to church today.” “Did you fall down or bang it on something?” “No, it just started hurting for no reason.” “Where does it hurt?” His forehead was cold and clammy to touch like it always was after he’d been running around for a time. “Did you eat all of your lunch today?” “No. I only had about half. I just wasn’t hungry.” “Well, when we get you home we’ll have dinner and see if that doesn’t help.” It didn’t help. I made his favorite, macaroni and cheese with applesauce on the side, but he only picked at it, claiming he still wasn’t hungry. By six o’clock that evening he began to run a fever and complained that the pain was getting worse. I forced a couple of Tylenol down him and put him to bed figuring he caught something at school. After a good night’s sleep he would certainly feel better. He didn’t. At ten o’clock he stumbled downstairs to the family room where John and I were watching a movie before bed. He was crying now. “Mommy, it really hurts bad.” “Did the Tylenol help any, sweetie?” “No. It just keeps getting worse.” “What do you think we should do, John?” “I’m not sure. Do you hurt anywhere else?” “No.” “Is your stomach upset?” “No.” “John, feel his forehead. He’s burning up.” “Sure, son. You just sit there on Mommy’s lap while I call Grandpa to come help, okay?” “Okay, Daddy.” They blessed him but by 2:00 a.m. Wesley was screaming. “It hurts, Mommy, it hurts!” There was nothing else we could do so John wrapped him up and took him to the emergency room. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I kept waiting for the door to open and for John to carry our little Wesley back upstairs to his bed but they never came. I finally got the call at 7:03 a.m. “Honey, they’ve admitted him. They’ve got him heavily sedated right now so he’s sleeping but they want to keep him here until they run some tests. Call my mom and see if she’ll watch Amy. I’m leaving the hospital now to come and pick you up.” John and I spent the day at the hospital waiting for the doctors to find out what was wrong. Wesley had woken up a couple of times but the pain was so bad they had to put him under again each time. I felt helpless. The whole time I was pleading with God to help my little boy. He was such a sweet little thing. He had a spirit of love about him that was contagious to everyone around him. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in a hospital bed. It was beautiful outside. It was the type of day he loved. He should be outside running around on the new spring grass. He didn’t deserve this. Some time around 8:30 p.m., the doctor finally came back to Wesley’s room. Wesley had a virus. But not just any virus, his was extremely rare and extremely fatal. It was making his brain swell up inside of his skull. I went through all the steps of grief it seemed in a matter of mere moments. I denied, I got angry, I pleaded, I tried to bargain, I was depressed and then finally my body sank into a lump of numbness. “I’m sorry, but there’s really nothing we can do.” Nothing? How can you do nothing? Doing something, doing anything, defines action. You can’t do nothing. But they could, and they did. And so did the rest of us. Oh, we prayed. I pleaded and pleaded with God to save my boy. I begged, I offered myself instead, I promised everything I could think of, but nothing worked. Nothing could ransom him back to me. John and the Bishop tried to bless Wesley again but what they said lacked any promise of healing. “The spirit constrained me,” John sobbed into my shoulder months later. “I couldn’t heal him. I wasn’t allowed!” He was allowed to command much of the pain away, which was a tremendous blessing. Thursday Wesley woke up and smiled at me. “It doesn’t hurt as much, Mommy. I’m getting better.” How do you tell your nine-year-old child that he’s wrong? That he really isn’t getting better and never will? I just smiled back at his shinning face trying to limit the tears that would not be denied. I couldn’t say anything. To do so would have crumpled me. Wesley looked at me in earnest at that moment. I could see the concern in his eyes. The fear almost choked me that my emotions were showing too much, that my lack of strength was scaring him. But I quickly learned that his love was greater than that. “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t worry about me.” It was too much. I could feel the wracking sobs welling up inside of me demanding to be let free, but then he said the strangest thing. “My new friend says that I’ll be all right.” My anguish was suddenly replaced by burning anger. How dare anyone lie to my little boy and tell him that he was going to be all right. Granted, we had not told him that he wasn’t but no one besides us, his parents, had the right to tell him anything about his condition. I wanted a name and I wanted it right that minute. “Who told you?” “My new friend. He came to visit me last night while you were sleeping.” “Sleeping?” I hadn’t slept for almost two days. I may have dosed a little here and there but no one came into that room without me knowing about it. “It’s okay, Mommy. He helped most of the pain go away. He said I was a good boy.” I smiled at my boy. “You are a good boy.” But that wasn’t the end of it. I confronted the nursing staff but they denied having come in or having let anyone else into his room at anytime. His pain medicine was connected to an I.V. that I had seen changed both times. When I confronted the doctor he only smiled sadly and knowingly. “It is not uncommon when the swelling reaches a certain point for people to have hallucinations.” At that point we brought him home. The hospital couldn’t do anything that we couldn’t do at home. Plus, I wanted Wesley to be around familiar things. I wanted him to see his sister, to be in his own room and in his own bed. I wanted him to feel safe. Friday was probably the best day. His pain was at a tolerable level all day. We played board games, read his favorite stories, and talked about how much we loved him and how important he was to us. Grandma and Grandpa came over and brought his favorite pizza for dinner, which we all enjoyed on Wesley’s bed. I have never felt so close to my family before or since. It was a magical day that I will never forget, but it passed too quickly. That night Wesley whimpered once sling-shoting me out of bed and to his side. But when I got there he was sleeping peacefully. I looked down at him for long moments and then finally allowed myself to cry. I let it all out of me in a rush. I was grateful for the painkillers we had given him before bed because I know he would have wakened up from the powerful sobs that wracked through me. The guilt of every single time I had raised my voice at him, every single time I had told him he had to wait while I selfishly did something I wanted to do, all the lost opportunities to hold him and tell him how much I loved him, it was all like a giant accusing finger closing in on me and tormenting my soul. There were glimmers of light with the knowledge the gospel brings but they were too soon. I had to mourn. I had to sink to the lowness of despair and wallow in my grief for a time before I could fight my way back. They next morning I asked him if he had woken up the previous night with any pain. “Yes, but my new friend was there. He let me lay my head in his lap while he ran his fingers through my hair. It made the pain go away.” I was shocked. How could I have missed hearing him? “Do you mean Daddy came in?” “No, Mommy. It was my new friend.” I thought of the doctor’s words before we left the hospital. “It is not uncommon when the swelling reaches a certain point for people to have hallucinations.” I knew the end was drawing near and I cursed time for its merciless press forward. Saturday afternoon, Wesley finally lost consciousness. He had been fitful most of the day. I finally forced myself to give him a pain pill. I didn’t want to because I knew it would knock him out and I wanted every second I could get to be with my son. But he was suffering. I couldn’t let my selfishness override his comfort. Sunday the whole family gathered to say goodbye. Wesley did not gain consciousness that day. We even threw open the doors to the ward members and our friends who had been so good at allowing us to have those few precious days alone with our son. Our home was filled with love and tears that brought a bit of warmth to my family, but I was inconsolable. That night around 10 o’clock Wesly’s breathing began to slow and become erratic. We knew it wouldn’t be long. Then suddenly, he opened his eyes. He smiled that warm smile of his that fills your body with sunshine. “It’s okay, Mommy. I don’t hurt anymore. My new friend says I have to go though. Please don’t worry about me. He’ll take care of me.” I couldn’t stop sobbing. “But, Wesley, what am I going to do without you, my sweet little boy?” “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t be sad. Maybe my new friend will come back and help you feel better, too. I love you, Mommy.” “Oh, Wesley. And I love you.” It wasn’t until a month after the funeral when I was visiting Wesley’s grave again that his last words came back to me with great force. “Maybe my new friend will come back and help you feel better, too.” It was then that I understood who his new friend was. It was then that I finally let his new friend come back to me and comfort me. It was then that I knew my Savior loved me and held me through my loss and heartache. He had come to Wesley in his hour of need and now I was letting him come to me. He had my son now, taking care of him and watching out for him until I could reach him again, until I could hold him in my arms again and be filled by the light of his wonderful smile, until the time of fulfilled joy when all families will be reunited again. I finally knew Wesley’s new friend and I finally knew peace.
“All over.”
“Daddy, will you give me a blessing so it will go away?”