…and other common occurrences.
How do I begin to write the hardest piece of non-fiction I have ever attempted?
I discovered yesterday that there are two times when a parent carries a child with slow steps and infinite care. When the journey is longer in spirit than in geography, and the weight of the burden held far exceeds any reckoning of mass or measure.
Those two occasions are the first time a newborn is transported from maternity ward to car, and the second is when a parent carries the urn that contains their young child’s ashes from the mortuary to the vehicle that will carry them home – and I pray to God that no other parent reading this ever has to bear that unbearable burden.
I truly apologise to anyone reading this who was not already aware that this week we lost our oldest son, Samuel, in a tragic accident. I have held off on writing here until as many people as possible had been told. For Mike and I the number of people who had already heard when we contacted them has been oddly encouraging. For us it has means that there are many people who care for us, and who will miss Sam at least a fraction of how much we do and will.
I cannot begin to describe now the horror and pain that we have begun to experience this week. I cannot now begin to count the many beautiful consolations that have tempered our grief - those tiny joys that touch at the edges of our sorrow.
Even as we feel this pain together we rejoice in the person that Sam was and is, and we rejoice in the decision he made just weeks ago to fully embrace his relationship as a child of God. Our Father has gathered him into His heart.
Samuel Thomas William Rayson. Your days on earth can be counted between March 28, 1996 and May 14, 2007. But your spirit dances into eternity.
We love you Sam.