Can I introduce you to someone?

Each year around this time, I ask myself "was it 8/9/98 or 8/8/98?"  As it turns out, sixteen years ago today, I got to hold the body of my still-born son, Asher, for the first and last time on this side of eternity. Only a few people got to be with his body that day.  It was a quiet and poignant scene as opposed to most births I've been to where there was much more activity, noise, exuberance etc.  I have a few photos taken during that time that we've shown to only a small group of close friends over the years so as not to freak people out. Most folks (including someone today) have counted it a privilege to see some of the items in the "Asher box" and are grateful that we would consider them close enough friends to want to share with them at that level. You also learn when you have a child die that there are hundreds of people around you that have lost children and they carry that experience with them, but hardly ever speak of it. There are many reasons for that but if it helps, here I am thinking about the whole thing and here are some of my thoughts as well...

Over the years I've come up with a self-doctrine of what I believe about his soul, how "old" he will be when I see him in heaven, the fact that he's there, what he may be doing etc. etc.  I know that Asher will be someone I will meet in heaven.  I know I will have a level of understanding that I lack right now and I believe part of that will be a more complete awareness of who people are and what they've been through for God's glory.  I know he'll recognize me and I hope he'll call me "Daddy" (tearing up now, sorry).  I long to hear that voice almost as much as I long to see the face of my Saviour and hear God's "well done". I don't know if Asher's will be the voice of a little boy or the strong muscled hug of a man who has been working on my eternal mansion as a craftsman or something.  But I long to hold him and see in his eyes a living spirit.  I'm sure I'll be a blubbering mess.

I've decided over the years to leave an occasional item at his gravesite.  I know this probably constitutes littering, but I don't care.  I kiss his name on the stone when I visit and I left him toy cars and other small items over the years. When he would've turned 21, I'll be cracking open a cold one and leaving it for him. I formally decided to live my life totally for Christ when I was 16.  So this year I'll be leaving a small Bible for Asher. Though for sixteen years Asher has been worshipping at the throne of the Almighty with thousands upon thousands of angels and God's people that have gone on before us. So he probably doesn't need a Bible to fellowship with Jesus like I do. But he'll get one anyway.

I remember people "not knowing what to say", but just being there with a smile, a hug and a tear.  Folks, that means SO MUCH to those who are experiencing loss. Don't ever discount doing that. And don't stop talking to people because you don't know what to say.  It doesn't matter how smart or stupid you think you sound.  The fact that you're there is what they'll remember long after the grace to go through such things fades away.  Bob K., Mike P., Steve S., David C., Trish M., I remember you and countless others who were at the funeral and the days before and after.  You were not, as Job called his friends "miserable counselors".  Today I try to emulate your example of "just being there" and caring when I'm aware of folks who are suffering.

I have one last thing I need to say.  We also, at some point, had a miscarriage that we didn't carry to full term like Asher.  We named that child Grace.  I know much less about her that I do my son.  I haven't seen her, held her or have any concrete knowledge of what's happened to her.  I tend not to think about her as much since the experience was very different. But I need to say that I love her as much as Asher or any of my living children and I look forward to that sweet reunion with her as well in heaven.

So happy sweet 16 Asher.  I love you and I can't wait to see you again.

Dad