He can’t consistently pronounce his “L’s” yet, but he knows what it is to fear death.
“Mommy,” he told me on Saturday night, “I don’t want to die.”
And then a little later:
“Does God want me to die? Why?”
And though I searched all the hidden rooms of my 36-year-old heart, I didn’t have an answer adequate to the questions he was asking. And certainly not in four-year-old language.
His questions about death are valid. On Saturday, he could have died. We took him to a Mexican restaurant. A family favorite. It has always been safe, but on Saturday it wasn’t. He is allergic to peanuts and peas, and we suspect some green pea residue got in his food. I saw the look on his face after one of his first bites. Something wasn’t right. He knew it. Deep in my heart, I knew it too. But we wanted it to be okay – so we told him it was. After all, we had asked all the right questions. The staff told us it was okay.
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all.
It took us probably 20 minutes between that first bite until we gave him his epi pen. Twenty minutes where he showed early signs of airway distress. He coughed, his throat got hoarse, he drank a ton of water to “clear his pipes.” He kept sticking his fingers in his mouth to pull something out. Finally, he admitted his throat didn’t feel right. He screamed from fear of his Epi Pen, but afterwards when I was carrying him through the parking lot like an infant, he told me he was glad he had it.
It made him feel better.
It was the right thing to do.
But he was still scared. So scared.
When we got home from the hospital that night, we put on a movie for the kids so we could all decompress.
Even though my son loves to cuddle, he didn’t want us to sit next to him.
“I need my personal space,” he said.
When we asked him if he was scared, he said “Yes, but I’m still thinking about what parts. I just need to keep thinking.”
If you are a mother, you can imagine how this felt. We have a short time when our children are babies when we can be the tangible answer that they need. But on Saturday night, my child was wrestling with questions bigger than a mommy or daddy could solve, and somehow – he knew it.
At the tender age of four, his heart was working out life and death and God, and all I could do was watch.
Well, that’s not exactly all I could do.
I could pray too, and I have prayed. So many prayers, both in words and in the type of anquish that needs no words. (Romans 8:26)
Today I stood on my back porch and let answers bubble up in my heart to questions I don’t remember specifically asking. I remembered again that God loves my son more than I do. I remembered that the One who designed the stars above and the earth under my feet constantly stoops low to parent his children in tender, compassionate ways. And I marveled that the maker of the universe chooses to tell us his story not on his terms but on ours, using imperfect beings to carry his name and express his truth. I marveled at the dignity he gives us by letting us – his children – exercise free will. I wondered why he would allow us such freedom, such significance.
And I came to the place where I understood that the privilege of story is something a loving parent grants his or her children. How God must want to swoop in from time to time and choose our actions for us! How He must want to “pull rank” and wipe away our tears and struggles. And yet, there must be something better for us because instead of doing that, He lets us wrestle. He lets us persevere. He lets us develop character. He lets us find holy hope. And though He freely gives salvation, He allows us a process that produces intimacy and fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:14-19). He is a good, good father. He withholds no good thing.
So as my little one turns a corner in his development and begins to wrestle with God-sized things, I have to turn in my savior badge. I have to admit to him that I cannot answer all the questions. I can point him to the right places, and I can equip him with the right tools.
But, ultimately, I have to grant him the dignity of his own story.
It’s not an easy thing to do.
Luke 2:19, 51: But Mary treasured up all these things, and pondered them in her heart.
Donna says
This is incredible. I have been wrestling with the words in my mind of how to describe this and you have done it so well and so beautifully. I think a non-religious person could also appreciate this. Thank you for writing it down and for sharing it with the world.
melissa Lu says
Thanks Donna. I feel sure the writing helps me more than anyone. So much to process when this happens!
Jyoti says
Thank you for sharing. I have heard the same words from my 7 yr old daughter “please mommy I don’t want to die” during an anaphylactic reaction. It is sometimes unbearable and mostly incomprehensible to me that my child has come close to dying multiple times at such a young age.
Melissa Lu says
This makes my heart hurt. I am so very sorry your daughter and my son have had to wrestle with this. Praying continuously for a cure.
Melody says
Beautiful, hard, real, just wow. Thank you for sharing your heart. Gosh that moment when you know what’s happening and just wish that it wouldn’t. And he’s so little and precious. You’re a great mom. Thanks for another great blog that inspires me to be better.
Lynda V. Hicks says
I was born in 1947. It became apparent at a very young age that I was allergic to bee stings. There were no epipens or any other forms of meds. You had to get to a doctor, emergency room as quickly as possible. We lived in the country, a good distance from any facilities. We had no phones. One car in the family that may or may not be there when I was stung. We had baking soda and tobacco. I remember at around two knowing I was in trouble when a bee stung me. I didn’t have to do anything careless to be stung. Most of my stings occurred when I walked out of the house. They would fly into me and sting me. I would scream “The I’ve been stung scream.” and then go calm. For some reason I knew this was my only hope. Someone would grab baking soda and a wet rag. This was placed on the sting as preparations were made to get to a doctor. Often this meant catching a ride with a passing car. The beautiful story I just read about prayer brought about my memories. Even though I was very young, I knew stay calm, don’t cry, and pray. As time passed, my allergy grew worse. At the age of 13, (I tried to keep benadryl with me, but it was only in liquid form. We were on vacation at the lake. Two mad bees, hornet and wasp, stung me. I was on a dock way out in the lake. We were over thirty minutes from the nearest hospital. My father heard my scream and realized it was a bee sting scream. To make a long story short, we arrived at the hospital just as I passed out. They gave me shots and waited. Unknown to them I was floating around the ceiling watching the process when suddenly I vomited and was back in my body. My mother had given me a coke and an aspirin as we left the cabin that made me throw up and actually saved my life, according to the doctors. I was stung very often. After this incident, I was sent to an allergist in Atlanta, Ga. They ran tests. I had a reaction to the test and had to be given medicine. I took shots from 8th grade to Junior in college. I can now be stung and not fear. I’m telling you this to help you realize your young son seems to know as I did at that age. Go calm, don’t cry, PRAY. I have two grandchildren that are allergic to dairy, nuts, and more things than I can imagine. I am so thankful for epi pens and the knowledge about allergies. Your story touched me very personally. I hope you don’t mind my sharing this story. I will continue to pray for all those facing severe allergies.
Lynn says
Thank you for sharing! This post is so timely! My 10 yr old is starting to notice everyone else is different from him. He has asked me several times why did God give him allergies or why does he have to be the one to show people how to take care of each other (quoting back answers I’ve given him to the why’s) or why won’t God take away his allergies. It’s heart breaking to not have answers or to secretly ask those questions yourself and ask God if He’s hearing my little boy’s heart right now!! It’s been a tough school year and we are only a month into it!