Blake's miracle

I saw the picture of a child today who died of leukemia. His name was Blake. He was 18 months old. The picture showed him poised at the edge of a small diving board—plump arms curved protectively. Feet angled inward in uncertain balance. Looking anxiously at the camera. Perhaps he was scared to take the jump. Such a little boy faced with such a mammoth task.

I suppose I should have asked the usual questions—Is life fair? Why him? What’s the point? Instead I could only think of the moment when he must have drawn his last breath. How do you watch an 18 month old draw his last breath? I hope I never find out. I could only think of his mom going from a ‘have’ to a ‘had’. How do you watch your child die in your arms? I hope I never ever find out. My mind could not stir beyond this point. I felt shafts of pain slice through me. Not once but over and over.

I want to draw some deep philosophical understanding of life and present it here with a grand flourish. Perhaps write an ode to man’s suffering? Perhaps a sonnet on a mother’s love? Perhaps even an essay on the inevitability of death. But all I can think of is that moment when the child died. That one second of transition. Where did Blake go?

Blake’s parents have poured their grief into a mammoth charity effort. They are selling T-shirts, holding marathons, conducting donation drives, selling raffle tickets….. They call it Blake’s miracle. People are applauding their spirit. Their courage... I only wonder how long will they keep it up? When will the fervor die down? When will the fury of their grief abate? Each new charity effort sounds like a helpless cry of sorrow to me. I pray they find peace. I await the day when finally there will be no more fliers announcing Blake’s miracle.