Someone once told me that I am a 'Bill Cosby' dad. This was during the time my wife and I were expecting our daughter. I was so excited that I only missed one appointment from the time we first learned we were pregnant until she was born and I was constantly talking to her and cradling her...while she was in the womb! My two sons were adopted so I missed that time with them, which I believe is a very critical time in their lives. Nevertheless, I was with my oldest when he was circumcised at about age 2 and I got to see my second son first learn to crawl (backwards!) and then take his first steps.
As they all grew to crawl, walk, talk, and eventually run my heart grew more tender toward them when they stumbled. Once my daughter fell trying to run to me. My oldest son got his hand caught in an exercise bike and cried for me until I got home. My second son almost blew his hand off with a smoke bomb. As they became older there were roller blades, scooters, and bikes and the boys played football and, of course, the bumps and bruises grew worse. You see, they knew that I was always the one who removed the splinters, glass fragments, and ticks and whatever else I could do to 'make it better.' I think it was probably more for ME to feel better because my heart would ache knowing that they had hurt themselves in any way. Once my second son had a toothache that hurt so bad it brought him to tears and because he was bigger than I -and a little stronger- it took everything I had to try to hold him and comfort him, especially when we went to the emergency room to get it looked at. I remember telling him that if I could make it go away I would. I think that may have helped a little, though we both knew that I couldn't.
So imagine how my heart ached and broke when I looked up into my attic and saw this same son hanging from a rope tied around his neck. After climbing up there (in a matter of seconds) and feeling that same pity as always I asked him, "Boy! What have you done?" I held him and cried for what seemed like an eternity until we cut him down and laid him to rest in the insulation. But then there came a peace that I can't explain as I began to realize he wasn't hurting anymore from the pain he had been feeling inside. He himself had found a way to make that go away. And just like the toothache, I wished there was something I could have done to make it all better, but we both knew that I couldn't. Especially not this time. Somehow I feel like I did take at least some of his pain, and not just because of my grief and sorrow, but rather in beginning to understand just how much he was really hurting inside. And I still find myself trying to do something about it...
