Loving Landan

It’s been a few months since I’ve posted.  Partially because I’ve been afraid to – often drafting these posts hurt. I don’t want to hurt any more than I already do.  And partially because I wasn’t sure that anything I had thought about sharing felt complete yet.  But today at church I found clarity and I’m ready for this one. 

During Landan’s hospital stay I would often hear about how strong we were, how people didn’t know how we were doing what we were doing.  And I always understood what they were trying to say.  But I also always thought, well what else are we supposed to do? We’re not given a choice right now. 

I know what we did was hard.  I also know that a lot of families don’t do the same – whether by choice or circumstance.  But for us, it was the only choice.  And the only reason we were able to sustain the situation really came down to one thing – hope.  During Landan’s entire hospital stay there was hope and belief – from us, the nurses, the doctors – that Landan would be coming home.  That we could give him enough time to heal, and we would be walking away with him in our arms. 

When Landan was first intubated, I would pray nonstop, every day, that he would survive.  Prior to his intubation he was desperately struggling to breathe.  Right before his intubation, during a particularly bad episode, he just stared at me, and I swear he was telling me that he was too tired.  That he couldn’t fight any longer and he was saying goodbye.  That moment haunts me to this day.  He survived that intubation, and we got another three months or so with him.  While he was intubated, I prayed nonstop for him to survive.  For one more opportunity to tell him how much I loved him and to look into those soul-gripping eyes again.  Nightly, I would dream of Jesus sitting at the edge of his crib holding Landan in His arms.  Doing what I couldn’t do, protecting him, loving him, and reassuring me that Landan was taken care of, no matter what happened.  That dream and that reassurance was what sustained me through that time. 

Up until our very last few days with him, hope continued to sustain us.  And when we knew we were losing him, it was once again hope that allowed us to get through it.  This time it was a different hope.  It was a hope that we had already solidified through our relationship and acceptance of Jesus.  Someday, we will get to see Landan again, in the most glorious of circumstances.  We will never have to be without him again. 

We still hurt.  We still struggle.  I still ache to hold him, and I will think about him, and long for him, every day I live.  But every day is one day closer to being set free from this pain.  This hope we have been gifted I am forever grateful for.  Without it, I would not be able to get out of bed every day.

Weakness, desperation, frailty – it’s a condition of human nature.  But thanks to Jesus, we get to rest in the hope and the promise that was made over 2000 years ago, and we get to rest with Landan and our Lord for eternity.  There is nothing that can compete with that. We will see Landan soon, but not until God appoints the time, and those moments will be as sweet as kissing our Savior’s cheek and thanking Him for his sacrifice.