Mom?

It will come as no surprise that I have been extremely tired.  Tired doesn't even feel like the right word for it.  I have just been more-than tired.  Each day around 12:30, I am ready for a good, deep, 2-hour+ nap.  And I still go to bed at a pretty good time.  More-than tired.

Yesterday, because we were returning the ties, I didn't get to start my nap as early as I would have liked, so I only had about an hour, maybe an hour-and-a-half tops.  But I needed it.  Desperately.  The dream I had was so deep and so real, it felt like I had been asleep for an entire night.

The first remembrance was that a mother had died and that I had been named the "new mother" of four kids that I didn't even know.  In fact, I never even saw these four unknown kids' faces, I just knew I was supposed to be their new mom soon.  As I was trying to figure out how to make any of this work, confused at why I was the one chosen, I came to the understanding that I was even expected to move to Texas to mother these kids, leaving my own behind for portions of time.  "How am I supposed to be a mother to these kids?"  "How am I supposed to be a good mom to kids that I don't even know, have never even seen?"  "What am I going to do with them, to make them like me? To love me?!"  I didn't get the sense in the dream that Caden had died, only that I had always had four kids, so I didn't really feel that my own kids had had something very traumatic already happen to them, so my next thought was, "What are my kids going to do without their own mother in the times that I'm taking care of someone else in another state that I don't even know?!" 

In all of this confusion that took minutes and even hours in my dream, I became an emotional wreck and started crying harder and harder with each thought.  By the time I came to the last question in my dream-self's mind, I was hysterically bawling, completely weighed down with it all, gasping for breath at the feeling of drowning.  I woke in that moment, actually gasping, heart pounding, sweating, and literally crying.  It had felt so real.  And then I realized, it really is real for me right now.  How am I going to be the mother that does stuff for my kids to make them like me, to make them love me, when I am "babysitting" grief unlike anything I have ever met before?  In some ways, I'm afraid that I'm going to be in another "state" while dealing with it, and I'm afraid for my kids while I'm "gone."  Even though I had already been crying and feeling all of those dream emotions, I started with very real ones in reality.  I cried harder than I have since moments after Caden passed away.  Hard, soul-wracking sobs of confusion and despair and honestly, fear.  How can I be a good mother when grief is enveloping me a little bit at a time?  What are we all going to do?

It was only a dream.  But the memory and the enveloping, suffocating feelings have not left me since.  It may have started out as a subconscious thought, but it is a very real nightmare for me right now.  I am worried about mothering my sweet kids in the way I want, the way I am used to, the way I LOVE, because I have other "stuff" to do and work out.  Stuff that I have never seen, never thought I would be chosen to work through, stuff that I really don't understand, stuff that is going to change my life once again, I can feel it.  In some ways, it feels like I need to have more faith to endure this than anything else I have endured in my life.  Including losing my first-born child.

Returns

We finally had time and motivation to take back the five extra ties we had purchased for Homecoming.  Since Jennifer had two different dresses coming from China, we had either Coral or Blushing Pink to look for.  Not wanting to have even the slightest different color for either dress, we just went around to store after store in search of those two colors.  Six ties later: We found the perfect one!

Kohl's had us in and out of their Customer Service Department in less than 30 seconds.  She scanned the receipt, scanned the tie bar code, pressed a button and grabbed out my cash.  Get this: She also surprised me by giving me the Kohl's cash reimbursement that I'd used.  They're not doing that promotion right now, but because I'd had it when I purchased the tie, I have it now.  Easy, peasy!

JCPenney was just a bit different.  Since they have more than one Customer Service desk but not as many employees stationed at each, it took just a few seconds for someone to realize that we needed help.  Also, because of a mix-up with the UPC being different from the bar code, one of our ties almost had to be returned without the receipt.  As she was looking up how much we could get without the receipt (I kid you not, it was only going to be $1.37 instead of $25.78!) I found the error-- we got all of our money back.  Not as easy as Kohl's, but it ended with us getting all of our money back.

Sears was the last place on our return list.  Like Kohl's, we were helped right away.  Unlike all other stores, we could not make the return.

"I'm sorry, you have passed the 30-day return date."
"Even with the receipt, you can't give us our money back?"
"No, sir."
"What about a store credit?"
"No, I'm sorry."

We incredulously stared at her for the required "awkward moment/you have got to be kidding me" allotment of time and just turned to leave.  It was not worth the tears that I knew I could pull out of thin air to make this girl feel uncomfortable with our "why" for not being back within that measly 30-day return period.

Randy, loud enough for both employees to hear as we walked away, "No wonder this place is going out of business!"

We had the receipt and could not even get store credit!  Lame!  Goodwill is getting a brand new Blushing Pink tie tomorrow, and Sears will never get another dime from us.

Seasons

A few months ago, I posted how a particular idea from a book had struck me: "Who came up with minutes, anyway?  Name one good thing a minute's ever done.  They shorten fun and measure misery..."  Last night as I was going through my pictures on my phone (something that I do even more than ever), I came across the next paragraph of that book, Love, Stargirl.  Jerry Spinelli continues: "As if Arnold could look up at this clock on the Lenape Building and read: 15 Minutes till Found.  As if Charlie's time in not forever stuck on Half Past Grace."  I believe I may very well be forever stuck on Half Past Caden.  It has been two weeks.  In some ways, two weeks feels like a very, very long time.  Then I remember the rest of my life, and two weeks feels like nothing.  But it's not nothing.  It's a very big something.

Not only are things getting just a little harder each day, but we have all been fighting a bug of some sort.  Randy was awake for maybe one hour on Sunday after spending a minute or two throwing up first thing in the morning.  His seems to be the worst of it.  Shelby started just before the end of school on Monday, then Shelby, Keilie, and Tyson stayed home from school on Tuesday, with Brennon having his bout yesterday and today.  Mine has been a bit different.  I've had my times of throwing up, but I have also had some pretty severe stomach aches multiple times a day for more than a week.  I think my body is really trying to process what has happened, on top of this bug.  I'm sort of a physical mess.  Not too bad, but not nothing either.  Our minutes are dragging, it seems.

I had my first instance where our neighbor didn't feel like a comfort, like a place it feels nice to remember being with my Caden.  I was walking to the mail, not really having any thoughts, when a single memory of pushing him in the wheelchair during radiation popped into my head and had me in tears.  I didn't really think they would last long, since it didn't really come with some deep emotional sadness, but I continued to have tears spill down my cheeks until I got home.  It was weird-- like I was sad, but didn't really feel it in my heart or think I was sad.  I know crying, I know when it comes from the heart and soul-- this was just crying without any real thought or feeling.  So I just cried.  The memory feels more surreal because of the lack of real emotion from my heart.  It doesn't really feel like I was the one crying.  I wonder how many more times things that give me comfort now, because they keep Caden alive in my life, will hurt me.

Life just feels so surreal right now.  One minute things feel OK, the next, tears are rolling down my cheeks without thought or emotion.  Our minutes are being counted at Half Past Caden right now.  There is beauty all around as the air turns crisp and the leaves change colors, but all I can see are the leaves on the ground and the stark, bare branches that have lost their color and gone dormant.  It's beautiful, but only because that is the season that we are in.  Seasons can sometimes seem too long, even at the very beginning.

Crazy Face

The Wayne and Rachelle Burrell family- November 2008

The picture may have been perfect except for that one face in the bottom, right-hand corner-- Yep, that's my son!

 The Wayne and Rachelle Burrell family-- October 2017

Bottom, right-hand corner-- Yep, that's my son!  We're missing Danielle's babes, Audrey and Drew.  (And Caden-- sob)  I'm working on editing the pictures now, but it was a fun reminisce seeing Tyson's crazy eyes and remembering a day long ago where a different 7-year-old boy looked less-than picture perfect.  Love my boys!

Skills

While taking a few things around town, Tyson was our "runner."  After a few houses that were kind of close together, he told us that he should just hang onto the door and ride outside, and that when he got cold he would just get back in the car.

Randy: "How would you get back into the car if you can't open the door?"

Tyson, in all seriousness, "Dad, you don't know my skills!"  He has every confidence in himself, and I love it!

Happiness

Brennon: "When they closed that thing (casket), I felt like all the happiness just got shut in there!"

Last 8

Tyson is no different than any other child on the planet-- he's been counting down the days until his birthday.  However, this year's countdown had one extra thing to obsess over, one thing that ripped my heart out: the fear that people would forget about his day because of the one before it.  In his prayer on Saturday night, Tyson thanked Heavenly Father that one person remembered (since Uncle Steve had just called to ask suggestions for gifts), and prayed that more would know that his birthday was coming up.  Randy and I got to work, asking all those that we thought might be able to help.  Typical, our families did not disappoint-- they came through with more love and support than we had envisioned and hoped for.  Friday, October 13th, was a birthday that my Tyson had prayed about-- it.was.awesome!

Aunt Danielle had immediately gotten on Amazon to send him a gift in the mail, since he'd checked the mail every day for more than a week.  He immediately opened that one when it arrived on Thursday.  Since it was Legos, I asked him to wait to put them together, which would happen many more times over the weekend-- he LOVES Legos.  From then on, the gifts that were brought from so many were staggered in the most amazingly choreographed way-- totally unplanned.  He had time to play with each gift before another one came.  What made it even more fun was having cousins surrounding him and playing with each of his gifts with him.  Not only did the gifts make him feel special, but the cousins' reaction and excitement to play made the day feel full of joy, something I had been praying could happen after the day he had endured before.

Many family members stayed for his Baptism day on Saturday.  Many stayed, many friends came!  Like the viewing for my sweet Caden, the Relief Society room was standing room only for my sweet Tyson.  My heart was so full as I saw people file in while I played the piano prelude, at one point feeling the threatening of tears as I peered over the top of the piano at all of the love and support for my Ty, my Ender, the last of our 8's.  The tender feelings felt in that room for two very special, yet very different occasions are very precious to me.  When love is pure, it feels beautiful in sorrow and in joy.

We felt the loss of Caden, but we also felt comfort and truth-testifying power of the Holy Ghost.  It stung to remember how much Caden wanted to baptize Tyson, but we know that he was with us on this very special day.  He loves us, and we love him.  He misses us; we miss him more.  Our thoughts will always be with him, and he will always be in our hearts.  And on this day, Tyson followed through with his decision to be baptized the newest member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, beginning his path back to Heaven, back to our Heavenly Father, and back to our Caden.  I am so proud of you, Tyson.  Remember what Caden wrote in his scriptures: It is safer to hold to the rod.

Happy Birthday, Tyson Darwin Dirks

It's GREAT to be EIGHT!!!

TYSON (8)

Happy 8th Birthday, Tyson Darwin Dirks!!!!

WE LOVE YOU SO, SO MUCH!!!!

Miracles

In pondering..., I have thought much about the circumstances of so many others. What about the innumerable faith-filled, priesthood-blessing-receiving, unendingly-prayed-for, covenant-keeping, full-of-hope Latter-day Saints whose miracle never comes? At least in the way they understand a miracle. At least in the way that others appear to receive miracles.  What about those who suffer from profound afflictions—physically, mentally, emotionally—for years or for decades or for their entire mortal life? What about those who die so very young?

My limited knowledge cannot explain why sometimes there is divine intervention and other times there is not. But perhaps we lack an understanding of what constitutes a miracle.  Often we describe a miracle as being healed without a full explanation by medical science or as avoiding catastrophic danger by heeding a clear prompting. However, defining a miracle as “a beneficial event brought about through divine power that mortals do not understand”gives an expanded perspective into matters more eternal in nature. This definition also allows us to contemplate the vital role of faith in the receipt of a miracle.

King Nebuchadnezzar demanded that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego worship the golden image he set up as a god, threatening, “If ye worship not, ye shall be cast … into the midst of a burning fiery furnace.” Then he taunted them with “Who is that God that shall deliver you out of my hands?”

These three devout disciples said: “If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace. … But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods.”

They possessed full confidence that God could save them, “but if not,” they had complete faith in His plan.  {Donald L. Hallstrom, October 2017}

This talk was given during the Sunday morning session of General Conference.  I swear to you, it was as if this man was talking just to me.  I have had four years to contemplate the word Miracles, and having Faith, have seen many.  Not just during our cancer journey, but throughout our married life.  But it is Thursday's Miracles that I would like to write about tonight.  Oh, the Miracles!

I'm not sure when my aversion to funerals began, but I have not been able to attend a single one, as long as I can remember, without crying the night before, as I was getting ready, the entire drive there, during the viewing and the service (honestly, if I can stay that long) and the entire drive home.  Maybe it stems from stories I have heard about my sister Keilie's funeral, where I cried as they were closing the casket, "Don't you shut that on my sister!" I'll never know.  Whether I was too young or it is a blocked memory, I don't remember that day.  Funerals have always just been extremely difficult and painful.  To say that I was nervous about how I would act during my child's would be an understatement of epic proportion!  I was terrified beyond belief.

The morning dawned cold and windy.  True to form, I was a mess of snot and tears for a while.  In all honesty, I hid in my bathroom from eyes that would see me bawling.  I was most worried about the closing of the casket, knowing that it would be the last time I ever saw my Caden's earthly face again.  Oh, how it hurt so much to think about and anticipate that moment.  Once I cried myself out and processed the fears, I made the decision that I had chosen not to make for many weeks: I put on makeup.  Randy asked me more than once why I was even considering it, but I just had to.  I had a backup package of makeup remover wipes, knowing that I was going to bawl my eyes out, but I had to look my best for my boy, just one more time.

{Miracle}From the second I made that decision, it was like a weight was lifted from me-- I was surprisingly well.  No one was more surprised than I.  I felt calm and peaceful and strong and light as I walked in and saw my beautiful boy in the casket we chose, and throughout the entire viewing.  {Miracle} Our funeral director brought in a 3" binder full of double sided casket pictures on the day we finalized all of Caden's arrangements.  Randy had always considered white, I knew Caden's favorite color was a dark gray.  With just one page swipe of more than 300 choices, we found one that was mainly white with dark gray handles.  Effortless and perfect choice to give both of my men their color preferences.

I cannot say that it was an "easy" day for me, I cannot say that I didn't cry so, so much, I cannot say that seeing them close the casket didn't feel like they were sealing a large portion of my heart away, I cannot say that I will not shed tears and tears as I fully process the day over the next hours, days, weeks, and possibly years, but I can say that I know the entire day was a {Miracle} given me by my Heavenly Father.  He knew the worries of my heart, in reference to the entire day, and buoyed me up beyond anything I could have accomplished on my own.  Though my babes felt the loss keenly, sobbing harder than they have ever cried before, I hope they will be able to realize and recognize the calming Spirit that attended the day.  Like so much that has happened, it was a beautiful heartbreak experience.

As we walked into the chapel, following behind the boy we would never see in the flesh again, I could not believe the amount of love and support that greeted us, reverently standing as we entered.  Minus about six rows of pews reserved for our family, each pew was filled shoulder to shoulder, each seat behind the pews, for rows and rows as far back as I could see as we passed, was filled.  It took my breath away, breaths that were hard to take because of my sobs and burning heart.  To those that were in attendance, to those that were there in spirit, to those that have supported us through it all or just a few hours, THANK YOU!  I will never, never, never be able to say it enough: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!

The music performed by the Ward Choir and Anastacia Crosier was gorgeous, the talks given by Brothers Bagley, Ritchie, and Randy Dirks (that man astonishes me with his strength and testimony!), as well as the remarks given by Bishop Kreutz were phenomenal, along with the Holy Ghost's comforting presence made the service the most amazingly wonderful tribute to my Caden, The Boy in Heaven.  I will never forget the tender feelings and emotions, not as long as I live.

{Miracle} As our Brother-in-law, Ryan, prayed at the end of the service, he asked the Lord for something that I had prayed for for many days prior to the service: For the weather to hold.  From the day Caden passed, Randy and I watched the weather change hourly from "60 and sunny," to "55, windy, with a 90% chance of rain."  Truly, while we were in the church for those three hours, it had been raining.  While we drove to the cemetery, it was sprinkling on us.  But the second we got out of our cars, the winds calmed down and the showers ceased.  Not one drop fell during the grave dedication.  Not one!

Our prayers for years have included many "but if not..." statements.  Of course we prayed many, many times for Caden to be healed.  Of course we prayed for diminished pain and suffering.  Of course we prayed for more time.  Of course we hoped for a different outcome.  We always knew that Caden could be healed, if it was the Lord's Will.  We knew He could have kept Caden from getting cancer, even.  But because all of the miracles we have witnessed, all of the miracles that some would not see as such, even through the miracles given at the time of his passing, we have always felt of our Heavenly Father's love for us and for our son.  Caden's birth was my miracle, his life and death was a miracle for us all.  I will always think of October 12, 2017 as one of the most miraculous days of my personal history, the day we all paid tribute just one more time to Caden Randy Dirks, The Boy in the Bed, our Eternal Miracle, our forever Boy in Heaven.  

Life Sketch

Caden Randy Dirks has always loved a good joke, as evidence of his very birth.  On May 15, 2001, one week before his due date, Caden decided to play a joke on us.  Not only was he coming early (a novel thought that I had never even considered), but the doctors had told us that he was actually a Girl.  At the exact moment of his birth at 8:09pm in Houston, Texas, Randy excitedly exclaimed, “It’s a BOY!”  And from that moment on, Caden brought laughter to our lives.

His early childhood was filled with curiosity and learning.  One minute he was distributing Hershey’s Cocoa Powder all over Grandma and Grandpa Burrell’s WHITE basement carpet, or drawing murals with black permanent Sharpie all over Grandpa and Grandpa Dirks’ WHITE basement walls, and the next he was standing on a table, front and center, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance for an audience at just three-years-old.  Caden remembered everything, he loved random facts.  And, oh, was that boy naughty and difficult as a toddler— by far the hardest of the five Dirks children.  The tantrums that boy could throw!  He knew what he wanted, he knew how to get it, and he was not going to let anyone tell him no.  All of that angst, and defiance, and disobedience changed around his fourth birthday.  From then on, he has been the most straight-forward, easy child you could ever imagine.

Months before Caden’s fifth birthday, our family of four moved to Casper, Wyoming.  Caden loved Casper.  From Kindergarten through the beginning of Middle School, Caden enjoyed the easy and lasting friendships with Brayden, Danielle and Violet.  It was these friends that supported him during a difficult trial in his life when he had to patch one of his eyes for six months in the third grade.  It was hard and embarrassing for him, but he never complained, knowing he had the unwavering support of his group.  And, honestly, Caden just never complained about his trials.  Those friends, those amazing friends, made it easy and wonderful and special to live in Casper, and doubly, brutally hard to move from Wyoming to Washington. Bar none, one of the hardest moves we have ever had to make— and we have had our share of moves!  Caden always said that he felt Casper was the place that he “grew up.”  He was always proud to say we had moved from Wyoming.

November 2, 2012 our family of seven arrived in Richland.  Because of the life he left in Wyoming, Caden was lost when we arrived; he did not know where he belonged.  It was many weeks before he felt like life would or could go on again.  Life started for Caden again in the form of Zachary Bagley.  Throughout the near-five years we have lived here, Caden has substantially added to his circle of friends, becoming part of a large, incredible group of youth, but it was Zachary Bagley that saved Caden all of those years ago, bringing laughter and joy back into his life.

Scouting has been a major part of Caden’s life since he turned 8-years-old.  Caden loved scouting, even recruiting multiple friends to join his troop.  Because Randy was a scout leader when Caden was 11-years-old, Caden got to go to scout camp a year earlier than most, giving him a running start to earn his Eagle at 14-years old.  When it came time for Caden to do his final project, he knew immediately what he wanted to do, something personal and full of meaning to him: Pediatric blankets for the local hospital.  An insert placed with each blanket read:  {READ THE INSERT}  It was not enough to do a project that would benefit all, he wanted to do his project to benefit “the one.”

Education was also very important to Caden.  Upon waking from anesthesia when he broke his arm last year, he informed the ER doctor that he’d been “doing his homework on the beach.”  We laughed, but the truth is, he really did care about his grades.  We always marveled that he’d take his massive backpack to the hospital with him, doing assignments while nurses bustled around him.  We found goals written in both his journal and Duty to God booklet about being on track to graduate from BYU as a doctor.  Many of his entries over the years categorized things he’d personally change with regards to medical care given to children.  Personal experience, combined with the knowledge he was working hard to attain, would have made Caden the best of doctors— probably the best we know.

From an early age, Caden had plans to go on a Mission.  Many times at dinner — many times!— he would say, “I’m going to eat this so that I have practice eating foods that I do not like.”  With each recurrence, his only worry (that he ever voiced aloud) was that it was pushing his Mission back.  What Caden never realized was that his very life and testimony brought many closer to our Heavenly Father, that his example and legacy will continue to bring many to Him.  Caden was, and is, a Missionary.  

In the early morning hours of Wednesday, October 4th, 2017, The Boy in the Bed, our Caden, gave us his last earthly gifts before returning to his Home with our Heavenly Father: personalized gifts for his siblings, hugs and his last spoken I Love You’s to us all, and his fervent testimony, yearning to be worthy of the Celestial Kingdom.  Our Christ-like, sweet, valiant, courageous, righteous, driven, funny, service-oriented, determined, remarkable child has gone Home. 

There was a time when I was telling Caden how much of a hero he was to myself and others, how amazing he was in the eyes of so many.  Ever humble, my Caden did not know how he could be— it was just the way he lived. And he did, too— he really lived.

Randy's Funeral Talk

I would like to tell you a few stories about him that are near and dear to my heart and some of the gospel doctrines that have brought me peace.

Being here in the chapel reminds me a lot of Caden. This is where we took the sacrament every Sunday and where Caden passed and blessed the sacrament. People would come up to us and tell us how impressed they were with the reverent manner in which he passed the sacrament. He always took his priesthood duties very seriously.

In January 2014, we had a family home evening and decided to start a financial fast in February. Well, January 31st was the day that he was put on life flight to Seattle Children’s Hospital. I’m going to read from Steph’s account from Day 4 of our Cancer Journey, which was February 3rd.

Today, Randy went to grab some lunch while I stayed with Caden.  Caden found him gone when he woke up and asked where he'd gone.  I told him that he'd gone out to lunch, to which Caden replied in a huff, "He better not have gone out to eat.  It's February and we are doing a Financial Fast!"  That's Caden. He’s laying on a hospital bed with a tumor the size of a grapefruit, and he’s worried about the financial fast.

Later that day, with tears in his eyes, he apologized to us for ruining the financial fast. He cared about things like that.

A few weeks later, after he had started chemo, he was partaking of the sacrament on a day that he was particularly nauseous and wasn’t keeping anything down. As soon as he swallowed the bread, he threw it right back up. He got himself composed, with tears in his eyes from puking his guts out, he asked, “Does it still count.” That sweet boy. That was his biggest worry at the time.

I remember a day in the hospital while we were waiting for Caden to be taken back for one of his many surgeries. The Anesthesiologist was there. It was on a Sunday, and I knew that in a few minutes we were going to be brought the Sacrament by the local Elders Quorum. I asked the surgeon if it would be alright if he ate a very small piece of sacrament bread. He said no, and that he can’t eat anything. As soon as he left the room, Caden incredulously asked me why I would even ask that, of course he was going to take the sacrament. The sacrament came minutes later and there was a really small piece for him on the tray. I assumed he would take that small piece since he wasn't supposed to have any. Oh no, he took the biggest piece on the tray just to prove a point.

As you can image, the hospital can get pretty boring. One way that Caden would often spend his time was by looking for the perfect gift to take back for each sibling, whether it was something from the craft cart, or a lego or stuffed animal from the pile of gifts that you all had given him, or buying it from the gift shop with his own money.

One time, his Second cousin Anna was in the hospital, and he found a stuffed animal to give her just because he knew it would make her happy and bring a smile to her face.

Caden really was the perfect gift giver.

He always had to buy a Christmas gift for each sibling from his own money. It was very important to him, and he put a lot of thought into it. Some of you may know about the gifts with personalized messages engraved on them that he took months to put together. I will let his siblings tell you about each of those very special keepsakes. He was able to give each gift just hours before he passed.

Some of you know that he drove a ’77 Bronco. Well, he was proud to be able to drive that. One Saturday morning, just before this year’s April General Conference, I asked if he wanted to take the Bronco to the dunes. He said, “absolutely not,” because he didn’t want to miss that session of conference even though he could have watched it later. We just recently found out from his journal that he made a goal years ago to never miss a single session of General Conference. Another goal we read about in his journal is the goal to read the scriptures every morning on the bus. The reason he wanted to read on the bus was because he hated the foul language, and it was a way to counter that.

He had a testimony of prayer.

There were many, many prayers answered during our cancer journey. One of them was that he would be able to find a miracle cure. After years of trying different Chemotherapies, just to have them fail, we knew that our biggest hope was an immunotherapy. There aren’t a lot of them out there yet, and your cancer has to have that specific protein the immunotherapy targets. We had sent in pieces of the tumor for testing, but they always came back negative for having the targeted protein.

This March, we learned about a brand new one that had just opened up for a phase 1 clinical trial in children. This drug had been tested in adults with amazing results. As soon as we got home from the hospital, Caden asked his siblings to pray that he gets into the trial. Our prayers were answered, his tumor had the targeted protein, and he was to start the trial in 10 days. We were so excited and hopeful. 8 weeks later we found out that, while on it, two more tumors had grown.

This may be hard for some of you to hear, but I know it was the will of the Lord that Caden pass away. He had good medical care. He was given priesthood blessings. His name was on the prayer rolls in many temples. He was the subject of thousands of prayers for his restoration to health, and I know that there is enough faith in him and this family that he would have been healed unless it was the will of the Lord to take him home at this time.

We read in DC 42:48, "And again, it shall come to pass that he that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed."

“A unique challenge for those who have lost loved ones is to avoid dwelling on the lost opportunities in this life. Often those who die early have demonstrated significant capabilities, interests, and talents. With our limited understanding, we lament the things that will not be accomplished and the songs that will not be sung.” Quentin L. Cook 2011.

Caden lived a successful life, a life worthy of the celestial kingdom. Don't be sad just because he lived a short 16 years. As Quentin L Cook said, we must strive to avoid dwelling on the lost opportunities in this life. We know that life is eternal and he will still have the opportunity to marry in the temple, go on missions, and have a family.

The Prophet Joseph Smith said, “…why it is that infants, innocent children, are taken away from us, especially those that seem to be the most intelligent and interesting. The strongest reasons that present themselves to my mind are these: This world is a very wicked world; and it … grows more wicked and corrupt. … The Lord takes many away, even in infancy, that they may escape the envy of man, and the sorrows and evils of this present world; they were too pure, too lovely, to live on earth; therefore, if rightly considered, instead of mourning we have reason to rejoice as they are delivered from evil, and we shall soon have them again. …
“… The only difference between the old and young dying is, one lives longer in heaven and eternal light and glory than the other, and is freed a little sooner from this miserable, wicked world. Notwithstanding all this glory, we for a moment lose sight of it, and mourn the loss, but we do not mourn as those without hope.” Teachings; Page 196-19

Last week on October 4th, at 1:30 in the morning, Caden sat up in bed and asked to see his brothers and sisters, as well as the Bishop. We brought them down and called the Bishop. Caden gave his siblings the personalized gifts that he had purchased for them in June to remember him by. One by one hugs were given to all as he told them he loves them and that he is going to die. (He said this without a lump in his throat or tears in his eyes, which told me that that he was, for the first time, truly at piece with death.) Bishop Kreutz came by, and we sent the kids out of the room. He had previously told us that he wanted to talk to the Bishop and confess a, small to us-big to him, lie that he had told years earlier. Caden said he wanted to "make sure he was worthy to baptize Tyson next weekend and be worthy of the Celestial Kingdom." The Bishop arrived and assured Caden of his worthiness and readiness to serve missions for the Lord on the other side of the veil. There came a point that he was confused about what he was looking at, so I asked what he was seeing. He said that he sees all of us in the room, but he is looking down at us from above. He went back to sleep and the kids went back to bed. His breathing slowed gradually, and at 4:35 AM he became one of the Lord's angels in heaven.

One of the Latter-Day Apostles - James E. Faust - April 2006
“I would like to say a word about the ministering of angels. In ancient and modern times angels have appeared and given instruction, warnings, and direction, which benefited the people they visited. We do not consciously realize the extent to which ministering angels affect our lives.”
President Joseph F. Smith said, “…our fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters and friends who have passed away from this earth, having been faithful, and worthy to enjoy these rights and privileges, may have a mission given them to visit their relatives and friends upon the earth again, bringing from the divine Presence messages of love, of warning, or reproof and instruction, to those whom they had learned to love in the flesh."

Remember that Dallin H. Oaks taught us that, “Most angelic communications are felt or heard rather than seen.” October 1998. The scriptures teach us that "Angels speak by the power of the Holy Ghost.” 2 Nephi 32:3

It is my testimony that Caden is one of those angels in heaven ministering to us by that still small voice of the holy spirit.

Just a couple of days after Caden passed, Stephanie spoke with his Oncologist who we’ve come to know quite well. She said, “Steph, you know I don’t mince words. I just have to tell you. IT DOES NOT HAPPEN LIKE THAT.” She went on to explain that from a medical standpoint it does not happen that way when a child dies of cancer. It usually drags on for weeks and sometimes months after their last good day.

For the months prior to his passing, every time she spoke with us, she could not believe that he wasn’t experiencing more pain and discomfort. She told us that he will not feel well enough to go to Homecoming. After all, that was more than a month away and he should already be needing morphine. She told us that it was truly a miracle, the way it happened.

I testify that it was a direct answer to our prayers. We specifically prayed that he would have many more good days and very few bad days. We were blessed with so many miracles throughout his entire cancer journey. The way he passed, without much suffering, was a miracle.

When Caden did pass away, what shocked me the most was how bad it hurt. I didn’t know that level of heartache existed on earth. That really took me by surprise, because I knew his passing was coming. Before he died what hurt the most was when I had to watch him suffer.

There were times that Steph and I said that the sting of death would be easier than having to witness that suffering. I was wrong. I honestly thought it would be easier and that I would be comforted by the fact that he was able to enter into His rest and never suffer again. I didn't realize that I would have a huge hole in my heart with no way to fill that hole and miss him so dearly.

Caden Randy Dirks

Caden Randy Dirks, 16, of Richland, died October 4, 2017 after a courageous battle with cancer.  He was born May 15, 2001 in Houston, Texas to Randy and Stephanie (Burrell) Dirks.  He was currently a Junior at Richland High School, and had aspirations of becoming a doctor.

Caden was an active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, where he hoped to fulfill a 2-year mission, as well as a member of the Order of the Eagle of the Boy Scouts of America, which he earned amidst cancer care at age 14.

Caden is survived by his parents, Randy and Stephanie of Richland; two little sisters, Keilie and Shelby, and two little brothers, Brennon and Tyson.  He also leaves his maternal grandparents, Wayne and Rachelle Burrell of Roy, Utah; and his paternal grandparents, Darwin and Jacquelyn Dirks of St. George, Utah.  He is also survived by several aunts, uncles and cousins.  Caden was preceded in death by his aunt, Keilie Burrell.   

The funeral will be held on Thursday, October 12, 2017 at the LDS meetinghouse at 895 Gage Blvd., Richland.  Viewing will be from 1:00pm- 1:45pm, with the funeral services beginning at 2:00pm.

Alive

Having had three plus years to think about (and worry over) this very circumstance in our lives, we've had time to contemplate many different things.  None of which really prepared us for the actual outcome, but many gave us time to simply think about them before they actually happened, to maybe soften the blow infinitesimally.

One of my worries was that I would feel as if we needed to move from our home.  Especially since we found out a couple of weeks ago that there was no option of having him pass anywhere else.  We heard that it was a very personal thing, that some felt comforted, some felt anything but.  I knew that I loved this house, that I really didn't want to move, but everything is always so much easier on one side of a trial, isn't it!  And, especially now, we'll always have our before cancer/after cancer, our when Caden was here/ since Caden thoughts.  Our home still feels like home, maybe even feeling a bit more hallowed.  The spirit is so strong here, making it feel more and more like our safe haven.

As soon as we called Hospice, things started happening immediately.  The nurse showed up, got all of the information for his death certificate, gave him a bath, and then gave us our time with him before the funeral home came to take him.  As the nurse was leaving, she told us that the furniture rental agency would be contacted and should be there later to remove the furniture that had been brought in just hours before.  It still just boggles my mind that the bed was there for less than 24-hours.  As soon as it was gone, we moved our bed back into our room and things started to look more normal.  They didn't feel normal, but they looked normal.

After family left on Thursday, Randy and I spent time in Caden's room.  Everything was as it should be, everything was in its place-- Caden kept a pristine bedroom.  We looked at all of his treasures, gingerly touching them, putting them back in their exact spot, reading his words, feeling such love, and bawling our eyes out.  It won't be like this forever, but for now, his room stays open and his, his things untouched, his memory still alive.

In death, some want to try and hide from the memories.  They try to avoid things that will cause them hurt and pain.  I know there will be times that something hits me with enough force to bring me to my knees, but our family has since taken the stand that we want our Caden to live on in our memories and daily lives.  We talk of him.  We laugh about remembered stories.  We do things that he liked, even searching our memories for more and more to do. If there is laughter to be had, we chase it.

When Randy and I had a moment to talk with them about seeing Caden that afternoon, about being able to dress him in his suit (what an honor), we showed them pictures and invited them to sit for a moment to hear our words.  I was worried that seeing pictures would be painful for them, but they all seemed to do really well with it, making comments of their own as their eyes lingered over each picture.  In truth, they may have felt as I did: He looked so good, so handsome, so peaceful, that I almost expected him to take a breath in sleep.  He looked healthy, even.  More healthy than he had looked for a few days.  And in some ways, more healthy than he has looked for a long, long time.  As the funeral director lead us to the room, he prepared us by saying, "I have Caden on the other side of this door."  And as he slowly opened that door and I caught glimpse of my son, my heart filled with so much love and peace, that I wept.  Not tears of sorrow, but tears from more love than you should possibly be able to fit in one vessel.  My  miracle.

There are still times where I look at the calendar and realize that I think, "___ days since Caden left."  I think this is normal. But the truth of it is: our Caden is still here with us, in thought, in action, and in our hearts.  Caden is very much alive in our home and lives, he is still very much a part of our family life.  For Eternity.

Blessings

Tyson, in humble prayer: "Heavenly Father, please bless us to be OK without Caden.  And please bless Caden to be OK without us."

Things have been busy since Tuesday.  At times it has felt like we haven't stopped running, even in sleep.  But we are all doing well.  I mean it.  There are times when things feel heavy, there are times when we cry and cry and cry, but mostly, we feel peace and even happiness in our home.  Things may change after Thursday, when friends and family say their goodbyes and move on with their lives while we try and learn our new normal without him, but I will take this time of peace with reverent gratitude.  As we have watched our warrior fight and fight for his very life, suffering pains of every kind that would break many, it feels almost surreal that we will never have to watch his suffering again, which is why I believe the sorrowful agony of his passing has not fully hit us yet.  We miss him, but we are just so grateful that he will never hurt again that we feel almost grateful that he is in Heaven.  I say that now, on this side of the funeral, but I can say it with honesty.  My son will never hurt again, and for that, I thank my Heavenly Father.

I have the honor and privilege to do just one more earthly thing for my son tomorrow: I get to dress him for the last time.  When the funeral home came to take him from our home for the last and final time, they slayed me with the words: "Transfer of care."  I wanted to scream at them, to rage, "This is my son.  He has been in my care for 16 years, and in my medical care and every worry for almost 4.  Heavenly Father sent him to me!  He is my responsibility, my charge, my child!  He will never really be in your care!"  But I knew that wasn't true-- they, like Seattle Children's, could do for him what I cannot.  However, tomorrow, I will be able to care for my son one last time, to dress him gingerly and carefully, to kiss him and hold him and do things the way I know he likes.  To tell him privately things that I have been pondering in my heart from the moment he left my arms.  To care for him, one last time, in the way that only a mother can.  What a blessing it is to be able to serve our children.

Firsts

We found Caden's journal.  If we thought he was an incredible boy before, it is nothing to what we think now after hearing personal accounts from friends, teachers, and leaders and from reading his personal words.  That boy had goals.  That boy is even better than we ever imagined! 

One entry, if it had been shared with us before yesterday, wouldn't have made as much of an impact as it did with the memories and recent events of his life.

"I am making a promise to myself to watch every session of General Conference for as long as I live." October 3, 2015.

Heavenly Father helped him keep that promise to himself, He knew the desires of his heart.  It was after the close of the last session on Sunday that he walked up to take a nap, and was never the same again.  It was hours after Conference that he asked for his very first dose of Morphine.

There have been moments where things feel ok, there have been moments where things feel more surreal than real, and there have been moments that we have been drowning in sorrow-- our roller coaster feels as if it will never stop.  We were instructed to ponder the Year of Firsts that we are going to have, one of which will happen at Tyson's baptism: our first family picture without Caden.  I know that Time will be crucial in our healing, but oh my gosh, can Time speed up for the healing, but stay the same for the rest of living?!  Because the moment I saved a document written today as Caden's Obituary, I felt like I would never be sane again.

Sue just called me.  Oh my gosh, how I love her.  She told me she just needed to hear my voice; I was thinking the same thing about her.  After hearing our story, she shockingly emphasized, "Stephanie, I just have to say: It does not happen like that!" After 20 years of cancer care, she has seen and heard much.  It just doesn't happen that fast!  But, typical to my Caden, his story is ever unique.  I believe this is the first time I have felt gratitude that his cancer story does not follow the "script" typical of cancer.  I'm proud to say that Caden's release was the first of its kind, that he is a statistic all his own, that if the same end should become anothers' reality, they will hope it mirrors that of my Caden. 

He truly did win!

Funeral Information

Caden's Funeral Service
Thursday, October 12, 2017
LDS Meetinghouse next to the Temple

895 Gage Blvd., Richland, WA 99352

 1:00-1:45 Viewing
1:45-2:00 Private Viewing/Family Prayer
2:00-3:00 Funeral Service
3:00-4:00 Drive to Sunset Gardens/Graveside Service
4:30-? Family Dinner back at the Church

Purposefully Living

As we were going to bed on Tuesday night, I could not imagine being in another room.  I knew we had the monitor in his room, I knew he simply needed to speak for me to be at his side, but that was just not enough-- I had to be next to him.  If the bed would have been bigger, I would have slept on it with him.  The floor at his side was more comfortable than you could ever imagine.  As I rolled over at about 1:30am, I could tell that his breathing was different, so I sat up to look at him and noticed that he was rousing.  As I helped him sit, I felt a difference around him: a peace, and an urgency.  I knew then that our time was short.

As we were in the moment, we weren't quite sure what was happening, but as we look back, we wonder if he had more than one out-of-body experience.  When he woke, he was extremely confused.  He started speaking things as if he was remembering them, not just speaking what he knew.  Mira walked in, and the sound of her collar made him say, "Oh, yeah, Mira."  It was almost like he came back to us, to tell us goodbye, but needed to search his memories and spoke them as they came.  As he calmed with his memories, he immediately asked for a hug and told me that he loved me, and that he was sorry that he had lied.  He looked up at Randy, standing over us, and told him that he loved him.  He asked for the kids, wanting to give them the gifts he had for them, and to tell them that he loved them.  One thing we will always remember about Caden: He was the best gift giver!  While I was rousing the others, Randy witnessed Keilie walk in, heard Caden telling her that he was going to die.  And, oh, the tears.  We were getting everything that we wanted-- to go quickly without suffering-- but we were not prepared.  How can you prepare adequately to say your last "I love you," your last "goodbye?"

Bishop once again came immediately to our aid.  He had come during the day when Caden asked for a blessing.  Throughout the entire cancer journey, it was us that would ask if he wanted one.  If he did, he'd get one; if he didn't, he wouldn't.  This was the first time he came to us, asking.  Bishop arrived within minutes.  And, again, at 2:00am, he was there within minutes, comforting our troubled boy about a small sin he had committed when he was 12 or 13.  His calming hands, his calming words, and his calming presence helped Caden ease into a peaceful rest.  My son was troubled no more, my son was prepared, my son was going Home.

We sent the kids back to bed after hearing from the Hospice nurse (I called her with a few questions, thinking it was happening at that very second and wanting him to have the correct medications to calm him further) say that if he was talking and communicating to us, that it wasn't quite the end, that we still had an unknown amount of time.  For about 30-45 minutes, we sat in his room, just listening and watching, while I prayed and prayed and prayed to my Heavenly Father to just take him Home, to keep him from suffering, to release him from this life. I laid next to him, touching and carressing him, talking to him, loving him so deeply.  In that time, my parents arrived after driving straight through from Utah.  It was approximately 4:15am when we decided that if we could possibly have another day, I should get some rest-- I just felt so, so tired.  Bishop left, promising he'd come as soon as we needed him.  I finished a few things, kissing Caden's cheek one more time, telling him I loved him for what I know now was the last time I'd say it while his spirit occupied his broken body, and went to try and sleep.  I got myself situated on one side, but didn't feel quite comfortable, so I turned over, and at that minute, took a deep, purifying, refreshing, cleansing breath... and Randy said, "Steph, Steph, please come in here.  I think he's gone."  And I knew.  I knew my son had come to me, had helped release almost four years of fear, and hurt, and agony, and worry, and sorrow, and unconditional love, and anguish-- his suffering was done.  My son was gone.

I cannot tell you how difficult it was to realize that I couldn't tell him one more time, "CADEN, I LOVE YOU!!!"  I wanted to scream it, for the whole world to hear, for him to hear me and know, "Caden, I will love you forever.  I will never forget you.  I love you, I love you, I love you, I. LOVE. YOU!"  But also, in that moment, my thought was for my Heavenly Father, "Thank you.  Thank you for loving him enough to take him so quickly, without any pain or suffering."  We got everything we wanted, everything we hoped, everything we had prayed for from the very second we heard that there was nothing earthly that could be done: the long goodbye, where we said what we wanted to say (although it can never possibly be enough), and the quick release without suffering.  He was asleep.  He was comfortable.  He was at peace.  He waited until I left the room, so I wouldn't have to watch the stress and anxiety of him taking his last few breaths.  Even in death, my son was protecting me.  He loves me that much.

Some of the last words spoken by our valiant, noble hero will forever be burned in my mind and heart, will be the legacy that I remember about a boy that lived his life with purpose for his Heavenly Father, that touched the lives of so many with his example, and courage, and unending faith because of who he was and what he believed are these:

I won!

Caden, my miracle, I will never be able to say it enough: I love you. I miss you.  I will follow your example of purposefully living each and every day, to better myself, to make myself worthy to meet you and my Heavenly Father in the Celestial Kingdom, to tell you face-to-face  just one more time and for all eternity,

I LOVE YOU!!!

I LOVE YOU!!!

I. LOVE. YOU!!!     

4:35am

Caden Randy Dirks

May 15, 2001- October 4, 2017 

The Boy in the Bed Goes to Heaven

Around 1:30 AM, Caden sat up in bed and asked to see his brothers and sisters, as well as the Bishop. We woke them up and brought them down. He gave his siblings the personalized gifts that he had purchased for them in June to remember him by. One by one hugs were given to all as he told them he loves them and that he is going to die. Bishop Kreutz came by, and we sent the kids out of the room. He had previously told us that he wanted to talk to the Bishop and confess a small to us, big to him lie that he had told years earlier. Caden said he wanted to "make sure he was worthy to baptize Tyson next weekend and be worthy of the Celestial Kingdom." The Bishop arrived and assured Caden of his worthiness and readiness to serve missions for the Lord on the other side of the veil. There came a point that he was confused about what he was looking at, so I asked what he was seeing. He said that he sees all of us in the room, but he is looking down at us from above. He went back to sleep and the kids went back to bed. His breathing slowed gradually, and at 4:35 AM he became one of the Lord's angels in heaven. I can't believe how much I miss him. I didn't think it would hurt this bad knowing that his suffering is over having entered into His rest.  ~Randy

Thank you, Hospice

Hospice is coming today.... and I am counting down the seconds, wishing she was already here.  It was a horrible, horrible night.  He did not take one bite at all yesterday-- not one.  He no longer has any color: not his face, not his lips, not his hands.  He asked for Morphine all day, averaging a need every three hours.  Overnight, there was one point where he was gasping in need at 2:30am with pain at a 7 or 8 (entire abdomen), and asking again at 3:30am because the pain was still at a 6.  The prescribed dose, written to be given every 4 hours, a dose that he didn't even need or want until Sunday at 5:37pm, is no longer cutting it.  Not even a little bit.

His belly is almost as large as it was in these pictures... (which were taken Feb of 2014)

 His arms and legs are basically twigs, easily snapped by the wind, but his belly is being pushed out and out and out.

 Only this time it is eight tumors growing out of control, instead of "just" one.

We got a baby monitor for him to have next to his head, so all he has to do is simply speak for me to come running.  As I was dressing to take Keilie to school, he called for the fifth time since Midnight.  "Mom, I just don't feel well, I just wish I could throw up.  I can't explain what it is, I just do no feel well."  He writhed and writhed and writhed until he threw up, and then immediately fell asleep.  I barely had time to take the bowl.  My heart broke and burned with gratitude as I got to tickle his back to distract him early this morning, while the rest of the house slept peacefully in their beds.  I'm not sure how many more chance I'll have to serve my hero, my Boy in the Bed, so I'll cherish them until the end.  It is not good here, and I don't know how to make it any better.

I can say it now, whole-hardheartedly: I am glad Hospice is coming to our home today. 1 hour and 22 minutes.

Hospice Update:
 This is the sight that Sherry walked into today...

 And she got to work.  She categorized our situation as "Pain Crisis."  Orders and requests were put in STAT, we had answers and new prescriptions corroborated with Children's, the Hospice Doctor, and a specialty pharmacy doctor before being sent to our local pharmacy, where it was filled within three hours of her arrival.  He's resting, pain controlled at approximately a 4 or a 5, with nausea being our biggest concern right now.  He's thrown up pills that we need to stay in him.  We are not out of the woods yet.  Bottom line-- It's progressing quickly.  Things are more stressful, much harder, and more dire than they have ever been before. 

Please pray for my son.

6:40pm Update:

An on-call Hospice nurse will be here within the next 30 minutes to put in a continuous drip Morphine pain pump.  He has thrown up too many times today.  Water and a few ice chips make him nauseous.  Going on the second day without nourishment, with no urine output as long as I've been awake, which was 6:20am.  He is so weak, he cannot walk.  When Randy called to check on the pain pump stuff, a receptionist answers the phone and then directs your call to whomever you need.  When the Medical Director picked up, she said, "Hello, Randy.  Has Caden passed?" which leads up to believe that they think it is eminent.  It has been a very difficult day, one that started at 2:30am, yet feels as if it's been a whole year.

   We have had such an outpouring of love and support today.  Thank you all so very, very much.  Thank you for being the hands that pull me from this sinking ocean for just one more gasp of breath.

9:30pm Update:

An angel came tonight in the form of an on-call Hospice nurse, bringing the gift of a pain pump.  My son is resting peacefully tonight.  It does nothing to erase the day from our memories, but it helps ease the burden a little.  She also gave us the gift of honesty.  Caden does not have much time left.  We knew it, but the spoken word helped ease my troubled mind.  I am past asking for more time, I just want his suffering to end.  My prayers are no longer for mercy to be healed on earth, but mercy to be healed forevermore, where cancer can never hurt my son again.

Homecoming was not the last activity Caden saved his strength for.  I realized tonight that he watched every single session of General Conference on Saturday (when he was home) and Sunday.  As soon as they were over, Caden went up to bed for the nap that began the downward spiral.  My son may not say many words about what he's experiencing right now, but his action speak pretty loudly, I think:  My son, the valiant-to-the-end Young Man.  He's going to be one amazing missionary in heaven! 

I'm the luckiest girl in the world.  He's mine.  For Eternity.

Heavy

I still have days left to write about O'ahu, many beautiful and wonderful things to document, but I can't today-- cancer is just too heavy.

Caden's health has drastically declined since returning from Hawaii, even declining rapidly since Homecoming.  He went to his room for a nap yesterday at 3:00pm and has not been well since.  His pain has spiked to a 7, pain that is not just one spot but his entire body, prompting him to ask specifically for the Morphine.  Indigestion is rampant because of the tumor that is growing front and center, pushing his already misshapen stomach and intestines in ways and places that they should not go.  He has been throwing up all night, not because of nausea, just throwing up at random.  Oh, and the swallowing thing started in Hawaii-- he coughs a lot after drinking "light" liquids, like water and milk.  When I asked him if he wanted our nurse to come out today instead of tomorrow at 9:00am, his response was like a bullet in my heart.  Dejectedly, "There is nothing she can do."  He knows.  He's dying right now.  Can you imagine knowing you were dying at 16 years old?  Coming to the point where you know there truly is nothing else to do but wait and shove morphine down your throat?

Our life has been such a roller coaster for four years, but it feels nothing like the one we are on right now that has to be setting some kind of Universe record.  First we have a low at our first Hospice meeting two Tuesday's ago, then a high that we get to go to Hawaii, then ups and downs all throughout that week as we watched him decline while in paradise.  We race home on Friday for another Hospice meeting to hear them "educate" us on things that we weren't prepared to hear again.  Imagine this being spoken about your own child right now:

"Just so you know, when the time comes, you have as much time with him as needed-- no one is going to come in and take him away before you want them to.  No rush.  You will also have the choice whether he be taken out to the van-- oh, it won't be a hearse, so it won't be starkly noticeable to your neighbors what has happened-- so... taken out to a van on a gurney, or whether you carry him out."

How can I process this kind of "education?"  Beach one day, visualizing carrying my dead son in my arms to the van the next.  And then we closed the door on them, only to turn around and begin unpacking and getting ready for the excitement we hoped for with Homecoming the very next day.  After news like that, what better way to begin date night than to go to the cemetery to find plots to buy for yourself, your husband, and your child?  It feels SO WRONG to say that we found three plots that feel "right," that we have them on hold, just waiting for a down payment.  They are right next to a statue that has a Father, Mother, and three kids running together.  It is aptly named, "Families Can Be Together Forever."  Then the lows and searched-for highs of Homecoming to today.  My son is dying.  Prayer got him through Saturday night, for which we are grateful, but unless Heavenly Father sees fit to bless us with one more HUGE miracle, prayer is not going to stop what is currently happening.  Caden is dying.

My son.

My heart.

My world.   

Breaking.