My Dying Son!

June 22, 1998, the day after my 8 year-old son, Christopher, entered glory.

From A Father’s Journal
by Gene Fedele

Behold, in a somber hospital chamber, stands in agony of sorrow, a small gathering of family and friends, tearfully awaiting the beautiful, earthly form of my precious child to fade in death. We have done all that man and medicine could offer, but the end seems near. Cruel enemy, this enemy of death, who robs me of my only son and my best friend! A ruthless foe that has stolen the dreams and hopes of a young boy, and denied his loved ones the joy of future years.

There beside his bed of pain, I stand, overcome with grief and a breaking heart.  I know there is nothing more I can do, but give him up to God.  O, the suffering!  How can I bear it!  I manage a parting kiss upon his brow as I whisper in his ear, “Cling to Jesus’ hand, my son, when He comes for you. He will take you to your heavenly Father, for the work of your earthly father is done.” I clasp my hands around his limp fingers, praying for supernatural strength to endure this lot given me; to bear up under the heavy burden of affliction cast upon my heart, and say with my Savior, “If possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.”

Tears stream down my cheeks onto his forehead, as though they might soothe the pain of this dismal scene. My ear is peaked to catch the sound of each struggling breath, growing fainter every moment.  Fear grips my soul as I wonder, “Will the next one be his last?” The many years of suffering have now come to these last few breaths, until . . .  at last, he is gone! My beautiful boy is dead! I can truly feel the final quiet breath release his soul into glory.  His lovely face now fixed in the slumber of death brings forth expected sobs of sorrow. My fingers gently close the lids that adorn his bright-blue orbs of delight—an image forever fixed in my mind. The cold reality that I will never again gaze into these eyes, or hear sweet words from these lips, or feel the warmth of this hand in mine, is too much to bear! My heart is crushed and I am stricken in grief! O Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now!

I feel the warmth drain from his flesh and this cold, gray temple must soon be taken away. His spirit for sure has fled and left behind a deafening silence. My mind is easily fooled that this is not real, and he will arise and come home. O, this is too agonizing to bear!  I can do nothing but shed tears of bitter anguish and sorrow! “Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now!”

I have often gazed into those deep blue eyes, searching for scenes of future years. I scanned his fine countenance and, in my imagination, strength of body and spirit reigned in eager service to the King. The experience of a father’s delight in the glowing enthusiasm of youth transformed into the gentle and quiet strength of godly manhood will not be mine to know. The hand of a most wise and loving Father hath seen fit to deliver this precious seedling of promise from the clutches of a sin-cursed world. Could it be that such a good Father calls to Himself one of whom the world is not worthy? O blessed Lord, may my tears of sorrow be turned to tears of joy, for my son has entered thy everlasting abode where all embrace perfect peace and heavenly rest.  

Beloved Savior, I release to you my only son, my hero and my treasure into the glorious company of a shining, holy multitude encircling thy brow. My breast draws warmth from anticipation of my son’s sweet, eternal embrace awaiting me in that fairer land. Though my broken heart pounds from the empty pangs of grief and lost dreams, I rest my all on the promises of my blessed and victorious Savior who says, “Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” I now find solace in the precious truths of this Book, Your Holy Word, O Lord, as I tread along the pathway of this life on my way to the next.

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  1. Salty tears do not go well with keyboards. Alas, for us humans to love….we must do so with knowledge that grief and sorrow are sure to follow at some time. Praise our Heavenly Father for his mercies.

    1. Amen. Nothing can compare the loss of your only begotten son.
      How much the Father must have grieved to let His Son die on the cross with the since of the entire world, past, present and future, cast onto Him, so we may be saved.

      His love is beyond comprehension.