October 18th, 2014.
Today will be tough. All day. Days that are so special and joyous when a person is alive are terribly painful after that person has died. It’s surreal to me that Tyler was born 18 years ago. Without the last two and a half years as a point of reference, I struggle to imagine him as he would have been on this day.
I didn’t get to know him at 16 or at 17. And today Tyler at 18 is lost to me. He’s still 15 in my mind and memories. Always 15.
These past two and a half weeks, I have been immersed in memories of Tyler’s birth. Tyler’s precious little nephew, Tommy Tyler, entered this world 18 days ago and has been in the NICU. Eighteen years ago Tyler was also in the NICU.
As I snuggle with my amazing little grandson, surrounded by the NICU’s beeps, drones of equipment and frail newborn cries, I think of Tyler’s traumatic start to life and my traumatic start to motherhood.
Sometimes, the sounds transport me to another beeping monitor, the one at Hopkins that alarmed its way through Tyler’s final weeks of life. But the NICU is in no way the PICU, and these past couple weeks I’ve mostly focused on Tyler’s birth, not his death.
I think those early days in the NICU with Tyler changed the mother I would have been. As each day dragged out seemingly endlessly, the awareness that I could lose my child solidified. My determination to protect him and guide him through life intensified.
I knew that every day God gifted me with Tyler would be a day to celebrate.
When I first found out I was carrying a boy, I wasn’t sure how to feel. Would I have a clue how to raise him? Very early on, I determined that this yet-to-be-born son and I would take on a mission together. With God’s help, I was going to raise this particular boy to one day be a spectacular husband.
I couldn’t change the world with one child, but I could impact a future marriage, and in turn future children and many generations. That was my thinking, at least.
It wasn’t lost on me that molding a boy to be a perfect husband actually meant molding him to be Christ-like. Scripture paints many comparisons of Christ being the Groom and His beloved people His Bride.
Now my yet-to-be born son was finally here. Tyler came home to us from the NICU. He was… amazing. And as he grew, I focused on growing his character. From toddler to teen, there were many life lessons that involved patience, compassion, forgiveness, honesty, self-control, kindness.
My son and I talked about handling life’s disappointments, about how sometimes Tyler couldn’t control how others treated him while he was just a kid. But that he could control how he treated others – both now and when he became an adult.
The times I lost my temper, got impatient, or was distracted, God reminded me to apologize to my son and talk things through.
Tyler was an avid learner. Actually, I don’t even know if he was learning. He had a sweet, kind, caring, deep-thinking spirit that seemed to develop naturally. And then into this mix he added his own brand of humor and quick wit and goofiness. What a delightful and endearing package!
He surpassed his mom’s hopes and expectations, over and over and over again. I was in love with my kid, and more and more excited for his future wife.
Then my son got cancer at 14. And he never made it to adulthood. He never got to experience marriage and fatherhood.
Tyler wasn’t really good at anything this world values. He wasn’t an athlete. He wasn’t a scholar. He wasn’t an artist. He couldn’t sing well. He wasn’t driven to succeed. If his dad and I had focused our parenting energy differently, perhaps Tyler would have been good at some of these things.
But Tyler was a NATURAL at loving his Lord and loving others. At every age, he touched the people around him. Not just his peers, but adults. He made us LAUGH. He gave us HUGS. He shared his FAITH. He LOVED like there was no tomorrow.
God never let me in on the fact all those years ago that I wasn’t going to be raising a spectacular husband for some insanely lucky girl. But He reminded me daily to cherish what I had. And I did. He reminded me daily to build the “who,” not the “what.” And I did.
Because of this, I have no regrets. Not one.
The “what” ended up not mattering. The “who” impacted many.
His friend today posted a message to Tyler for his birthday. And I think this quote captures his impact:
Although you may not be here physically anymore, you’re in my head and my heart. I’m trying to be the person that you knew I could be, and I’m trying to live and to love as you did.
Tyler, I’m sorry for me and for others that you never got to turn sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen. For you, fifteen years on this earth was enough. You were spectacular. Well done, my forever 15-year-old son.