Running
The last couple of days of Josiah’s life was filled mostly with “sleep.” He could not move or be moved. His eyes were shut as his body worked hard to just survive.
Last days: May 18, 2016
Josiah's breathing has turned into a struggle. It is based on the tumor's growth. The nurse said his lungs are full. He is now on morphine to help with pain and to expand the lungs. He is also on Ativan to help relieve his anxiety as he struggles to breathe. The nurse this morning gave him between hours and days until he sees Jesus.
Thank you for your prayers for Josiah and our family.
I laid on an inflatable mattress a couple of feet away from Josiah on his last night. I cried often but softly as the hospice nurse was sitting quietly about ten feet away on the sofa. It was torturous listening to him struggle to breathe and being helpless to do anything. All I could do was pray the drugs were really helping him find peace. I had no peace to give.
The morning was beautifully sunny and the temperature pleasant. We all took turns surrounding him and talking to him. I remember brushing back his hair with my hand. Touching his soft cheeks. Praying for a miracle. I knew that even then, God could save him.
As his breathing drew shorter and shorter, I could no longer pray for him. I could no longer pray for myself. But I could do nothing else but pray. So I repeated the Lord’s prayer over and over and over again.
Then, after who knows how long, Josiah stopped breathing. He was quiet. We were in constant tears.
I put my head on his chest. I heard his heart still beating. I can still hear the beats.
I counted them. I would count the seconds in between each beat. I was listening to my son step further and further away while I laid my head on his chest.
Then there were no more beats.
Josiah holding the cross. May 17, 2016
I rose up and took his hand that held the cross. He had been clenching it for the last 24 hours. I pulled it to his chest where my head had just been. I placed his mom’s, sister’s, brother’s, and my hands on top of his as we wept.
I finally had words of my own to pray. It was a sacred time, a thin place as the ancient Christian Celts would say, where we spoke to Josiah and our Lord.
I imagined my boy with his athletic body whole again. I told him to run! Run fast! Sprint! He was free. Free from this pain. Free from these limitations. Free to run into the arms of Jesus.
I pictured Jesus with wide-open arms… under an olive tree. It was where I always imagined Him telling the disciples to bring the “little ones” unto Him. Jesus was there beckoning my son to come. On His knee, arms opening to scoop and embrace my son as he jumped into His arms like Josiah once did in my own.
Rest, my son. Know rest. We will be with you soon.
May 19, 2016
Josiah Barr Lanier left his earthly body at 1:40 today. He was surrounded by his dad, mom, sister, and brother. We held him close and prayed him into the arms of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He is completely healed and whole. He is currently running, dancing, and probably having some seriously great grub in heaven. As I write this I am looking at his former self. Even though he is pale, he is beautiful. He was such a gift to us and so many. His influence and impact for the good of others, especially those in need, will continue. As such his tumor will soon be removed for use in further research to combat cancer and DIPG, in particular at Children's National Hospital.
In lieu of flowers, we are setting up a 529 educational fund for Ella and Becket. Much more info to follow. For now, we cry, but soon we will celebrate the life of an amazing 10-year-old and the life he now has in heaven.