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Topic: Billy's Pain (Read 321 times) |
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TerryS
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Billy's Pain
« on: Dec 12th, 2002, 4:17pm » |
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Pain was Billy's ever-present companion. It delayed his falling asleep
at night. It was with him through the long dark hours. And it was his
first wakening awareness every morning. For the last two of Billy's 11
young years, the pain had shadowed him. He grew thinner. His cheeks were
drawn and his eyes haunted. Billy's pain was the terrible aftermath of a
tobogganing accident. He had been flipped from the rear of one toboggan,
and as he was sitting in the snow another toboggan came from behind and
struck him in his spine, and though his parents were unaware, it was
turning cancerous. Desperately Billy's parents sought a cure. Billy was
their only child. There could be no more. They took the boy from doctor
to doctor, hoping one would say, "I think I can help him." But never was
there any encouragement. The search didn't end until the day a wizened,
aging doctor in a small town far from Billy's home examined the boy.
"Billy will soon be free of pain," he said. "Soon he'll know it no
longer."
Billy's mother knew that soon Billy would die. But his father refused
that interpretation. In his grief he accepted only that Billy would
live. He needed that belief - that faith - to keep going. He couldn't
let the boy down. The lad needed his strength, and he needed his son's.
The week before Christmas, Billy's fever rose. His pain worsened and
only constant medication brought token relief. The father raged in his
anguish. He ranted to the futility of it all, the cruelty of God and the
pointlessness of taking a life so young. Everything was a lie. He knew
no solace. Then came Christmas Eve. The father was awakened by the
sounds of Billy tossing fitfully in his bed. Walking into the darkened
living room, the father looked at the presents under the tree. There
were so many unopened gifts there for Billy. They represented the plans
so carefully made for the boy. The father slumped into a chair. He put
his hands to his face and he wept. Then, when grief could no longer
come, he sat still for long minutes. The clock on the mantle ticked
silently. He searched into himself, painfully and with determination.
And he remembered.
Slowly, awkwardly, he got down on his knees. Clasping his hands until
the knuckles whitened, he raised his head. "God," he said in an
anguished whisper, "something has happened. I ask that you hear me out.
As I sat here, I remembered what a personal success I've been, and how
you've responded when I asked you to give me a hand. But I know now that
these were selfish prayers, for my own personal gain. And when I asked
you to save Billy, that was personal too. I couldn't stand to lose him.
I had such great plans for him and I wanted some day for him to carry on
for me. You know what I remember now? I remember Your Son and Your great
love when You gave Him to the world. What sadness You must have known
when He died. And so God, if you would do this great thing for all of
us, then I must be comforted by Your sacrifice. It's long past the time,
God, when I must put my trust in You. So I pray that You will welcome
little Billy when he comes. I know he'll be in good hands. I know that
it is Thy will be done."
The father got to his feet and went into Billy's bedroom. It was time
for a pill. The boy lay still. It almost seemed he wasn't breathing. On
his cheek was a dried tear brought by the pain of only minutes before.
Tenderly the father took Billy's limp hand. He looked upon the boy he
loved. Suddenly the little hand tightened. Billy opened his eyes.
"Dad," he said simply, "I won't be needing that pill tonight."
Desperately, the father closed his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and
asked the question he knew he must. "Why not, Billy?"
I've been dreaming, Dad. I've been dreaming about Jesus. He seemed very
close. It might sound funny, but it's almost like He's here in the room
with us right now."
Billy's fingers loosened in his father's grasp. The breath of life so
silent it could barely be heard escaped his lips in a sigh. And his eyes
closed. The father bent over little Billy, and he took the tiny hands
and folded them. Straightening, he quietly spoke his final words to his
son.
"That wasn't a dream Billy. And what you said about it probably sounding
silly - it didn't. He's here and He's watching over you - and me. He's
watching over both of us. Goodbye, son."
«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»
Today Inspirational Web Page From Mr. Mom's Web Site:
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> It is only a tiny rosebud,
> A flower of God's design;
> But I cannot unfold the petals
> With these clumsy hands of mine.
> The secret of unfolding flowers
> Is not known to such as I.
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Elaine
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I think I am going to print this out Terry and give it to my family as a gift!!! 
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Opus
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Re: Billy's Pain
« Reply #2 on: Dec 13th, 2002, 7:08am » |
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Very good Opus 
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Zed-Zed-nine plural-Zed alpha,
There is no place like home.
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echo
CH.com Alumnus
New Board Hall of Famer
Chronic and still alive --- I Win!
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Re: Billy's Pain
« Reply #3 on: Dec 13th, 2002, 9:31am » |
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Thanks for sharing this story.
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"If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't come back, hunt it down and kill it".
Proud Dad of a US Marine, and a former Marine turned Police Officer.
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