I have no idea how it really works, but I have a certain bit of confidence that God does not reach his hand down into our lives and fiddle with every circumstance whose outcome we approve, while keeping away from the circumstances whose outcomes we dislike. That appears to be what many many people believe, but I suspect they just aren't following those beliefs all the way through; they just haven't had those beliefs tested by life yet.
I am incredibly skeptical of anything that is deemed a "miracle" or "work of God" or "answer to prayer". However, I have a couple of "miracles"/"works of God" from Eli's death that I hold deep in my heart. I would call them bits of grace.
The night Eli died, no one expected him to die. I am thankful beyond reason for this. I'm thankful the doctors thought he had as good a chance as ever to survive another intubation, and I'm thankful our corner of the world wasn't on high alert. If they were, I would have heard from many people who claimed to have seen Eli in their dreams, or claimed to have known in their spirit when they were praying, the moment he passed. These are generous and would-be comforting things, but out-of-order death is so complicated, I'm not sure I could have beared it, or believed it.
As it happened, no one really knew Eli was dying that night, except for the few of us who were there.
Eli died just before midnight. When just his body was left, the nurse and respiratory therapist disconnected him from all the tubes and wires and Jerry and I spent a couple hours holding him. Around maybe 2am we decided it was time to make some phone calls to family. We had to leave the room because we got no cellular service in the back of the PICU where Eli's room was. I had lost track of my phone and found it in the blankets at the end of the hospital bed. When I pressed the home button, the screen lit up with a message. It had come through shortly after midnight. It was from a dear friend who had no way of knowing what had just happened when she hit send. She had texted to tell me she had been reading scripture and praying and had fallen asleep, but woke up and felt like she needed to keep praying and that she loved us so much. I messaged her back, "Eli died just before midnight. I think you were praying for him when he died." In the morning I got a reply, "I woke up and knew to keep praying. I had an overwhelming sense to tell you that Eli wasn't afraid and for you to not be afraid for him. But I thought you'd think I was crazy."
I can't explain that. I also have absolutely no need to, which is unusual for me. I can tell you that when Eli's heart was slowing, I wasn't afraid. In that moment, I was glad for him. My gladness was greater than my pain. It has been quite the opposite since, but I'm glad I was able to be present in Eli's final moments.
The gift of assurance through a supernatural message that Eli was and is well is such grace I can hardly think about it. I feel unworthy to have received it. But it is also the most precious bit I hold onto.
The other bit of grace came a week or so later. A young woman (now a dear friend) who used to babysit Eli, lost her sister last January. It was sudden and traumatic. A few days after Eli died in July, she was talking to her mom and told her about Eli's death. Her mom listened and then seemed to be putting something together. She asked again when Eli died and my friend said Sunday night. Her mom explained that on Sunday night she had dreamed of her daughter, my friend's sister. She had been driving her to the hospital for an appointment and was in a hurry when she got in a car accident. She got out of the car and was surveying the damage when she couldn't find her daughter. She looked down the street and her daughter was dressed in all white, holding hands with a little boy with blond hair, walking down the street away from her.
I can't explain this either. My friend's mom didn't really follow Eli's progress, except for what my friend told her. Her dream could be a coincidence, but I, the skeptic of everything, just think it's a little too much of a coincidence.
I'm grateful that Eli's death itself was private and unanticipated. Grief and loss and pain and life are complex and confusing without projecting clairvoyance onto them. I'm thankful for these two nuggets of grace that I am able to just receive and treasure.
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