With Love and Hope for Jonathan B.

With Love and Hope for Jonathan B.

(“Keep your eyes open for God, watch for his works; be alert for signs of his presence.” Psalm 105:4 [The Message])

The sun shone warm on a finally day,
after ice chips chilled the spring awaiting
blossoms and new birds, eagles stopping on their
way to Alaska;

Today our backs are warmed this tardy spring
when baseball begins on fields behind the schools,
and the long legs of cross country occasionally slip
on hoarfrost in early runs.

Most of us would wake this day with singing joy,
accompanied by the rhythm section of mower and clippers,
descants peeped by robins and jays warning the pet dogs away.

Most of us would not have to wipe a thing from our eyes except

That one of our boys died yesterday. He borrowed another’s heart
nearly a decade ago, married the best in football mania two years ago,
and loved the lady and her son, a little man as happy as the big man who
found him; the boys were big together; one with a borrowed heart,
the other with invaded blood perking through his tiny veins. Neither
gave up on the other.

But doing one of his many loves; there it is, I believe, the more loves
a man has, the more faithful he is to the one. Doing one of them
at the antique shop he caught his breath, swayed, and caught it again.

He had fallen more times than anyone wished the last two months,
the late weeks of winter; and the doctor hoped he could wait five
year
until borrowing another organ again. But it wore out. He wore out.

He would not sit, he worked, and played, and loved, and embraced
the world he grew up in. Basketball days and football nights, prom
and church programs, Christmas and Thanksgiving with grandpa and grams,

And he fell at the feet of a man who knew his father well. CPR,
911, more breaths, more contractions, more pressure upon his chest.
He was young, there was no doubt he would make it.

EMTs and a screaming ambulance took over the life support
with missing a beat or shedding a tear. More was to be done
before the weeping begun. Blazing toward the same field he
played upon as an adolescent, they waited for the life-flight
to carry him safely like an eagle rescuing her young.

An hour of breaths, of beats up the chest, the copter set down,
and the waiting was forever until, 15 minutes later, he was rushed
into the bay, the father was shooed away, and they lifted off…

…and lost him somewhere between home town and
and rooms bursting with people, persons, wife and parents,
fellow officers and chaplains, grandparents and pastors,
who all hoped so grimly that the miracle would be granted.

That was yesterday. Today, in love with the family that
has hurt more than they deserve, I am silent, besides these words,

And pray my future words will only serve to support
where one column has been removed.