Silent Night

When Eli was little, his first sentence was spoken to me as I changed his diaper. As I leaned over the changing table to secure the tabs on his diaper, my hair fell forward and tickled his face. He removed his fingers from his mouth, which he had been sucking, to reach out to touch my hair and said, “I love your hair, Mom.” He always had sweet things to say to me, even from an early age.

During his cancer journey, when I was successful at something, he said, “You’re on fire!” Later on, when he was tired of repeating things to the medical staff, he would tell them, “Ask my mom.” Towards the end, he was too worn down to make decisions, so he told me, “I trust you” and let me do what needed to be done.

The weekend before he died, we had tickets for Ella’s play, but Eli was feeling off. My friend came over to keep him company while our family went to watch Ella. At the intermission, I texted him to see how he was doing. He was so fragile by then that I worried about being away. He responded to my inquiry saying, “I’m feeling better now what about you?πŸ€—” That response speaks for itself.

The night before when I was getting ready for bed, I noticed him looking restless as I looked at him using the baby monitor. I texted him to see if he needed anything. His response: “Yes can you come downstairs and have mom time or something I just want to be with you.”

Well, Eli, I just want to be with you.

Sadly, I can’t be with him that way right now. However, he’s with me in other ways. Something I’ve really appreciated this season, more than usual, is the Christmas lights around the neighborhood. Ever since Eli expressed excitement about asking the neighborhood to put up Christmas lights early this year so he could tour them one last time, I think of him every time I look at all the amazing light displays.

As I ponder this night, wishing I could hear Eli’s voice telling me one more time, “love you!πŸ’—πŸ’—πŸ’—”, I am reminded of another silent night over 2000 years ago. This gives me peace and hope that one day, Eli’s voice will no longer be silent because a babe was born and grew up, suffered, and died, while His mother watched helpless, heart bursting with love and pain. One day I will have my son with me again because that mother let her son be sacrificed for the sake of mine.

I love you, Eli! ❀❀❀

3 thoughts on “Silent Night

  1. Rebekah Morrill

    Tonight our family went and saw the Christmas light show in our neighborhood dedicated to Eli. I was so moved by the songs and decorations focusing on the Savior. I feel like I have a deeper appreciation of Him this Christmas as I think about how His sacrifice has made it possible for us all to see Eli again someday.

    Liked by 1 person

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