~~~Till Morning Comes~~~

     This is an excerpt from a book I’m writing about my life (a work in progress, believe me!).  Although it is a very long entry, it is the story of my first son Anthony and how he lived for just one hour.  Although his mother and I are not married anymore, we will always remember our dear son Anthony.

On Thursday, April 29, 2004, I was in my last two hours of class time doing accident investigation when Deputy Hoffman told me I had a phone call.  It was Yvonne.  She had gone to the Kaiser clinic a few weeks before for a blood draw.  What this blood draw did was measured AFP (alpha fetoprotein) content.  In layman’s terms, that meant if the baby had Spina Bifida, mental retardation or anything else wrong, this test will let you know.

The AFP had come back positive, meaning something was found.  We weren’t really worried.  The nurse said there was a less than one percent chance that our baby would be born with Spina Bifida or have Down’s Syndrome.  She also said that 99% of these tests came back unfounded, meaning it was just an inaccuracy in the lab results.

That same day I was in accident investigation class, Yvonne went into Kaiser with her mom for a checkup and ultrasound to make sure everything was alright.  After the ultrasound tech checked on the baby, she was confused and had to call for a nurse.  After the nurse looked at the monitor, they had to bring in a doctor.

The doctor then looked at the screen for a while and gave Yvonne the bad news.  There was no amniotic fluid in the uterus.  What that meant was that the baby was pretty much just sitting in an empty sac.  Here’s how amniotic fluid works and why it’s so important: the baby urinates into the sac which helps produce amniotic fluid.  The fluid is then inhaled by the baby, which plays a vital role in lung development.  Because our baby didn’t have amniotic fluid, the lungs wouldn’t develop at all.

Yvonne asked why our baby hadn’t produced any fluid and the doctor gave her two scenarios.  Either Yvonne was leaking (which wasn’t the case) or the baby wasn’t producing any fluid.  If that was the case, something might be wrong internally with the kidneys.  The main question was, “What does this mean?”  The doctor didn’t give any hope and said that honestly the baby had a one percent chance of survival outside the womb, if any!

“The only way for your baby to survive would be a miracle,” he stated sadly.

As Yvonne was telling me this, I couldn’t believe my ears.  The first thing I wanted to do was deny it all.  This couldn’t be happening to us!  We have a healthy baby.  We were going to be parents in September! I thought.

Deputy Hoffman said I could leave early that day because of a family emergency.  He drove me back to my car and I sped home, worrying all the way.  When I opened our front door, Yvonne was there with her mom.  I gathered her into my arms and we both wept.  Why would something like this happen to a married couple who wanted a baby, had a loving home to care for a baby and was able to get pregnant?

I began to think of all the other women who had become pregnant and thought nothing of it.  Some slept with any and every guy and didn’t even want a baby.  They were selfish and wanted to feel good instead wanting to raise and nourish a child.  When they did get pregnant, they would either abort the baby or raise it in a neglectful/dysfunctional home.  I also thought of those couples who had no commitment to marriage and couldn’t control their hormones before the wedding date.

Then I thought of Yvonne and me.  We had saved our virginity until we got married; we didn’t even kiss until the pastor pronounced us man and wife.  We had done it “the right way”.  It just wasn’t fair.  Why were so many other people able to have kids in those immoral ways but Yvonne and I weren’t?  In my mind, I could have asked so many more questions.

Todd Kress – 1976-2001

We went through the next week in confusion, misery and torment.  Was God going to perform a miracle and save our baby?  Losing a baby was not what He desired in our lives, so why would it even happen? we thought.  Then something came to our minds; Todd Kress.  Two and a half years before, Todd had been hit by a car on I-70 and died later that night.  He was a wonderful friend to all of us.  God could have spared his life but He didn’t.  No one understood why but God must have had a plan in the midst of all the grief and questions everyone had.  I knew that in our situation God could either perform a miracle or allow things to happen as they probably would.

We agonized over the possibilities.  What should we do?  Should Yvonne carry our baby until September only for it to be born and have a one percent chance of survival?  Should we end the pregnancy now to save us from that anguish?  We knew that our baby was most likely not going to make it to full-term.  The real question was: when was our baby going to die?  It was a hard one but the truth.

The doctors discovered in the ultrasound that the baby hadn’t turned head-down yet.  If that was the case, they would have had to perform a C-section to deliver the baby.  We wanted to avoid that because we wanted to have more than three kids.  Doctors usually recommend women to have no more than 3 C-sections and this just added to our anxiety.  We also didn’t want to go through the torture of carrying our baby full-term and people asking us about names, baby showers, decorating the room, etc.  Basically, Yvonne and I almost wished that God would spare us and the baby by a natural miscarriage (as harsh as that sounded).

On Thursday May 6, God gave us an answer.  Yvonne woke me up at 4:00 a.m. and told me she had been bleeding and was probably

St. Joseph Hospital in Denver

going to miscarry.  We called the nurse line and they told us to go down to ER stat.  We then called Yvonne ‘s mom, picked her up and headed for St. Joseph’s Hospital.

After the usual paperwork, an ER nurse evaluated Yvonne ‘s condition and transferred us to Labor and Delivery.  There, a doctor did an ultrasound of our baby and a few more tests.  I had only been present for our first ultrasound and had missed all the others because of Sheriff’s Academy.  When I saw our baby that time, I realized the severity of the situation.

The baby’s head had turned down (thank God!) but it was so cramped.  Our baby’s chin was almost touching its chest and the legs were curled up way too tightly.  However, the doctor did see some movement and said the heart rate was normal.  As time went by, other doctors and nurses came in to check on us.  They basically let us decide what we were going to do with our baby and gave us time to make a choice.

Although the medical staff didn’t force a decision on us, they did present us with four options: one, Yvonne could carry the baby full-term and give birth in September.  There were a few problems with that though.  Yvonne would be pregnant with a baby knowing it wouldn’t survive once she gave birth.  How could someone live with that kind of anguish?

People would see her pregnant and ask things like, “OH!!  When is the baby due?” or “Is it a boy or a girl?” or “Do you have a baby room all set up?”

That would be like stabbing the knife deeper.  I couldn’t imagine carrying that kind of burden around.  The doctors also said that it was highly likely that our baby wouldn’t survive a full-term pregnancy.

The second scenario was that the baby would naturally miscarry, which because of the bleeding, was probably happening already.  This presented a problem though.  If we allowed the bleeding to continue, Yvonne ‘s health would be compromised.  She wasn’t at risk at the time we were at the hospital but every day she was pregnant was one more day she could be put at greater risk.  She could hematize (bleed without clotting) which would be close to impossible to stop; the baby could also die inside her and cause an infection or present other complications.

The third option was a miracle.  We had already been praying for that and knew that God was not beyond performing one.  He had even raised people from the dead!  Why couldn’t He simply give our baby amniotic fluid?  However, the way things were going, we knew time was running short for a miracle.

Another result would be that the doctors could end the pregnancy.  That was, in short, aborting our baby.  Yvonne and I had looked at that option earlier.  We both agreed that the only justifiable abortion would be, in some circumstances, if the mother’s life or health were at risk.  In our case, the doctors could either perform a Dilation and Curettage (D and C) where they would open up the cervix and remove the baby or they would induce labor and let the baby deliver naturally, which in our case would also be ending the baby’s life.

The three of us, Yvonne, her mom and I sat in the examination room most of the day.  The staff at St. Joseph’s was very cooperative and understanding of our situation and allowed us the time we needed to make a tough and difficult decision.  I knew we couldn’t make a decision on our own, so we called people we trusted.

The first person I called was my dad.  He was in Canada on vacation with my grandparents.  When I told him about the situation, he almost immediately came up with an answer.

“If Yvonne ‘s health is at risk, the best thing to do for her would be to induce labor,” he told me.

We then spoke to one of the pastors at our church, Scott Applegate.  He said the same thing.

“This is not a moral decision you guys are faced with.  You and Yvonne want to have a baby.  You are able to love and care for your baby.  The choice you make will require wisdom.  You’re not sinning in making that choice as hard as it might be.”

That was exactly what we needed to hear.  It was a painful and heartbreaking choice to make.  We knew that after we made it, we could never take it back.  We just wanted to be assured we were making the wise choice even though it seemed wrong.

After about 12 to 13 hours of thinking, praying and receiving advice, we decided to induce labor.  We didn’t come to that conclusion lightly.  To be honest, that was the most difficult decision I had ever made.  It wasn’t easy deciding on someone’s life and death.  As hard as it was to tell the nurse our decision, I felt peace about it afterwards.  I could almost see relief written on the face of the nurse when we told her.

“Can we get one last look at our baby before we finalized our decision?” I asked her.

Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw our little baby’s hands move on the screen.  I still prayed that God would perform a miracle and the uterus would miraculously fill with fluid but it didn’t.  There our baby was; so cramped and confined with no idea that we could do nothing to save its precious life.

As I looked at the screen, a longing welled up in my chest.  I wanted to gather our baby into my arms and tell it that we loved it so much, that we wanted with all our hearts to meet it.  However, it seemed as if we were separated by an unreachable distance.  Because we had such a long day, we were going to stay at the hospital overnight.  The next day, the doctor would induce labor.

We were then transported to labor and delivery room 14.  That night, I slept with Yvonne on a hospital bed meant for one.  We cuddled together and cried each other to sleep.  The next morning, we were awakened constantly by phone calls and the nurse checking up on Yvonne.  Finally, when Yvonne ‘s brother Shannon showed up at 8:00 a.m., we decided it was time to get up.  He stayed for about one hour before he left.

We received another visitor soon afterwards.  Lieutenant Ron Leonard from Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office checked in.  He was the Academy Administrator above Sergeant Webb.  When he entered, I naturally stood because that’s what I was used to do whenever brass entered the room.

Lieutenant Leonard waved his hand at me in a dismissive gesture, shook his head and said, “You don’t have to stand, I just wanted to see how things were.”

He sat and chatted for a little while and left us with a teddy bear with the words “I got hugs from JCSO” knitted on its t-shirt.  I remembered all Sheriff patrol cars carried a care packet in the trunk with the bear and a quilted blanket made by volunteers.  Lieutenant Leonard’s visit was touching.  During Academy, he told a story about his own son who had an accident and had almost died.  He went on to fully recover and I realized the reason for the visit was to show us support and comfort on a very personal level.

We spent the rest of the morning and a little into the afternoon spending time with each other and getting ready for what we knew lay ahead.  After we were transferred to room 12 across the hall because of some construction noise, we took a walk around the hospital campus.  We hadn’t been outside since the previous morning and needed some time to be alone without nurses and visitors disturbing us.  During the walk, we asked each other again if we had made the right decision.  It was still not too late to turn back.

Although this is not the prayer chapel at St. Joseph Hospital, it looks much like it

We ended up back inside in the chapel after our walk.  We sat together in the circular room accompanied by a few scattered people quietly meditating and praying to themselves.  I asked God if He could still perform a miracle and let us take home a healthy child.  I agonized over the potential of making the decision to induce labor.  Our baby could deliver and be either stillborn or alive.  However, if the baby was alive, the lungs wouldn’t be developed and it wouldn’t survive for long.  I begged and pleaded with God to give us a living child who we could take home and enjoy.  I wept next to Yvonne as we both made our requests known for one last time.

After a while of praying and meditating, appealing to God for our child, I was mentally, emotionally and physically drained.  I received no answer from Him.  There was no still small voice in my head that told me it would be alright.  I just had a gut feeling that our future was certain.  The doctors had been reluctant in giving our baby even a one percent chance to live.  If a miracle was going to happen, it would have happened already.  I then resigned myself to that fate or whatever it was.  I knew that whatever happened, I would still love my wife and we would go on with our lives together.

Dr. Honey J. Onstad ObGyn

We made our way back to the room and soon met Doctor Honey Onstad who would be delivering our baby.  When we first heard her name, we had to ask her to repeat it.

“Yeah, my first name is Honey!” she told us as if she had to repeat her name often.

She had a very calming, sweet demeanor about her and I immediately felt assured that she was the perfect person to deal with this difficult task.  She performed one more ultrasound before she gave Yvonne the medication to induce labor.  I clung to the little bit of hope in my heart that God had heeded my prayers and we would be taking our baby home with us, but nothing had changed.  Our baby was still sitting in an empty sac.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly knowing that this was it.  No miracle would come and we were resigned to our future.  There was no turning back.  I sat there with Yvonne and made sure she was not in pain.  The contractions had not started yet, so we sat there and watched a movie.

At about 5:00 p.m., George showed up and had dinner with us.  A little while later, our friend Shauna Johnson stopped by to visit.  As the evening drew on, Yvonne began thinking of a receiving blanket.  She wanted something to remember our baby by and take home as a keepsake of the delivery.

It took a while but finally we were able to contact some friends to buy a blanket from Wal-Mart and bring it over.  It was baby blue with a little Teddy Bear sewn into it.  We didn’t know if our baby was a boy or a girl.  For the past few months, we had just called our baby “baby”.  Once in a while, Yvonne would accidentally say “him” or “he” when talking about our baby.  Still, we knew that no matter what gender our baby was, we’d cherish and love it.

I laid down for some rest at about 9:00 p.m. and told Yvonne to wake me up if she started having contractions.  When I opened my eyes again it was midnight, the nurse was checking Yvonne ‘s vitals and George and Shauna had left.  Only Yvonne, her mom and I remained.  I got up immediately and went to Yvonne ‘s side.  I remained there for the next three hours holding her hand.  I could only imagine what she was going through.

She actually had the baby inside her.  What I was experiencing emotionally was minimal compared to what she was going through.  We talked a bit and I read to her but most of the time, we sat there and waited watching the monitors.  Her contractions began increasing in intensity until finally the doctor and nurse came in and waited for signs and symptoms of delivery.

The entire time, Yvonne hadn’t received an epidural or any drugs.  She lay there and took it all so bravely.  Towards the end, however, she began feeling nauseous and her breathing was labored.  Doctor Onstad then knew it was time.  The nurse gave Yvonne an oxygen mask, which helped greatly and made her more comfortable.  Then the pushing came.  I squeezed Yvonne ‘s hand every time she wrinkled her forehead in pain or cried out.  After several pushes and encouragement from both me and the medical staff, our little baby was born.

Until that moment, I had remained composed and pretty stable.  However, when I saw our baby’s little body that was so small compared to the doctor’s hand, I couldn’t contain myself.  Nothing compared to that experience.  Before, I had only seen our baby on the ultrasound but in real life it was so much different.

I watched as the nurse carried our baby’s small, frail form to the table where they cleaned it and took footprints.  Then with a happy voice despite the circumstances, the nurse informed us that it was a boy.  Not knowing if our baby was a boy or a girl made things kind of impersonal, like we didn’t know what to name it or what it would look like.  When I found out it was a boy, reality hit me.  I had a son!  For a moment, a burst of pride welled up in me.  Then it was all torn away with the reality that he wouldn’t be around for much longer.

We had previously told the doctor we wanted to hold our baby for a while after he was born.  When he was cleaned up, the nurse checked for a heartbeat.  He was still alive!  Even though our little boy had no chance to breathe, his strong heart still beat on.

An artist’s rendition of what Anthony would have looked like as a newborn. This was taken from an actual picture of him combined with pictures of me and Yvonne when we were kids.

The nurses and doctor then left us alone with our son.  Yvonne was the first to hold him.  When I looked at his face, it was as if I were looking into a mirror.  He had my lips and nose.  We could see where hair would have grown for his eyebrows.  I imagined him as a little boy with bright blond hair like his mommy and sky blue eyes like his daddy.

When it was my turn to hold him, he fit right into the palm of my hand.  His little hands were only the size of the end of my pinky.  I can still picture his image in my mind.  He had a strong looking frame and long fingers.  When I touched his little face, I could almost see him smile.  Even though his lungs were too weak to draw a breath, I could distantly hear his voice calling me daddy and his laughter.  Oh, how I prayed God would have spared him.  How I only wished.

The nurse came in after 57 minutes to see how we were doing.  She placed our son on the table and held her stethoscope to his tiny chest.

After a while she shook her head and said in a barely audible voice, “He’s gone.  I can’t get a heartbeat.”

That was it.  Our son had spent his first and last heartbeat while being held in our arms.  He really held on until the last minute and I was glad we were able to be with him.

During our last moments with him, Yvonne recited a song to our son she had hoped to play for him on the piano someday.  Here’s what she spoke:

“Lie Down in Peace” (Psalm 4:8)

You can lie down in peace

You can lie down and sleep

God will keep you safe

You can lie down in peace

You can lie down and sleep

God will keep you safe

Safe in your bed, safe in His arms

You will be safe till morning comes

Safe in your bed, safe in His arms

You will be safe till morning comes

Close your eyes now in peace

Close your eyes now in peace

God will keep you safe

Close your eyes now in peace

Close your eyes now in peace

God will keep you safe

You can dream now in peace

You can dream now and sleep

God will keep you safe

You can dream now in peace

You can dream now and sleep

God will keep you safe

A few days before when we were at home, Yvonne and I went to sleep not knowing what the early morning had in store for us.  We also didn’t know what the next 72 hours held or that during that time our baby would be born and die shortly afterwards.

That night, I had a dream that if our baby was a boy, we’d name him Anthony.  I didn’t know why I thought of that name and Yvonne and I were unaware that we were having a boy. Originally, we agreed that we were going to name our first son David Todd White and call him Todd after our dear friend Todd Kress.

Before our little baby went to heaven at the hospital early in the morning, we knew we would have to give our child a name.  We were overwhelmed that we would have to come up with a name so quickly and thought we would have more time.  I then recalled my dream of naming our son Anthony.  When I looked at the baby name book the hospital provided, I was stunned.

The book’s definition of Anthony was “inestimable, beyond worth, unable to place a value on”.  We felt that the name was God-given and very appropriate because the night before we went to the hospital, I dreamt about a name for a boy, not a girl, even though we had no way of knowing our baby was a boy.  Our little baby was beyond worth and when we lost something that was inestimable, his name carried that significance whenever we thought about it or spoke it.  That was a perfect first name for our baby.

As I sat there and thought about a middle name for the son I didn’t know we were expecting, I considered Bible character names and thought Moses sounded good next to Anthony.  When I looked it up, I found that Moses means “drawn from the waters”.  We also thought Moses was appropriate because our baby would be drawn from the waters of life – having no amniotic fluid.  So Anthony Moses White would be our baby’s name.

When our little baby boy was born at 3:37 a.m., we were able to call him by his name, Anthony Moses.  As we held his frail body and caressed his bruised head, the name Anthony Moses echoed in our minds.  When we uttered words of endearment to our son we knew we would not bring home, the name Anthony Moses was whispered in our prayers. When he breathed his last breath, his spirit soared to heaven to be with God but his name, Anthony Moses White, will live on in our hearts forever.

The nurse took Anthony away and that was the last time I saw him.  Through the years, I only wished that we could have held him longer.  To hold his hand and stroke his face.  To gently rock him in my arms as if he were napping.

As undesirable as it was, we had to sign some paperwork including a birth and death certificate.  When does anyone have to do that at the same time? I wondered.

We slept the rest of the night away and were then transferred to a smaller room in another unit down the hall.  At 1:00 p.m. the next day, we were discharged to go home.  We had been at the hospital for two and a half days.  That is usually the amount of time people stay when they have babies but we left with empty hands and empty hearts.

My dad and grandparents cut their vacation short.  They were in Canada visiting grandma’s family and were already planning on coming by to visit us afterwards.  My brothers Mark and Brian also drove up.

Anyway, Monday the next week, I decided to go back to Academy.  Everyone there knew about what had happened with Yvonne and me.  It seemed like they were scared to speak to me as if I had some type of disease.

I remember when Tom Steele, one of the Westy recruits who was the Sergeant of the week, walked over from across the room and said to me, “You guys are in our thoughts.  I’m really sorry about what happened.”

I knew he was only being sincere and meant to comfort me but it did absolutely nothing.  Ron Herrera, a recruit from Department of Revenue sat next to me that day and was surprised to see me.

He said, “Dave, you actually came?”

     Well, maybe I shouldn’t have I thought.

When I arrived at home, Yvonne was still out with her mom.  They had been at the mortuary, picking out a casket for Anthony and planning the funeral.  When she arrived home, she all but fell into my arms.  I couldn’t imagine picking out a casket for my own son on my 26th birthday.  We spent some time in our bedroom while she poured herself out to me.

We had given the consent for an autopsy on Anthony to see for certain what had gone wrong.  The report came back and there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.  He was a perfectly formed baby with strong bones and there was nothing they found that shouldn’t have functioned properly.  I think it would have been easier if something was found like a non-functional kidney or a blocked urinary tract.  It would be something to place blame on, an actual object to be angry at.  However, there was no reason that our son died.  There was just no amniotic fluid and no one knew why.

The next day, I stayed home from Academy.  Yvonne had had it very hard the day before and I wanted to be there with her.  I couldn’t miss too many days of Academy but the staff really worked with me and allowed me to miss a few days without me having to flunk out and wait for the next Academy to start all over.

The southern view of Evergreen from where we buried Anthony

On Thursday May 13, we buried Anthony at Evergreen Memorial Park.  Yvonne ‘s grandpa Almire had a burial plot saved in Evergreen for her family, so Anthony would be the first family member to be buried there.  However, the staff who ran the park gave us a free plot in the baby section.  It was a long drive to the park but a very beautiful one.  The funeral was going to start at 11:00 a.m. and we arrived about 30 minutes early.  We had invited lots of people and when we walked into the building, we realized how many had come.

Tim Lovell started off the service with a prayer and went on with a message.  Next, I shared a letter Yvonne and I had written to our son, Anthony.  I was amazed I was able to finish it.

May 12, 2004

Dear Anthony,

     All the tears of heaven could never express the sorrow we feel over losing you.  We will always cherish the twenty weeks, three days and fifty seven minutes we had together.  You are our little baby that we love so much.  Although we will never hear you call us mom and dad, we look forward to holding you in heaven.  You are irreplaceable, beyond worth, of immeasurable value.  The brevity of your life is a testament to the miracle and frailty of life.  With all our beings, we prayed for a miracle.  God showed us His mercy instead.  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.

     Though we will live this life without you, you will never be forgotten.  We see you when we look at each other.  You have your momma’s round chin and your daddy’s button nose and kissable lips.  We know you could have done so many things like play the piano with your long fingers or run like the wind with your long legs and strong heart.  We will always look at other little boys and wonder what you would have been like and what you would have done.  But you’ve already given us so much to be proud of.  Thank you for turning for your mom and fighting for your dad.  But most of all, thank you for being ours.

     So now we commend you to God’s capable care.  We know He will keep you safe till morning comes.  Goodbye for now, dear son.

Love always,

Mom and Dad

We then played the song “Forty Weight” by The Violet Burning while everyone sat and became absorbed in the tragedy of a little baby boy who only had lived on this earth for less than one hour.

Oh God be merciful to me
Lift me from the earth and cover me
I wait for you.
Lord, my cup is empty
Won’t You come now and fill me up
Oh, my Lord
I love Your ways
I lift my heart
I sing Your praise
I wait for You
I wait for You…

Anthony’s headstone in late spring a year after his funeral

As the song drew on, I looked up and realized that it was snowing.  This was the middle of May and I had never experienced snow this late into spring before.  It reminded me that God’s presence was there with us like the soft flakes dancing around everyone and Yvonne and I weren’t alone in our suffering.  He was crying too.

A month later, Yvonne and I began attending a grief therapy class where we were able to be with other couples who had gone through similar circumstances like we had.  It helped heal me a little more every day as I shared with others and heard their stories in return.

Yvonne became pregnant towards the end of grief counseling.  We were scared half to death!  Would we lose this one too? We both thought.  Losing children was all we had known (we had a miscarriage at 10 weeks before Anthony was conceived).  However, God knew the extent of heartache we could handle.

One year and one week later, our blessing came when Anthony’s younger brother Todd was born.  He was named David Todd Anthony White after his big brother and our dear friend Todd Kress.  My daughter Honey was born two years and three months after Todd.  She was named after Dr. Honey Onstad who delivered Anthony.

Now eight years into the future, Yvonne and I are divorced but each day, I cherish the time I spend with my two children who are here with me because I know the pain and heartache of losing a child.  When tragedy strikes, people always ask why?  Why did this happen to me?  They look for meaning and purpose in the tragedy or someone/something to blame.  With Anthony’s death, there was absolutely no one to blame.  His autopsy showed that he was perfectly developed and there was no reason he had no amniotic fluid.  Throughout the years, I’ve always pondered why God would allow for this tragedy to happen in our lives.  I never got an answer until just recently.  I was writing an ethics paper for my master’s degree and received my answer (of all things) from an episode of “Chicago Hope”.  Here’s what I got out of it.  Anthony lived only long enough to serve his purpose.  My son’s purpose was to allow me to love him.  It was that plain and simple.

My hope for this post is that it will speak peace into someone else’s life.  Never will I wish anyone to go through the pain my ex-wife and I went through but for those who have, know that there is peace; know that there is hope.

Todd (6 1/2), Honey (4 1/2) and me (34) hiking at Lair O’ The Bear park near Idledale, CO
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One thought on “~~~Till Morning Comes~~~

  1. That was a hard read brother. Know that I mourn with you in the loss of my nephew; my thoughts and prayers are with you and Yvonne on this difficult day. I have bookmarked this so that I can show it to people that have gone through the same thing and are searching for answers and hope.

    On a separate note… this post was well-organized and well-written. Looking forward to reading more.

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