Twenty five years ago, on Peds 2 North at UCI Medical Center, I stood at the large window of a private room which overlooked a masterfully landscaped garden.
I silently prayed, and slowly strolled the winding path with my eyes. I imagined holding the hand of my beloved firstborn as we slowly ventured through the peaceful, cottage garden. The garden path was framed with colorful annuals and perennials, ferns, shrubs, and beautiful patio trees.
I had experienced the pain of losing my firstborn every moment, of every waking hour, of every day, for the previous eight years in dread and anticipation of this morning. The sky was turning an amazing, cloud-free, bright blue, but the garden remained shrouded in the shade of the hospital's North wing.
My child's lifeless body lay behind me in his bed of 13 days. The room was silent, apart from sniffles and the sound of another tissue being pulled from its box. Occasionally, a beloved nurse would quietly make way into my son's room, offer the warmth of a loving embrace, and stand with me at the window.
I heard the heavy door bolt open, and turned to see a dear nurse who had cared for my child on numerous ocassions. He said, "I just heard. I'm so sorry. Would you like to pray?" I immediately found a word, and simply pleaded, "Yes".
He was married, with a young son of his own. His wife was expecting their next child. During every hospitalization, whether my son was under his care or not, he would recognize his name, seek us out, and make time to pray.
We filled in around the bed and he began. I caressed my child's chilling body, as I hung on every word and promise. I continually reminded myself that the Lord loves him more than I do. ...more than I do.
As the final minutes creep toward the twenty-fifth year, I'm touched by how long it's been since he took his last breath. It feels like it was only... today.
My firstborn son, Timmy, entered into heaven.
Timmy, our loving and laughter-filled son. We miss you more than words will ever express...
You are loved beyond words,
Missed beyond measure.
Your life was a blessing,
Your memory a treasure!
Timmy's precious dog, Taffy.
Maternal Grandmother:
Joyce Swearingen
======================
Sixth great-grandson of Philip Barger,
survivor of the Draper's Meadow Massacre of 1755.
======================
I silently prayed, and slowly strolled the winding path with my eyes. I imagined holding the hand of my beloved firstborn as we slowly ventured through the peaceful, cottage garden. The garden path was framed with colorful annuals and perennials, ferns, shrubs, and beautiful patio trees.
I had experienced the pain of losing my firstborn every moment, of every waking hour, of every day, for the previous eight years in dread and anticipation of this morning. The sky was turning an amazing, cloud-free, bright blue, but the garden remained shrouded in the shade of the hospital's North wing.
My child's lifeless body lay behind me in his bed of 13 days. The room was silent, apart from sniffles and the sound of another tissue being pulled from its box. Occasionally, a beloved nurse would quietly make way into my son's room, offer the warmth of a loving embrace, and stand with me at the window.
I heard the heavy door bolt open, and turned to see a dear nurse who had cared for my child on numerous ocassions. He said, "I just heard. I'm so sorry. Would you like to pray?" I immediately found a word, and simply pleaded, "Yes".
He was married, with a young son of his own. His wife was expecting their next child. During every hospitalization, whether my son was under his care or not, he would recognize his name, seek us out, and make time to pray.
We filled in around the bed and he began. I caressed my child's chilling body, as I hung on every word and promise. I continually reminded myself that the Lord loves him more than I do. ...more than I do.
As the final minutes creep toward the twenty-fifth year, I'm touched by how long it's been since he took his last breath. It feels like it was only... today.
My firstborn son, Timmy, entered into heaven.
Timmy, our loving and laughter-filled son. We miss you more than words will ever express...
You are loved beyond words,
Missed beyond measure.
Your life was a blessing,
Your memory a treasure!
Timmy's precious dog, Taffy.
Maternal Grandmother:
Joyce Swearingen
======================
Sixth great-grandson of Philip Barger,
survivor of the Draper's Meadow Massacre of 1755.
======================
Twenty five years ago, on Peds 2 North at UCI Medical Center, I stood at the large window of a private room which overlooked a masterfully landscaped garden.
I silently prayed, and slowly strolled the winding path with my eyes. I imagined holding the hand of my beloved firstborn as we slowly ventured through the peaceful, cottage garden. The garden path was framed with colorful annuals and perennials, ferns, shrubs, and beautiful patio trees.
I had experienced the pain of losing my firstborn every moment, of every waking hour, of every day, for the previous eight years in dread and anticipation of this morning. The sky was turning an amazing, cloud-free, bright blue, but the garden remained shrouded in the shade of the hospital's North wing.
My child's lifeless body lay behind me in his bed of 13 days. The room was silent, apart from sniffles and the sound of another tissue being pulled from its box. Occasionally, a beloved nurse would quietly make way into my son's room, offer the warmth of a loving embrace, and stand with me at the window.
I heard the heavy door bolt open, and turned to see a dear nurse who had cared for my child on numerous ocassions. He said, "I just heard. I'm so sorry. Would you like to pray?" I immediately found a word, and simply pleaded, "Yes".
He was married, with a young son of his own. His wife was expecting their next child. During every hospitalization, whether my son was under his care or not, he would recognize his name, seek us out, and make time to pray.
We filled in around the bed and he began. I caressed my child's chilling body, as I hung on every word and promise. I continually reminded myself that the Lord loves him more than I do. ...more than I do.
As the final minutes creep toward the twenty-fifth year, I'm touched by how long it's been since he took his last breath. It feels like it was only... today.
My firstborn son, Timmy, entered into heaven.
Timmy, our loving and laughter-filled son. We miss you more than words will ever express...
You are loved beyond words,
Missed beyond measure.
Your life was a blessing,
Your memory a treasure!
Timmy's precious dog, Taffy.
Maternal Grandmother:
Joyce Swearingen
======================
Sixth great-grandson of Philip Barger,
survivor of the Draper's Meadow Massacre of 1755.
======================
I silently prayed, and slowly strolled the winding path with my eyes. I imagined holding the hand of my beloved firstborn as we slowly ventured through the peaceful, cottage garden. The garden path was framed with colorful annuals and perennials, ferns, shrubs, and beautiful patio trees.
I had experienced the pain of losing my firstborn every moment, of every waking hour, of every day, for the previous eight years in dread and anticipation of this morning. The sky was turning an amazing, cloud-free, bright blue, but the garden remained shrouded in the shade of the hospital's North wing.
My child's lifeless body lay behind me in his bed of 13 days. The room was silent, apart from sniffles and the sound of another tissue being pulled from its box. Occasionally, a beloved nurse would quietly make way into my son's room, offer the warmth of a loving embrace, and stand with me at the window.
I heard the heavy door bolt open, and turned to see a dear nurse who had cared for my child on numerous ocassions. He said, "I just heard. I'm so sorry. Would you like to pray?" I immediately found a word, and simply pleaded, "Yes".
He was married, with a young son of his own. His wife was expecting their next child. During every hospitalization, whether my son was under his care or not, he would recognize his name, seek us out, and make time to pray.
We filled in around the bed and he began. I caressed my child's chilling body, as I hung on every word and promise. I continually reminded myself that the Lord loves him more than I do. ...more than I do.
As the final minutes creep toward the twenty-fifth year, I'm touched by how long it's been since he took his last breath. It feels like it was only... today.
My firstborn son, Timmy, entered into heaven.
Timmy, our loving and laughter-filled son. We miss you more than words will ever express...
You are loved beyond words,
Missed beyond measure.
Your life was a blessing,
Your memory a treasure!
Timmy's precious dog, Taffy.
Maternal Grandmother:
Joyce Swearingen
======================
Sixth great-grandson of Philip Barger,
survivor of the Draper's Meadow Massacre of 1755.
======================
Inscription
Blessed is our family, to have a savior who knew no sin and a son as loving as you.
