Some events in life are so imprinted in your memory that you can relive them in such vivid detail that it feels like watching a movie. May 12-15 will always be like that for me.

Mother’s Day fell on May 12 last year, and it puzzles me why that day is part of my remembrance, but somehow it is. We went to church as usual then out to lunch at Jason’s Deli and to Southern States to pick out seeds and plants for our garden, my Mother’s Day gift. We came home and planted everything even though the ground was too saturated to do it well. It was messy and backbreaking, so when it came time for a visit to CHKD, I willingly allowed Jerry and Jonah to have the honor. I remember that they texted me a picture of Jonah holding TJ while they had a “guy’s afternoon” with the TCU remote. A rather typical Sunday other than being Mother’s Day, yet somewhere deep inside of me, I knew to remember it.

The next night was the night Timothy had a fever and let me snuggle him for so long during my evening visit. It was atypical for him to sit still long enough for that much snuggling, so I cherished the time. He fell asleep with his head nuzzled under my chin. He was wearing green. I noticed that he didn’t respond like usual to his play gym when I left him under it, a ritual we had, but it wasn’t unusual enough to give me pause…one thing I’ll always regret.

The call came early the next morning. When Jerry woke me to say TJ had been rushed to the PICU, I was too groggy to process the words clearly. And so began the two days I have been reliving each hour since I woke earlier than usual this morning. It culminates around 6pm tomorrow. May 15. The best worst day of my life.

I held our sweet boy as he died, something I pray I never do in any shape or form in this life again. And I saw my Jesus up close in a way I had never seen Him before. And that was beautiful. And that is what Timothy sees all day every day now. That is how I have peace with his passing and how I live with him gone. And God has used his life and death in so many ways, including to bring a home to Titus and Tess, who have been part of His healing touch in our family’s lives, another gift and legacy from Timothy to us—because he made us brave and taught us to trust God with things that seem impossible.

I just finished reading a wonderful book by Paul E. Miller called A Praying Life. In it, he writes about a trial he endured during which he thought, “This was a mistake. I will never do this again.” Miller goes on to say, “What I didn’t realize was that the kingdom had come. It is always that way with the kingdom. It is so strange, so low; it is seldom recognized. It looks like a mistake. Later…I realized that I was in the middle of one of God’s stories…The Father was taking me on the same downward journey he took his Son…The downward journey is a gospel story.” (A Praying Life p. 212-213)

I think Timothy’s story is a gospel story. By outward appearances, it looked like one failure after another…in so many ways I cannot list them all. In the midst of it, there were many times that it felt like a mistake had been made. There was a lot of crying out to God—sometimes Why and sometimes How? Then it ended, and that seemed even more of a mistake. How could that be? He had finally turned the corner. He was weeks away from coming home, but instead he went Home.

But it wasn’t a mistake. It was the kingdom coming. The vessel was the life and death of an adorable little Filipino boy with Down syndrome and a lot of extra challenges who made everyone who knew him smile. I wish I could hold him again and rub his soft black hair and kiss his fat little cheeks and watch him pull his little toes up to his ears. His life may have been short, but it was no mistake. It was a gospel story. And even though it hurts to remember these particular days, and it aches like crazy to think about him, I am so grateful God gave me a tiny role in it.

God bless you, Timothy José.