The Measuring Man’s
Measuring Heaven Tonight
Once in a while, even though you know a sad time is imminent, it sneaks up and slaps you in the face anyway. And it really doesn’t matter whether you know it’s coming or not–you’re not ready.
But as we all know, if you’ve lost someone personally, it’s yourself you feel sorry for, how much you’ll miss life without that cherished person. So I admit, I certainly don’t want to deprive or delay the joys of heaven for my son. But I just wasn’t through loving him yet.
Trent was a champion. He fought against the rigors of seizures which began when he was barely one year old. Cerebral palsy was diagnosed around the same time as the epilepsy, then mental retardation, then mirror movement disorder, at which point multiple disabilities began to fight for supremacy in his little life. Rather than those little discoveries of “oh, look, he’s crawling” or “how sweet, he just learned to climb” it was more a matter of “oh no, here comes another seizure.” Multiple doctor visits, multiple ER episodes, constant switching of medications to help him manage, the side effects from those a nightmare on their own…his life became a battle that he endured with the sweetest grace.
His favorite toy? His little brother Dalton, one year and 23 days younger and full of exuberance and love for Trent. Dalton learned from a very early age to nurture and care for his big brother, “Boo”. Boobers, as he became known to nurses and the kindest doctors, charmed every last one of them from his wheel chair.
The ravages of disease left him too weak to walk, so an attempt was made to strengthen his hipbones by inserting steel pins in surgery. Trent was left in a huge cast with a bar connecting his calves so that he could develop straight legs and a strengthened pelvis. This did not work.
His mode of ambulation was to sit on his knees on the floor, and either lean forward and sort of leap frog or scoot a few inches ahead, then repeat the process, or when tiring of that move he would lie down on his back, drawing up his knees and pushing with his feet, knees in the air, and “scoot” around the house. But to do this he had to look backwards, to see where his feet were shoving him, so he kept his neck arched to see where he was heading. If this sounds awkward to you, just don’t get in his way, he can get up to a pretty good speed when he wants to leave the room.
Noisy going’s on bothered him a bit, lots of company or a shoot-em up tv program, even a vacuum cleaner or other appliance would send Trent scooting off down the hall to find a quieter atmosphere. But we found to my delight one day that if you settle on CMT’s video’s and Shania Twain comes on, just the first few notes of “Any Man of Mine” will bring him scurrying back to the TV set as quickly as he can go!
I know, I know, I’m confusing past tense and present tense. He lost his battle with disease on New Years’ Eve, December 31, 2012, and was buried in Calhoun, Georgia on January 4, 2013. I guess that’s because my perspective isn’t temporal, it’s eternal. Trent’s not gone. He still exists. He’s actually sleeping according to Scripture, waiting to meet Jesus in the air when we are raptured out of here together. I know that. So he’s not a “was”. He’s an amazing young man who will get a special pass straight to Jesus’s arms because of all he’s endured in this life. The only one I feel sorry for tonight is me, since I have to wait for awhile right here. That’s okay, Trent. You go first, I’ll wait here till He comes, then we’re goin’ cloud-hopping all the way to heaven!