an·tic·i·pa·tion [an-tis-uh-pey-shuhn] noun
realization in advance; foretaste.
intuition, foreknowledge, or prescience.
I met Julie Reneer in passing once, at the second National MPS Society conference we attended. And as with many people, you will never know their full story. I heard her speak of her son Brigham, her love for him and his love for life.
I watched her sit with families, families whose young children were recently diagnosed, even after the loss of her own son. Like her, my friend Kris has that same compassion, even coming with us to North Carolina twice in the year after her son’s passing.
We can rarely see deeply into the hearts of others, but I will share what lives in the hearts of most MPS parents.
It is that weighty anticipation, that foreknowledge that someday, in all likelihood, you will bury your child. We can ignore it for a time, push it away, work passionately for a cure, but inevitably, it remains.
It is scary, that anticipation. It is painful. For me, that anticipation lives in a box, wrapped with layers of paper that I rarely unwrap because it is not that type of anticipation.
But I felt compelled to unwrap it to share this story, even though in the unwrapping, my heart is broken once again for I do not like this anticipation. I want to re-wrap it and put it back in the closet as quickly as possible. But I force myself to linger, because their story is powerful. This family, these families, are why we remain a family whether our children are young or older, living or passed, healthy or hurting.
For Brigham, for Kraig, and for all those boys we’ve loved, for their families, and especially, for their mothers.