Emerging Courageous online Magazine Stories/Testomonial
Bobby - Kathy Monge
My son died when he was thirteen. He was my adopted son, but he was my
son, just the same. I loved him
so. He was five years old when he left the foster care system and became
part of our family. Bobby was
a beautiful child. He had silky blond hair, huge green eyes and a
beautiful smile with perfect, white
teeth.
When Bobby came to live with us, all he had known in his life was sadness and
confusion. He had been taken
away from his birth parents at an early age and had languished in the foster
care system for several
years, while being placed and removed from numerous foster homes. Bobby
desperately wanted to love and be loved, but he was afraid to become attached to
anyone. So many times in his short life he had loved people,
only to find out he was leaving again to start over in a new foster home.
A few weeks after he came to live
with us, I asked him how he would like to decorate his bedroom. He said,
"It doesn't matter, I won't be
staying here that long, anyway." I mourned the fact that this little
boy had never known the love,
security and sense of permanence that every child deserves. For about a
year, no matter how many times
we told him that this was his new home and we were his parents forever and ever,
he was afraid to hope that
he was finally part of a family.
Over the years we loved, nurtured and raised Bobby the best that we could.
But, sadly, because of the
circumstances of his early life, Bobby wasn't like other children. He was
defiant to all authority
figures, especially his teachers and us, as his parents. He had a
difficult time keeping friends,
since he would take advantage of them and say or do things that were cruel and
hurtful. He also had the
physical problem of being a Hepatitis-B carrier. He had suffered no liver
damage when he acquired this
disease, but he could easily infect other people he came in contact with, since
he was a chronic carrier.
This isolated him a great deal, since many of the parents would not let their
children play with him
when they found out that he had this disease. Bobby could also be very
destructive and almost every toy,
book or game he received got broken or lost. We tried to instill in him a
healthy sense of pride,
self-confidence and empathy, but we just couldn't seem to be able to reach far
enough inside to heal all the
wounds from his early life.
Even though Bobby spent much of the time fighting the very people who cherished
him the most, there were
good times, too. Even when he was a teenager, he would still ask me to
come into his room before he
went to sleep, so we could read books together. He would read to me,
unless he was tired or the story was
too difficult, and then I would read to him until his bedtime. When it was
time to say good night, he would
always give me a hug and a kiss and quietly tell me, "I love you,
Mom." At times like these, I knew in my
heart, that some of the pain from the past had finally been vanquished.
One afternoon, early in January, Bobby went to sleep in his room and simply
didn't wake up again. When I
went to check on him, I thought he was only sleeping. Bobby had already left
this world and on his face was
a look that could only be described as one of tranquility and contentment.
I truly believe that the
look of peace on his face was from Our Lord telling Bobby it was time to come
join Him in His heavenly
home. Several days later we were told that a tumor had been growing at the
base of his brain. I never
did ask his doctor if the circumstances of his death indicated that his passing
from this life to the next
was painful. I could have, but I have never doubted what was revealed on
Bobby's face.
I miss my son. Not a day goes by that he is not in my thoughts and in my
heart. His time on this earth and
with me was much too short. But, I do take comfort in knowing that Bobby
no longer suffers from the inner
wounds that no one else can see. He never has to be afraid to love and be
loved and of being separated
from the people he cherishes the most. I know that Bobby has found the
peace that was so elusive to him
during his life.
My son is an angel now. I believe that he is watching over me in his
heavenly life, just as I had watched
over him during his earthly life. There are times when I am aware of his
presence; when I can feel his
comfort and love. My son is not only an angel; he is a guardian angel.
He is my guardian angel now.
This story was written for you, the reader. It is also a form of healing
for me, the writer; for me, the
mother. But, most importantly, in a small way, it is an everlasting
tribute to Bobby. I love you, son.
Kathy Monge [email protected]