September 26, 2011 by wcobserver
I have had more good fortune in my life than I have a right to expect and yet, when tragedy strikes, I, like many other people, feel that life is unfair. Today life feels unfair.
It feels like nothing will ever be right or make sense again… because today my 13-year old godson passed away from a brain aneurism.
There are no words that I can say to his parents. There is nothing that will comfort them or make this better. There is no dream from which they will wake. From now on they will have one child instead of two. From now on they will define their lives by the time with Ian and the time without him.
In his short life, this little boy, with the big blue eyes, lived in a world of severe autism. He went through sensory integration therapy, speech therapy, holding therapy, occupational therapy and chelation therapy. He had a special diet and a team of specialists who helped him deal with the rigors of his isolating condition. Ian also struggled with limited speech. With just a few words at his disposal, sign language was his most effective tool.
But Ian did learn to communicate. He communicated with his heart more than most of us will ever communicate with our voices. He overcame the obstacles that stood in his way and he learned to love completely. He learned to hug and be hugged. He learned to smile and feel joy. He learned to be part of a family that would not change one minute of the time they had with him, because through him they learned that every person in this world has something to give… we just have to be willing to find it.
We make so many preparations in this life to have a child. But there is nothing in the universe that could ever prepare us for losing one. I can only hope that his parents and his brother will find peace in the knowledge that they were part of something truly special. As for me, I will be forever grateful to have had this boy in my life and I wish him a safe journey to heaven. If I am sure of one thing, it’s that Ian Buckley earned his wings long before he left this Earth.
by W. H. Auden (1907-1973)
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message: “He is dead!”
Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves.
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my north, my south, my east and west,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can come to any good.