Following What Happened

I have a minute to breathe just now, and so it seems a good time to post the obituary for my tiny little nephew, Caleb. I wrote it at my brother's request, and I end it in words my brother said to me.

An explanatory post on this topic is just below.... I'm still sort of wrapping my head around the whole situation, and I thought posting the obit might help. One day after the funeral, I still feel kinda "busy" in my head. It's a good amount of mental work, I guess, registering what the loss will mean to Betsy and Shannon in days to come, looking out for them and, as much as I can, watching over them. I find myself suddenly flashing back through our smallest conversations, seeking out signs that our collective grief is "going well." (Having been depressed for a good part of 2006, I'm also on high alert that I myself allow the good and healthy kind of sad but don't let any emotions slide to the dark side. I might be needlessly concerned and over-analyzing, but there I am.)

I also need to give myself a break, to sleep more, and not let the tragedy of people I love become MY tragedy. It really doesn't belong to me. I'm working on all that, too, and I think I'm doing OK. I think I'm watching out for myself. (And if I'm not, Jeremy is. He's already pushing a massage and spa day. When he sends me forth to shop, I'll know I have been exhibiting too many signs of stress!)

Anyway... here are the words. They're kind of like a sermon, I figured out later. Which is probably good, because anyone who reads about a tiny baby who died probably needs a dose of theology. May the God-words comfort us all...

JOHN CALEB BARRY

John Caleb Barry passed from Earth to Heaven on March 4, 2007. He was born March 2, 2007 at Presbyterian Hospital in Plano, Texas.

Caleb was the son of Betsy and Shannon Barry of Tyler. He is survived by his parents; by his brother, Joshua Isaac; by his grandparents, Sarah and John Beene of Tyler and Kay and James Barry of Longview; by his aunts and uncles, Melissa and Bentley Ford, Meredith Beene and Ginger and Jeremy Brandt, all of Tyler; by his cousins Katie Beth and Anna Ford and Miles Brandt; and by his three great-grandmothers and one great-grandfather, Barbara Jones, Dorothy Barry and Kathleen and Edwin Hamilton.

Caleb was known to his God well before birth, each of his days counted before one of them came to be. Those who saw him testify: He was wonderfully made. His parents believe Caleb was called by God just as God calls to all people of faith, throughout all time. Quoting the words spoken to the prophet Jeremiah, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I set you apart.”

Caleb’s life was a powerful witness to his family and many friends, showing us how deeply our faith can sustain us through difficulty, and how present God is in our hurts.

Graveside services for Caleb were held Wednesday morning, March 7 in Henderson, Texas.

John Caleb Barry was a real live little boy who came to bless his family in a life of a few, short days. He now lives perfected, in a place of constant fellowship and joy, because of the sacrifice made for all by Caleb’s Savior, Jesus Christ.

A final thought: If anyone wants to post a message of support the parents can print out and save, our local newspaper allows comments in their obit postings. Here is the link: Caleb's online guestbook.

Peace. --Ginger

Something Has Happened

Something happened this weekend -- something so big it shakes me out of silence and verily compels me to type. I can't exactly name the thing, but it's something.

I'm still not even sure what happened, really, though I've endless repeated all the facts and raw details.

It's something very bad.

And, yet... here's my confusion, because it was also something, well, sometimes beautiful. And affecting, in the way that some things have the power to make you IMMEDIATELY a different person, right there on the spot, usually in the middle of something horrible and tragic and prayerful and God-covered.

I stood in the same place Jesus was standing this weekend, in the midst of something very bad happening.

It was not good. And yet, and yet...

My brother and sister-in-law had a baby on Friday, 3 1/2 months before he was due to be born. The baby lived and breathed and died on Sunday.

His name was John Caleb Barry, and he was wonderfully made. He had tiny fingernails and toenails, and two long, pretty feet. He wasn't as skinny as you might think at just 1 pound, 12 ounces. He had such nice, pink skin. Smooth. No hairs anywhere. That meant no eyelashes, though, as they weren't due to form until later. His eyes were fused shut; they never got a chance to open. He was about as long as a ruler and weighed less than 2 cans of soup.

Can you believe we live in a world where any mother would have to see her baby so almost -- so heartbreakingly almost and not quite -- complete? What the hell kind of world is this, anyway?

I guess I have an answer for that, since I asked. It's the "here below," where we live. It sure isn't Heaven. That's all I can say about why any baby ever has to be born at 25 weeks. Why any mother waits 12 hours to be put in a wheelchair, tethered to IV bags and monitors, for her first trip to see the plastic womb that sequesters her child from the rest of humanity. Why any dad must stand in sick rooms and waiting rooms and hallways for days, not sleeping or eating, losing even the ability to speak in a fog of prayers and hope against all the damage in the world.

It sucks. This place called Earth, where people suffer and life is not perfect. It just sucks.

But it's also the only place I've ever seen good happen. It's the only place I've ever been, so it's my only frame of reference for how people can show one another love. How God can be felt when He cannot be seen.

And it's the place I saw all manner of love reign down this weekend. Right here, below.

More later, as I have the time and space to process just how I feel. We're all pretty hurt, but I don't see us being broken.