Waves Summer 2004 Newsletter

May, 2004

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The Rose Garden

by Sharon Rose

For My Son - A Mother's Love -- Posted on March 19, 2004

Christian was born 17 years ago today. March 19, 1987. For those of you who do not know who Christian is, he is my son who died on September 29, 2003, after a six-month battle with a rare form of cancer. Christian is actually my stepson. During his lifetime here on Earth, I honored his relationships with others by always referring to him as such. But now that he continues his life in another realm, I can no longer bear for there to be any separation between us, not a single step to divide us. So now I call him son.

Since the day he died, Christian has been preparing me to write this for you. Once, when I began to wonder if he really wanted me to share it with others or just be aware of it inside my own heart, he visited my dear friend to ask that she deliver a message to me. Sandra's love for me is so great that her heart aches and trembles with its desire to be made known. Christian must have realized this and that is why he chose her to deliver this message to me. He came beside her, laid his hand upon her shoulder, and said, "Tell her yes." She told me that whatever the question was, Christian's answer was yes. I knew then what it was he wanted me to write to you.

Some of you know that I am planning to write a book detailing Christian's life and death experiences. What follows will not be included in the book. After you read it, I think you will know why.

This is a love story. His and mine.

Happy Birthday, my darling. This is for you.

I held Christian for the first time only a few hours after his birth. I had recently met his father, who brought him into our mutual place of employment the day after he was born. I remember feeling this intense desire to hold that little boy close to me and asked if I could. As I stood with his tiny body nestled in my arms, even though I did not understand it at that time, I felt the light of a heavenly relationship take up earthly form.

Both my first marriage and the marriage of Christian's parents were facing difficulties prior to Christian's birth, although neither I nor Jose' had discussed this with each other at that time. Eventually, however, after our marriages had sadly both dissolved, Jose' and I began to discover a bond with each other. When Christian was four, I became a permanent part of his life.

There were individuals who did not want Christian to grow close to me and worked tirelessly to constantly keep wide the gap between us. His heart and mind were filled with many things concerning me.

Lies. Half-truths. Shadowy insinuations.

Christian's father's family threw him at me. His mother's family yanked him away. He responded to this tug-of-war by pretending I didn't exist. When he would come to visit us, he rarely even looked at me. When he did, his eyes would be filled with a hatred so deep it would cause me to gasp in shock and agony.

My heart began to break. As the years went by, my hurt turned to anger, then rejection of the source of my distress, followed finally by resignation. I lost all hope. I believed he would never come to love me. So, I released him. And boarded up my heart.

One day, Christian accidentally left a door open and I quietly entered in. As bruised and battered as my own heart was, I realized it had never stopped waiting. Little by little he began to trust me. We talked of many things. He started asking my advice and my opinion. When he had a tough question that required an honest answer, he would come to me for truth. Our relationship flourished and grew.

Because of the damage we had both suffered through the actions of others in the past, we kept our blossoming relationship mostly to ourselves. Once, at a family gathering, someone commented that Christian didn't like me. Our eyes met across the room and we smiled faintly at each other. We knew the truth. But it didn't seem important to proclaim that to others. It was enough to know that we knew.

Then on March 15, 2003, we received dreadful news. Christian had cancer. I felt the shock and sadness of this reverberate through each cell of my body. After recovering from the initial disbelief, I immediately began to make plans. We would build a room, a healing place, where he could rest and have solitude. There would be only soothing sounds and quiet colors to surround him. No television, no computer, no harsh or discordant music. I wanted to purchase all new clothes for him and wash them in lavender water. I sewed a pair of pajamas to caress and cradle his body after the onslaught of the treatment began.

I asked his mother if he could live with us permanently, at least until the treatment was over. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. She was angry at first but agreed to discuss it with Christian. When she did, he said yes. He told me later that he had been planning to ask if he could stay with me. My heart was bursting with gratitude and aching with sorrow at the exact same time. I gave his mother a key to our front door and a key to our back gate. "This home is your home," I said, "as long as you want it to be."

I bought tranquil piano melodies for him to listen to. I found healing therapy massage oil containing olive oil and soy and bought that, too. I had him listen to the music to relax him and, once he was completely at ease, I massaged his entire face and the side of his head where the tumor lay hidden in his ear. He stretched out on a couch we keep on the back patio so he could experience the presence of nature all around him. As I massaged him, I let my love for him pour out...from my heart to my hands to him. By the end of the first day of doing this, the paralysis that had claimed the side of his face from the tumor pressing on a nerve had nearly disappeared. We cautiously celebrated.

Some doctors' reports looked optimistic, others did not. I noticed that the relationships that were most in need of healing would begin to mend when the prognosis was poor and would regress to their former state of malignancy when it looked like everything would eventually be returned back to normal. Lessons still needed to be learned. I prayed fervently that God would allow me to help facilitate Christian's healing. Imagining my life without him was a thought I could not entertain. I was willing to do anything so that he could continue living here. Nothing was too great a sacrifice, no stone too heavy to leave unturned. When I prayed, my desire to be of service to him was so strong it would cause me to shake and tremble.

I began to awaken in the night to the sensation of my body being involved in a sort of cleansing process. It reminded me of a combine as it harvests the wheat: The combine draws the wheat into the machine, winnowing the chaff from the grain, saving all that is of value while discarding the rest.

Still, it was not enough.

We attended a Billy Graham convention for the sole purpose of requesting healing prayers for Christian. As the strains of "Just As I Am" began to play, we made our way down the stadium steps towards the front platform. I began to shake, feeling as if my legs could not support me, as a sensation of great power came over me. I was not sure where it was coming from. As I took up my post behind Christian, I laid my hand upon his back. As the others surrounding him prayed for healing, I filled my soul with the fervor and intensity of love. I began to feel myself being drawn forward so far that I feared I might topple over. I saw energy swirling from multiple directions as it came together directly over Christian's head. Then Christian and I became one. My ear began to burn. After the prayer was over, I explained to Christian what I had experienced. He looked startled for a moment and then told me that he had felt a burning sensation go right through to his chest from the place my hand had been.

As I pondered these events the following day, on Mother's Day, I heard the voice of Jesus as it quietly caressed the interior of my ear. "This is your Mother's Day gift," He said. And He was gone.

A few weeks later, Christian's MRI showed the tumor had completely disappeared. Even the metastasis to the lung that had originally been discovered had shrunk so small it was no longer considered a threat to his health. The doctors were ecstatic, amazed. We became hopeful once again. Still, they said, it would be wise to continue therapy.

I continued to experience Christian's illness with him. I felt nauseated after his chemotherapy. Once the radiation started, the headaches began. Whenever I would stand close to him, I would feel a sensation in my head like congestion. Something in me stirred, concern tinged with sadness and an inner knowing. Even so, I continued to hope that my sharing his experience would help him be made whole again.

I emphasized again my desire to be of service to him.

I watched one day as he disappeared behind darkness and shadow. I followed him. He said he felt like his life was over and that he was a burden to us. He was becoming so weak he could not longer write or hold a pencil. He was finding it difficult to walk. I told him to let us carry him...to let us be his pillars of strength. I explained that caring for him was not a burden but an honor, a way for us to reveal our enduring love to him.

Then my eyes locked with his. My voice became quiet and intense as I spoke to him directly from my heart. I told him he could give it to me, that I was willing to take it. I told him I had been waiting for him to release it me. But he recoiled in horror. He said he couldn't do that. He was afraid. I was not. I told him he didn't know how strong I am. I told him there was nothing I wouldn't do for him. I said, if it would save his life, I was willing to leave his father, asking him to return to his mother...even if doing so would break my heart.

We soon found out the cancer had spread into his spine and brain. The tumor was gone but the cancer was not. In my heart, I knew this would translate into the end of his earthly life for him. And my sadness overwhelmed me. Helplessness overcame me.

When Christian lay dying, I asked his father if I could perform one final act. He agreed to allow it. I played music that had always moved me and began washing Christian's feet. As I did this, I felt the floodgate of my soul burst open as I allowed the full measure of my love crash against its barrier walls. Until that day, some of my love for him had always been kept hidden. I did not want to overwhelm him and I did not want him to feel any discomfort because of me. But knowing this was my last chance to reveal the depth and breadth of my devotion to him, I mixed tears with oil and massaged this into his legs and feet. Then I took down the veil that would shield me from his eyes and let him see me.

Not long after, he was gone. I have never known such sorrow.

Four days after his death, Christian came to me. He stood before me in all his regal glory, a prince shining with light like the Son. He spoke.

"I understand everything now. I know you are my mother."

I thought my heart would break. I told no one at first all that he had said to me.

He came to me again. We talked for hours about so many things. He told me all that he had experienced since leaving the Earth. He told me of souls we had both known before, souls who had been waiting, ready to celebrate his return. He told me about his mission, and mine. Then I remembered a promise I had made. I told Christian that his mother missed him and that she wanted to see him. A look of determination came over his face.

He said, "You are my mother."

I said, "You know what I mean."

He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. He said "okay" and was gone. I felt as if a knife had pierced straight through my heart. But a promise is a promise and needs to be honored, no matter what the cost.

Christian has come to me many times since then. Sometimes I can see him, sometimes he appears in my dreams, sometimes I am only aware of his presence but cannot see his features, form, or figure. I talk to him whenever I want to and believe that he hears me.

This is the miracle of love: It will find its way back to the heart of the beloved, no matter what obstacles stand in the way. No twisted truths, no degree of meddling interference could stop our souls from recognizing each other in the end. Christian and I were cut from the same cloth and, as the hour of this unveiling drew near, nothing could stand in the way of this being made known.

I have not shared this story with many. I do not wish to bring harm to anyone who might be deeply wounded by a revelation such as this. But, for reasons that remain unknown to me, Christian has asked me to share our love story with you, my trusted angel friends.

Love cannot die. It is infinite, "boundless and eternal." It cannot even be veiled for long as it will always find a way to be revealed, made manifest, made known.

Thank you for sharing our story with me.

Te amo, Christian. Te adoro. Hijo de mi corazon.

Son of my heart.