July 17, 2013: Scrolling through Facebook late one summer evening, I learned of a tragedy that was unfolding in our little community of Western Wisconsin when a little 2-year-old boy went missing from his home. Searchers were asked to come and help look for him. This family lived only a few miles from our house, and although I didn’t know them, I felt compelled to help look.
Early the next morning, I drove to the search area and received instructions from police. I was in awe at the overwhelming response from the community and surrounding towns. There were hundreds in support. It was an incredibly hot, humid summer day as our large group of volunteers trudged in search and rescue lines through corn fields and thick woods, looking for any sign of the missing boy. I prayed that he would be found alive very soon. My heart ached for his parents. I couldn’t imagine what they were going through.
At the same time, I kept my own little boy in thought and prayer. His life was about to change at the hands of a phone call I was waiting on. The Children’s Hospital Genetics office told me I would be hearing results within the next 24 hours regarding an official diagnosis for Anders. And even though my worry was thick for my own son, the realization that someone else’s son was in terrible, immediate danger made me leap into action.
A few hours went by and I felt drained from the exhausting and emotional hike. My cell phone coverage was spotty but as it suddenly sprang to life with an incoming call, my heart stopped. It was the Geneticist from the hospital with results we'd been waiting for. I quickly moved out of position from our search line and took the dreaded phone call.
Sadly, it was not the news I wanted to hear. Anders needed to be seen by the director of the Cystic Fibrosis Care Center for immediate examination. My boy had Cystic Fibrosis; a life threatening disease with no known cure. I hung up the phone feeling shaken but surprisingly, unmoved. I still had a job to do: continue searching for a missing 2-year-old boy. And knowing this kept me grounded. Because at the end of the day I could still go home and hug all three of my children. But a nearby mama wasn’t sure if she would. Her baby was gone- seemingly disappeared!
Tragically, hours later, it was discovered that her sweet, blond, baby boy would never hug his mama again. His body was found in the trunk of a car on the family’s property. A tragic and horrific accident. That evening, I went home and held all three of my children close and tight. I still think of this family often and pray for them. I don't understand why people must endure such loss, but I take comfort that Isaiah is in heaven.
Revelation 21:4 "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."