arms of love

This day always brings back memories. Some of which I myself remember. Others I have only been told about. Instead of describing that day, I am going to post an essay that I wrote in higschool...and again for a couple assignments in college.

Oct. 10, 1997

ARMS OF LOVE

Sunday, February 17, 1985, dawned bright and clear with the hope of good things to come. Little did I know how in a few short minutes my life would be changed forever.

Mom, Dad, and I were sitting at the breakfast table enjoying homemade pancakes with syrup oozing over them and a glass of cold orange juice to wash it all down. Mom looked at her watch and asked Dad to go check on my 17 - month - old brother, Peter, who was sleeping later than usual. The next sound we heard was Dad shouting and yelling, "Oh, no! Oh, no!" With a chill running down her spine, Mom rushed back, took one look at Peter's cold, stiff little body and the blood trickling from his nose, and ran back to the kitchen to call 911 as Dad started CPR. As she knelt on the floor, I clung to her, crying. My 4-year-old mind couldn't comprehend everything that was going on, but I knew something terrible must have just happened to make my parents cry.

After what seemed an eternity, the police and paramedics rushed in and took over the CPR, but in vain; Peter was gone. The paramedics soon wheeled him out on a stretcher. The police stayed to get more information and to give what comfort they could.

For a long time, Dad held me on his lap as he and Mom sat on the foot of my double bed. One kind officer handed Dad a wet washcloth to wipe off some blood had gotten on his cheek. Dad then handed me my brown teddy bear; a bear that would bring comfort in the days and weeks ahead as I feared the night and wondered why this event happened.

Now, years later, I understand that Peter died from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) and although I am sometimes curious about how it would be if Peter were alive, I know that God had his loving arms around the whole event. I can be content in the knowledge that because I have trusted in Jesus' death on the cross and dying for my sins, I will one day see Peter in Heaven.

The details that I don't remember myself are that the Browns came and took me to McDonald's for lunch that day. Michael and I had such a good time playing on the playground that I forgot all about what had happened that morning and the first thing I asked when I came home was, "Where's Peter??"

Because it was so long ago and I was so little, February 17th is not a sad day anymore. Just a day to remember my sweet, blue eyed, curly blond-haired little brother. :) As I'm writing this, I have realized that I don't actually own a picture of Peter myself. I will have to try to get one from my mom soon and post it.