I Swear You Will Be Fine

Good Friday. One of the most important days for Christians. The day we remember the suffering of Christ.

I recall one Good Friday service we attended at church. You were probably about 7 or 8. The service was very morose. The 14 stations of the cross and the crucifixion of Jesus were described in painful and torturous detail. Many adults in the congregation were sobbing. Some even had to leave. You were struggling to maintain your composure, but finally started crying. And you said to me, “I don’t want to hear this anymore. Why did He have to suffer, why did He have to die?”. But you continued to listen until the service ended. Such a brave boy.

Before any major event in our family, you would usually be the one to say the prayer- an exam, Christmas Eve, New Year’s Day, and especially before we went on a trip, whether you were travelling or any other member of the family was travelling. We would gather everyone, including Tun and the dogs. You prayed beautifully- the words would naturally flow. You would also always ask me to touch the cross at the top of our main door and put the sign of the cross on your forehead, and you would do the same to me. You always wore a cross on your neck that Ammamma lovingly bought for you, only occasionally removing it when it got tangled up. The shining silver cross can be seen peeking at your neckline in so many photos. You were reading the bible at the start of 2024, trying to complete the sacred book, but gave up, understandably, when you got to the book on Leviticus. You turned to God many times when things got excruciating. I also know you regularly prayed before you went to bed. Though you struggled to go to church in the last few years, I know where your faith lies.

Jess and I often discuss what you did before you acted towards your final journey. Did you pray? I think not because I still think it was totally impulsive. But maybe you did.

A few hours after you died, the police officer removed the silver cross and chain around your neck and laid it neatly on the black surface of our piano. It was another deeper stab to our already shattered hearts. I just couldn’t look at it and moved it to a drawer. It still stays there, too painful to be seen, touched or handled.

The sign of the cross on your forehead was the last thing I did before giving you my last kiss. And then the casket was closed.

Why did you have to suffer? Why did you have to die? 

I refused to pray before travelling to London after you died. As a parent in The Compassionate Friends wrote yesterday, when you have seen your child in a casket, there is nothing more you fear in life.

A few colleagues at work, also shaken by this tragedy, are very kindly praying for me. They pray to Mother Mary that she will give me a vision of you, happy and peaceful, laughing with not a care in the world. You also have nothing to fear anymore my darling. The anxiety that grappled you on this earth is no more. I imagine you laughing and running around the fields with yellow and purple flowers in heaven, with not a care in the world. Surely you deserve at least this.

Love you my darling,

Mum