Alpha Omega

This morning we prepped Griffin for a private viewing for our immediate family.  I think an important part of beginning the grieving process and giving closure to the life lived is to spend time with their body.  Though their soul has long left and that absence is palpable, the reality of the time to come without Griffin had a chance to sink in for everybody there.

Gretchen and I arrived an hour early and were escorted down to the prep room.  It's a lonely, empty room as the corporation that owns Sandy Springs Chapel has a centralized preparation operation down the road, so it was just Gretchen and I in a no longer used room.  Since we had opted for cremation Griffin required no embalming and we were able to handle his preparation ourselves.  We played Third Day's "Cry Out Jesus" on repeat as we worked.

He was still wearing the hospital gown from when we saw him last. But a look under the gown showed a body battered more by the autopsy.  It seemed fitting that after being cut open 23 times in his young life he would endure one last time being cut, explored and sewed back together.  It was the first of several pieces of the Alpha and Omega of Griffin's time here on Earth and our journey raising him.

On the way to the funeral home Gretchen insisted on a stop at Target to get fresh towels and wash cloths to work with. We had brought soap and hand lotion from home that I use.  It was always important to Griffin to use products I used.  There was many a call from the barber shop asking me what number I use on the sides and what my current hair product was.  So it was just fitting that we bathe and moisturize him with my products.  Alpha.  Omega.

We began to wash him.  From his bent, beaten, deformed toes to his stitched chest, we bathed our son just as we had bathed him hundreds if not thousands of times.  He had difficulty reaching places on his body. He often asked us to help him in the shower him as he lay prone on the floor while we washed the most delicate parts of his body, well into adulthood.  It was a frustrating task when he was with us.  But this morning it felt healing to wash him.  One of Jesus' last acts on earth was to wash the feet of his disciples.  There was a love and a humility and above all a privilege involved in such an act.  And we felt it.  Alpha.  Omega.

While Gretchen dried him, I borrowed a cheap razor and shaving cream and began shaving him.  He hadn't shaved in weeks (he hated it; his fine motor skill deficit made it difficult).  So, just as we had done the first time he shaved, I took the razor gently in my hands and did it for him.  Careful to avoid nicks, repositioning his nose to get those hard spots, moving with and against the grain as needed, I shaved my son for the last time.  Alpha.  Omega.

Time to dress him.  Khakis.  White t-shirt.  Navy Polo half-zip.  His favorite dressing up for dinner outfit.  And as we moved his now less pliable extremities, we recalled together the number of times we had helped him dress.  And as we log-rolled his pants on, we laughed. Log rolling is a method that ensures the pants find their way all the way up to the waist.  It was a method Griffin refused to employ which left him often looking more ready for a hip hop performance than for school.  And when we finally got his pants all the way on, I realized we had forgotten a belt.  Another accessory Griffin found difficult to use and therefore never wore.  Perfect.  Alpha.  Omega.

Our time with Griffin was meaningful beyond words.  We wept, we laughed and we held him as we prepped him. We blessed him and were blessed by him.  Our last moments with Griffin were just like nearly every moment we spent with him.  They were exhausting.  They were frustrating.  They were rewarding.  They were most of all holy.  Alpha.  Omega.

My final thought on this incredibly meaningful final morning with my son is this: we know that God is the Alpha and the Omega.  And if it is true that we are made in God's image, we too share some of that Alpha and Omega.  Ours, though, is mortal.  We know when the moment of Alpha occurs.  We do not know when our Omega will come.  But every moment in between is holy.  And it's our job to find the holy in those moments.  Our proximity to Griffin because of his disability made it, possibly, more necessary to find the holy because those moments could be so difficult and often humbling.  So finding the holy that morning was just natural.  My challenge to myself now is to find the holy in those more unnatural moments.  Because we just don't know.  Alpha.  Omega.