UNPREPARED

The children were saddened by Rebecca’s death. MaryEllen was especially disappointed. She had looked forward to having a baby.
“You lied, Mommy,” she said one day as she looked through the drawers in the nursery. “You said Rebecca would wear these clothes and she never wore a single one.”
We had many discussions about heaven and how Rebecca was happier there than she would have been here. As we prayed with the children before bed Wes always thanked God for her place in His presence. That helped us all remember that knowing where we will spend eternity is what really matters. In a coming day, it will not make any difference that Rebecca reached heaven before the rest of us.
Jason dealt with the loss of his baby sister remarkably well. At first I was concerned that he might be internalizing his true feelings. Slowly I began to realize that he had a better grasp of life and death than I did. One night as he and Bryan were talking Bryan was lamenting the fact that Rebecca died.
Jason said, “It’s not that sad. She’s in heaven.”
He knew what mattered! Jason had seen friends die. Those that he knew well and cared for had gone. This was a baby that he had never known. It was enough to know that he would meet her in heaven.
If only it had been that easy for me. The emptiness I felt is almost impossible to describe. There was also a strange sense of this whole tragedy being a kind of rehearsal. As morbid as it sounds, I had found myself wondering many times about Jason’s possible death and what it would be like for Wes and me to have a funeral for a child we loved. Now I knew. I also found out that life goes on after we leave the fresh grave. How I resented that fact!
While my recovery was slow Jason was his happy self. He had all sorts of plans for the summer. He went off to Pittsburgh to visit his aunts and uncles, then on to Philadelphia to visit his dear friends, the Olivers. His illness and treatment rarely affected his love of life and his good nature.
One of his favorite pastimes was to go for long walks with Wes at night. The bond between them seemed to deepen even more. Knowing Jason’s life might be shortened by the disease he was fighting, Wes made a point of pouring spiritual truths into Jason’s young heart, stressing what a privilege it was to live each day for the glory of God. They had wonderful talks as they walked along, hand in hand, through downtown Saugus. More than simply having a father and son relationship, they became best friends.
Months passed relatively uneventfully, until an entire year had come and gone since Rebecca had so briefly visited our world.

New sister Sarah

Just as the summer of 1990 began, a beautiful little blessing named Sarah Elizabeth was born into our family and stole our hearts. She thrilled us all and was a tremendous help in recovering from the previous year’s disappointment. When school began again Jason was a fifth grader. This would be his last year in elementary school. It seemed like only yesterday he had been a baby the size of Sarah. Where had the time gone?
Jason loved the fifth grade. There is something enjoyable about being one of the big kids and being looked up to by the younger students. He already was talking about the end of the year festivities. The class would go on special outings, swim at the Y1VICA and have a pizza party Nearly every day he’d tell us about something special that made the year exciting. He was working hard, earning excellent grades and feeling well. December would mark three years of chemotherapy. We all looked forward to the treatment’s being discontinued.
On December 6th Jason stayed home from school with a cold. During the day he seemed to improve so that by evening he was feeling fine. As he was getting ready for bed his nose started bleeding and did not stop easily. He told mc he had two other nosebleeds earlier in the day. This wasn’t very unusual, as Jason did tend to have nosebleeds with colds and congestion, or simply from the house being drier than usual with the heat on. As Jason and I were trying to get the bleeding under control, Wes came in from a meeting. He thought he should take Jason to the emergency room to have his blood counts checked. We phoned the doctor on call and she agreed. By that time it was 10 P.M.
At about 1 A.M. I awoke, surprised to find that Wes and Jason were still not home. Shortly afterward, Wes called to say they were having trouble getting blood as the port-a-cath was not working properly and veins were difficult to access. Knowing they would not be home for quite awhile, I went back to sleep.
Meanwhile, Wes was with Jason and he was the first to learn the shocking news.
The doctor examined Jason and then spoke to Wes: “I’m sorry, Wes, but the leukemia is back and he has between two weeks and two months to live.”
Wes was stunned. After years of chemotherapy, the transplant and medications, was the end to be so sudden? Years before, Wes and Jason had made a promise to each other that Jason would try to bravely face whatever came and Wes, on his part, would be honest with Jason about his condition. Wes went to Jason and said, “Come on, buddy, let’s go home.”
Surprised, Jason asked, “What did they say?”
“Let’s just go,” Wes answered, his voice trembling with emotion.
As they went through the large front doors of Mass General Hospital Wes got down on his knees and said, “Oh, Jason, I love you so much, but your leukemia’s back and it’s all through you. The doctor just said you have only a few weeks or months to live.”

Back in the hospital

He looked at Wes and his first words were, “Dad, this is going to be so hard on Mom.”
They walked to the car in silence. When finally they spoke, Jason wasn’t angry or upset. He was thinking of how God might be able to use his death for a purpose, and he was determined to be the one to tell me the news.
Wes asked, “Jason, are you afraid?”
“No, Dad, I’m not afraid. I’m sorry for the family that this is happening.”
Through tears, Wes told him, “Don’t be sorry for us. Let’s just do what we can, stick together, and see what God can work out of it.” They prayed there at the end of the street and headed for home.
Of course, I knew nothing about this or of the nightmare through which Wes and Jason were passing. At about 3 A.M. I sensed someone in the hallway. I woke up to see Wes and Jason. Their expressions chilled me.
Wes looked at Jason and said, “Are you sure you want to tell her?”
“What?! Tell me what?” Jason came over to my side of the bed and knelt down on the floor. “My leukemia came back and they told me I have between two weeks and three months to live if I don’t get chemotherapy,” he said shakily.
I started to shiver. From head to toe my body shook with a dreadful chill. I hugged him to me, rocking him back and forth.
“Oh, my poor baby!”
It had been many years since I had called him “baby” but I only wanted to take him in my arms and shelter him from all this pain and grief. Wes asked him a little while later if there was anyone he wanted to talk to. Jason thought for a minute and then said he needed to call Jacki and Joey. They had been involved with Jason and his disease since the beginning. So, at 3:30 in the morning they once again received news neither will ever forget.
When we finally went to bed Jason was the only one who slept. Wes and I were in shock. Yes, we had realized this day would probably come, but again we were taken by surprise and unprepared. I remembered having said to a friend just the weekend before that I fully expected to lose Jason one day. We had been talking about her little girl who had died that summer, and my Rebecca. Never did I think that this would come so soon. We are never ready to lose someone we love.
The following day we returned to the hospital for further testing. Jason’s regular doctor was almost as surprised as we were and was not convinced the diagnosis was correct. A bone marrow biopsy and aspiration were done, as well as more blood work. When the doctors looked at the bone marrow they felt very encouraged. It was not full of leukemia as should have been the case. The consensus was that either Jason was fighting off a virus or he had a chronic form of leukemia that many people live with for a long time. Bone marrow samples were sent to other labs for further study.

Lilian Guay

We left Mass General Hospital that day greatly relieved and hopeful. We would come back on Monday for more blood counts. The bad news had traveled fast and now we needed to let everyone know what the doctors had said. The excitement was contagious. Teachers were stopping by the house to hug Jason and to say what a miracle this was and an answer to all the prayers that had been said for Jason. I was cautiously optimistic. I had seen how this enemy called leukemia worked, sneaking up so slowly, then exploding into disaster. I had no doubt that God was able to answer our prayers and heal Jason, but we wanted only His will and were not sure what that will was. If Jason only had a virus why was he so pale? We could only hope for the best and go on from here. TodayJason was with us and we would enjoy that.
Over the next week Jason returned to the hospital several times for more blood work. The lab reports were still inconclusive. We grew more and more concerned as Jason was not feeling better or recovering from this possible “virus.” Finally it was necessary to give him platelets due to his low platelet count and a white count that seemed to be going higher every day. On Monday, December 17th, I took Jason back for more tests and more platelets. I had an increasingly uneasy feeling while waiting to talk to the doctors. All the nurses seemed to avoid my impatient glances in their direction. When, at last, I was called into the office, I did not anticipate good news.
The doctor began, “Well, we are very concerned. This does not appear to be getting better. It is unreasonable to assume that this is a virus or a chronic form of leukemia. Jason appears to be in what we would describe as a blast crisis in AIVIL (acute myelogenous leukemia). His white count is approaching dangerously high numbers and his platelets are being eaten up very rapidly.”
I interrupted to ask what his white count was. When I was told it was nearly 200 thousand I was stunned. It had gone from 49,000 on December 6 to this incredible figure in just 11 days.
The doctor continued, “This does not appear to be a relapse of Acute Lymphocyte Leukemia because the disease seems to be in the transplanted marrow, not in his original marrow. If this had happened earlier there would be reason to question MaryEllen’s health but, after five years, the possibility of the disease’s coming from her is remote. More than likely the three years of chemotherapy are to blame for this new disease.”
As I listened I became less concerned with where it came from and more interested in what we were to do about it. We seemed to go around in circles for a while. There was talk of possible aggressive treatments of chemotherapy and of second transplants. I felt we were skirting the real issue.
I finally spoke up, “Jason is not going to get better. He is going to die.”
The doctor lowered his eyes. “Yes, no matter what we do, we are only putting off the inevitable.”
Monica held my hand and suddenly seemed to be older and defeated. During more than 25 years she had known this defeat over and over again. Jason had been one of the “success” stories.
“We thought we had it licked,” she said softly. “I’m getting too old for this.”
I shared with her that I remembered asking Dr. Truman why he remained in such a field for so long. He had told me that he concentrated on the successes. She said that was true, if only every story had a happy ending. We talked about how long Jason might have. I wanted to pin someone down to a time, but everyone I asked said there was no way to predict. He could have weeks, perhaps months. So much depended on how well he did with whatever medication they could give him.
I told Monica that I did not want Jason to die at home. I could not imagine what that would be like for the other children. She said that was fine, that we could make those choices when the time came. Nonetheless, I realized that I might not have that choice should something happen suddenly.
Jason came into the office and Dr. Ferguson explained to him what was wrong. He asked if Jason had any questions. He didn’t. They talked about chemotherapy. Jason said he would try some drugs but he did not want to be real sick if they were not going to make him better anyway. They seemed to understand each other. We decided to talk more about it later.
The ride home was quiet. Between the two of us there always had been a quiet understanding. We did not need to chatter much. Each of us knew, almost instinctively, what the other felt. I asked him what he was thinking. He sighed and said he was not surprised by what the doctor had said. I had not been either.
“Well it wasn’t the best of news, for sure, and it sounds like it’s probably not going to go away.”
He said, “I know and that’s okay.”
In a few minutes he fell asleep and slept the rest of the way home. My mind was reeling. How do you tell your son that he is not going to get better? Yet, he did not need to be told — he knew.

A TENDER MESSAGE

Getting Jason through the holidays feeling relatively well became our main objective. He started on chemotherapy in pill form to get his white count down and a second medication to prevent bleeding. Transfusions were needed every few days even with this drug.
On Sunday, December 23rd, Jason had another bad nosebleed that required a trip to the emergency room for platelets. ‘We were afraid he’d be admitted and unable to spend Christmas with us at home, but he responded to the treatment. We were on our way home in a few hours. Later that evening Becky and Dale arrived from Pennsylvania with their family, and others stopped by. Jason, feeling better, was delighted with all the visitors and quite talkative.
“I feel bad that everyone is so sad. People hug me and turn away with tears in their eyes. Why is everybody so upset? They talk about how great it is to know you are going to heaven but when they find out you are really going — and going soon — they feel bad. It’s not sad!”
“Jason,” I said, “You are absolutely right, but think if it were the other way around. We are all thinking of how much we will miss you.
“Yeah,” he said, “I guess so. I just wish people wouldn’t cry or feel sorry for me. It makes me feel bad.”
We all sat quietly. How could he possess such incredible strength and calm acceptance. He was not worried at all! “Great is thy faith” was all that kept coming before me. In answer to many prayers, Jason enjoyed Christmas. He had a ride in a neighbor’s Lambourghini — a real thrill — spent a nice day with his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and was feeling fabulous. We spent the afternoon playing games and enjoying each other. Over the next week Jason returned to the hospital for platelets several times but felt well enough to remain at home. The visiting relatives went home at the end of the week, not knowing if they would ever see Jason again. He understood and hugged them good-bye with great feeling.
Then he was on to the next project at hand. On Sunday December 30th, he was going to speak to the congregation at the Gospel Hall. He spent a lot of time thinking about what he wanted to say. Saturday evening he came into our bedroom to ask if he could have everyone sing after he spoke it.” “I found this hymn I really like, Mom. I really want to sing just before Sunday School the next day Jason took the platform. He pulled a stool over, stood on it behind the podium and began to speak: “If there’s anyone here that doesn’t know me my name is Jason Vitale. I’m here today to thank all the Christians who prayed for me and helped with all the problems with my medical things. I also want to talk to the younger people here and say that there’s an issue here that’s very important. The Lord gives us a gjft called salvation and it’s most important that when we’re young and in early ages we take the opportunity and get it settled. I know one thing that if I wasn’t saved and didn’t have the Lord’s salvation from when I was just five years old that I probably wouldn’t have been able to go through my operation and sickness the way I’ve done. He’s helped me and He’s always a Friend in troubles and any time we might be in pain or agony. If we’re all by ourselves in a radiation room or during an operation or anything we can always know that the Lord’s with us. He’s a Friend that will never leave us and it’s very important to get to know Him while you’re young and not to despise the issue. You should hurry up with this and not fool around with the subject and say that today I’ll do what I like to do with my sports and hobbies and I’ll leave salvation till tomorrow because it’s important and at any time in our life, especially at the end of life for older people and for younger people too. It’s important not to say that only old people die because anyone can die at any age. It’s up to the Lord. It’s all in His hands obviously. I think we should make sure that we’re not passing it by or letting it slip through ourfingers. We all know, even the youngest people here know that the world’s not looking very bright and it c probably not going to get much brighter. So I hope that you all don’t despise what the Lord’s trying to speak to you through. It might just be earthquakes or stories of people getting killed by car accidents and things. He’s trying to tell everybody in the world that they can’t fool around. It might be them someday and jf it is He’d hate to see their soul crash out into a horror—struck eternity where there’s no hope. That’s why hundreds of years ago He sent His Son to die on the cross so that we might have a place in heaven. I hope that from the youngest to the oldest person here makes sure they don’t despise this opportunity and makes sure they take the Lord’s salvation. Thanks a lot to all the Christians for their help to me. They’ve really been ummm ....It’s really something to know you have so many friends. Thanks a lot.”

Dinner after speaking at the Gospel Hall 

Then we sang — or tried to sing — Jason’s favorite hymn:
“I have a home above from sin and sorrow free.
A mansion which eternal love designed and built for me.
My Father’s gracious hand has built this blest abode;
From everlasting it was planned, my dwelling place with God.
My Savior precious blood has made my title sure.
He passed through death’s dark raging flood to make my rest secure.
The Comforter is come, the earnest has been given
He leads me onward to the home reserved for me in heaven.
Loved ones are gone before whose pilgrim days are done;
I soon shall greet them on that shore where partings are unknown.
But more than all, I long His glories to behold,
Whose smile fills all that radiant throng with ecstasy untold.
That bright, yet tender, smile, my sweetest welcome there,
Shall cheer me through the ‘little while’ I tarry for Him here.
Thy love, most gracious Lord, my joy and strength shall be,
Till Thou shalt speak the gladdening word that bids me rise to Thee.
And then, through endless days where all Thy glories shine,
In happier, holier strains I’ll praise the grace that made me Thine.”

Uncle Frank Procopio

No one made it through that hymn without breaking down. The reality of Jason’s words and the absolute peace in his manner as he talked about death left even the children aware that they had heard something very, very special. For his part, Jason was glad that he had been able to express what he felt, and pleased to have it behind him. We went home to a seafood dinner he had requested. Looking at him eating shrimp and smiling, one would never dream he was so ill.

LETTING GO

New Year’s day found Jason enjoying time with his good friends Eric, Dustin and Sean. They were able to race cars, play games and just have fun with each other. However, Jason’s nose bled a lot and he was showing signs of weakness. The following day he was readmitted to the hospital after a reaction to platelets resulted in a high fever. We had lengthy discussions with the doctors as to what course of treatment to pursue. The transplant team at City of Hope was willing to try a second transplant if Jason’s condition stabilized. Everything seemed to be very “iffy” at best. We decided to consult Jason himself. As soon as we mentioned a second transplant he began to shake his head. Personally, I did not blame him. When we had watched him suffer so intensely I had silently vowed never to put him through that again. Wes, too, understood that medical science could only go so far. Ultimately, Jason was still in the Lord’s hands. It seemed to us both that we had reached the end. Wes told the doctors that we would do what Jason wanted.
“We don’t believe that quality of life is measured in quantity of days,” Wes told them. They understood and agreed that Jason’s opinion was most important. Jason was only eleven years old, yet he was capable of
this critical decision.
“No,” he said softly, lying back on the pillow, “I don’t want another transplant. I’ll try some chemotherapy if it won’t make me real sick. I just know I won’t live through another transplant. I don’t want to go through that for nothing.”
“Jason,” the doctor explained, “You don’t have to decide that now. We need to try some medicine first to see if we can get that white count down some.”
Jason had been given so many drugs over the years that few were left untried. Over the next few days he received doses of a new chemotherapy. As the deep blue medicine would slowly course into a vein in his hand I’d sit wondering what this poison would do to my son. He’d wince every now and then, complaining that the drug stung his arm. He missed his port-a-cath, which had recently been removed.
The days passed. Jason was disappointed that he was still in the hospital when his Uncle Pete arrived for a week’s visit on the 10th. But four days later Jason came home. Delighted to be free while Pete was still around, Jason lost no time in dragging him off to MVP Sports for the all-important purchase of a knife to add to his collection. So when David and Melody Oliver arrived that afternoon from Philadelphia, expecting to find Jason lying on the couch, they weren’t at all disappointed to have to wait for him to return from shopping. The excitement was short-lived, however, for the next day he was readmitted, following a particularly violent reaction to platelets. The effects of the chemotherapy were beginning to appear as well. His white count had plummeted to 400. Exhausted from the medication given to reduce the reaction and with his temperature soaring, Jason seemed to be wearing out from all the ups and downs he was experiencing. We felt it was so unfair that he should have to go through so much but he did not complain or bemoan his condition. The calmness he maintained was nothing short of miraculous.

Jason Vitale 

One night, when he was having a particularly violent reaction to the platelets, a nurse was sent racing to the emergency room for medication. Wes stood on Jason’s left, holding his hand, and Dr. Ferguson stood on his right.
Jason turned his head away from them, over his shoulder, toward the window, and whispered, “Help me, help me!”
Dr. Ferguson said, “Jason, I am trying to help you.”
Jason looked up at him and said, “I wasn’t asking for your help. I was asking for God’s help.”
Over the next several days Jason appeared to be slipping. His nose was constantly bleeding; his lips cracked and bled, making speaking and eating impossible. Both eyes became infected, requiring greasy ointment, which made his appearance all the more depressing. He wanted to come home but some new symptom would develop, making that impossible. Finally, on January 19th, Jason was discharged.

Pennsylvania with Ronnie

The next day Pete was to return to Pittsburgh. As he packed, I became aware of whispering and suspicious glances in my direction. When at last I was let in on the goings-on I was shocked. Jason was trying to convince Peter to take him to Pittsburgh with him. He could not be serious! This desperately ill child was thinking of travelling 600 miles. Quite a discussion followed. The reason Jason wanted to go to Pennslyvania was to talk to his friend Ronnie about salvation. Jason and Ronnie had been long distance friends ever since they could remember. As Jason thought about dying, it bothered him to think that Ronnie did not share his assurance of heaven.
“Dad, I really want to talk to him one more time.”
While we hated the thought of Jason going away I had to understand and respect his wishes.
Finally we decided to call the doctor and go with his decision. Wes put in a call to the answering service. Within seconds the phone rang.
“Hello,” Wes answered. “Oh, hello, Tom. It’s funny you should call now. We were just waiting for the Doctor to return our He went on to explain what we were waiting to find out and why. In minutes he hung up and returned to the living room shaking his head. Apparently Uncle Tom, in Pittsburgh, had been thinking along the same lines and wanted to fly Jason there or come to Boston himself this couldn’t be a coincidence.
Jason smiled and said, “See, the Lord heard me!”
When the doctor called he agreed the decision was Jason’s. The worst that could happen was that he would die. Death was coming eventually, wasn’t it? As nervous as I was about this whole issue I backed off and let Jason decide what he wanted to do.
“If I go there I can see more people than if they come here, so I think I should go. I know you don’t want me to leave but I think that if God can get me there in such an amazing way He’ll bring me back too.” Then he asked, “Do you want to come with me, instead of Daddy?”
After thinking it over I decided not to go. Sarah was only six months old and still nursing. I felt it would be impossible to leave her and knew I was not capable of managing a baby and a critically ill child on a plane. Wes and Jason left the following morning, while it was still dark. As I helped him dress I noticed the changes this disease called leukemia had made in my son. He was so thin and pale. Nearly twelve years old now he looked more like an elderly man. As I crawled back into bed I prayed that God would allow me to see him again the following afternoon.
The next day, we watched for the familiar car to come up the road. The flight had been delayed due to bad weather and I had grown more anxious with each passing hour. Finally they were coming!
Then Jason was in my arms, smiling and saying, “See, Mom, I told you God would bring me home!”
As weak as he was, he was thrilled he had been able to make the trip. It was worth all the anxiety on our part, just to see his happiness. Jason lay on the couch and said he planned to stay there. As ‘vVes and I discussed the trip later I was again very thankful to the Lord for bringing my little boy home to me. I did not realize how worried Wes had been that Jason would not make it home. For the hour or so before their flight home, Jason had been blacking out and feeling tremendously weak. Jason, not at all fearful, had leaned back in his seat on the plane, smiling. He had accomplished what he felt God had wanted him to do. He had been able to talk to Ronnie and say his good-byes.
“Dad, I’m really ready to go now.”
Wes knew he needed platelets badly but there was no way to get them, and he just prayed that Jason would make it home.
The very next day Jason was due at Mass General Hospital for the usual platelets. I dressed to take him and was encouraging him to get ready when he appeared in the doorway of our room.
“Mom, I’m not going to the hospital today.” I turned around, surprised.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Maybe you will feel like it tomorrow.
“Mom, I’m not going tomorrow either. I don’t want any more platelets because they aren’t doing any good. I get sicker and sicker every time and then I have to stay there.”
I took a deep breath. Was this happening? I wanted to argue, “No, we have to go. The doctors want us to come. This is what we’re supposed to do,” but I could not. Jason was right. We were fooling ourselves if we believed he was improving or stabilizing towards another transplant. It was not going to happen. We had witnessed the slow defeat of other children too often to mistake what was happening to our son. Jason was dying and there was nothing we could do to stop it from happening.

Last photo - Jon Procopio

How I hated this realization. This was not supposed to happen! We grow up expecting to lose grandparents and, perhaps, our parents on some far away day. But this was my little boy. I had given birth to him, held him, loved him unreservedly. While we had lived for seven years with the possibility of losing him, the sense of helplessness I was feeling at that moment was overwhelming.
I called the hospital and spoke with Monica. She assured mc that Jason’s decision was very adult and perfectly acceptable. She advised us to accept the aid of a visiting nurse. She also explained to me some of the things we might expect. I asked her how long Jason had. Again no one could say for certain. It could be a few days if he experienced internal head bleeding. Then again, he might last for several weeks.
Later that day, Laurie, a visiting nurse, stopped by. She explained to us that Jason would probably sleep more and more until he died. We were to call her and she would take care of everything. We wouldn’t need to contact the police or emergency crews, but she suggested we contact the funeral home soon.
Once more we found ourselves in the office of the young funeral director who had endeared himself to us by his handling of Rebecca’s funeral. We were impressed by the care and sympathy he had shown. He was obviously upset as we discussed plans. He remembered Jason as the doorman at Rebecca’s funeral; it seemed incomprehensible to him that we were there to make arrangements for Jason’s. We decided it would be best to have both the viewing and the funeral at the Walnut St. Gospel Hall.
As we prepared to leave he said, “I hope I don’t hear from you for a long time.”
Our house was constantly filled with friends and relatives. Jason loved visiting with everyone. Each afternoon the teachers came from the Oaklandvale School, the one our children attend. Neighbors and friends brought Jason cards, toys and homemade cookies. It was a bit overwhelming to be the objects of such loving support. Whatever we needed was there before we had time to think about it.
Jon Procopio had arrived from Labrador, where he preaches the gospel. He knew Jason was losing ground rapidly and wanted to spend some time with him before he died. Jason was thrilled to have him around. We cannot imagine what we would have done without him. Jon was there for Jason to talk to. He provided an extra pair of hands to hold a glass of water, fix a blanket, or help one of the other children. Just knowing he was around made us feel better. Thinking of the 2000 miles he had traveled, and of his wife and family braving the wild weather of the North without him made us even more appreciative.
Wes was unable to work. It had become increasingly difficult for him to fulfill his responsibilities and at the same time run to Jason’s aid when necessary. His boss is a wonderful man who could not have been more understanding or helpful. The children continued to go to school each day but, other than that, all sense of routine and organization was gone.
Jason was taking morphine in small amounts. He had begun to get restless and complain of pain in his legs. He was steadily weakening but was not in excruciating pain or suffering terribly. He enjoyed all the company he had and would constantly think of things to do to involve everyone. Some days he wanted to play a game. One day he decided we were going to build Legos. He had enjoyed many hours of constructing with Legos in the long hospital stay in California. This particular day he decided he wanted a new set. Wes and Jon scoured the town in search of “Eldorado Fortress.” He was so concerned they get the right thing that he got up and searched for the book that showed it. We smiled as he scurried around. He was indeed a child after all. For days he had lain there so ill and then, for the sake of a toy.... He lit up as they returned with the precious box. Then he lay on the couch giving instructions as I assembled it with help from the children and those who dropped by.
Because Jason refused to go upstairs to bed, Wes started camping out in the living room. We were afraid to leave him. One night, however he decided to sleep in the girls’ bedroom when they were away. Early in the morning Wes went into the room. “Okay, I’ll see you. Thanks for coming” Jason said. Wes asked what he meant.
“Oh I was just saying good-bye to Dan’s wife.”
“Jason, she wasn’t here.”
“I know, Dad, but I see people in my head. When I die if any one says they are sorry they didn’t come to see me, tell them “That’s okay. I saw them anyway.”
Wes’s mouth dropped. They lay there hugging quietly. Wes broke the silence, “You know, Jason, when you die I won’t just be losing a son, I’ll be losing my best friend.”
“Yes, Jason.”
“Are you afraid of waking one morning and finding me dead?”
Wes gulped, “Well, you don’t beat around the bush. Yes, I guess I am.
“Dad, I’ll tell you what. If I think I know when it’s going to happen I’ll try to give you a sign.”
“Okay, Bud, I love you.”
In the wee hours of January 29th Wes woke me up. “You should come downstairs. Jason’s acting strange.”
Hurriedly, I followed him to where Jason was. We gave him a big drink of water and some medicine. He seemed to settle down so I kissed him good night and went back to bed. Several hours later I went downstairs to find him still asleep. Wes got up, the children went off to school, I bathed and dressed Sarah, and still Jason slept. We were not too worried, since he had been up so much during the night and was probably tired. Eventually he stirred and acted a bit confused. Was he thirsty? As the glass was held to his lips, his head rolled back. He was unable to hold it up. The water ran out of his mouth and he was asleep again. We all looked at each other rather blankly. This was not a bad dream; we were losing Jason. For most of the day he continued to sleep. People came and went throughout the afternoon. Occasionally he roused himself enough to acknowledge a visitor, but most of the time they would speak to him, not knowing whether he heard them or not. It was very touching to watch friends kneeling beside the couch, speaking softly in his ear. I chose to believe that he heard every word. After all, he heard his dad crying as Wes sat looking at him on the couch.
He asked softly, “Who is crying?”
Wes crept to his side and hugged him.
Jason placed his hand on his father’s head and said, “Don’t cry for me.”
He fell back to sleep. A short while later Jason pointed to the ceiling. At first we all thought he wanted to interrupt the conversation that was going on nearby. However, he never tried to say a word. The sign! He had promised Wes he would try to sign if when the end was near. That must have been what he was trying to tell us. Did he think he was dying?
That evening was the prayer meeting night at the Walnut Street Gospel Hall. Instead of going, Joey and Jon Procopio came to sit with us. Wes and I decided to sleep in shifts. He went to bed with the children. When I went up at midnight he arose. Jason was still sleeping. I found it hard to relax and went back downstairs. For two hours I sat watching Jason as he peacefully slept. Every now and then one of us would check his pulse. We noticed his feet and legs were very cold. The others kept telling me to return to bed. I finally decided to listen to them. Before I left I laid my head next to Jason’s. After a minute or two I stood up and started to leave.
Jason turned his head and asked, ‘What happened?”
His eyes were wide, almost as though he were forcing them to remain open. He mumbled a few words that we could not understand, then said clearly, “Tell her I saw the Lord.”
That was a message for Grammy Vitale. A few days earlier Jason had heard her singing “Face to Face with Christ My Savior.” Shortly after that he began to wave his arms around. It frightened us, as we thought he was struggling to breathe.
Jon looked at him intently. “I think he wants to hug you” he said.
Quickly I moved to sit on the edge of the couch and leaned over him. Jason reached his arms up around my neck and squeezed. He then pulled back slightly, put one hand to his face and pinched his cheeks together to enable his mouth to form a kiss. He repeated the process, meaning it for Wes, but could not quite reach him. He seemed to drift back into unconsciousness and then said,
“Life’s tough.”
Joe replied, “Life’s tough but heaven is better, right, Jay?”
With the slightest hint of a smile, he answered, “Uh-huh.”
Gradually, his breathing slowed and his pulse faded.
“He’s going now,” Jon said. Speaking softly to Jason, telling him he’d awaken in heaven, Jon put his hand on Jason’s neck, feeling the weak throb subside.
Jason was gone.
Now I could hug him and not worry about hurting him. Holding him to me, I sobbed my good-bye. Wes saw instantly that all that had been Jason, all that he loved about him was actually gone, transported to another world. Jason’s body lay there peacefully but the real Jason, his soul, was in heaven. It was over. Life with its pain and sorrow had ended for Jason. While we were looking at him with sadness, his spirit was entering the magnificent splendor of heaven. We knew he was perfectly at home there. Suddenly it seemed so right that he should be with the Lord he loved so dearly.

UNTIL THEN

Jason would have liked his funeral. Hundreds came to say their good byes to a little boy who had touched them in an unforgettable way. Those who spoke at the funeral would have embarrassed him by speaking of him so highly. However, he would have been delighted to hear them speak so well of his Savior. Jason wanted his friends to hear the clear message of the gospel. Many people knew that Jason was a Christian and had seen tremendous faith in his life. But perhaps they never had heard the wonderful news that the Lord Jesus loved them and died to put their sins away and secure a place in heaven for them. In a clear and memorable manner, those who spoke at the funeral reminded the audience of these great truths and of their power in Jason’s life.
It was difficult to look into that angelic, boyish face for the last time. As I bent and kissed his now-cold nose my mind flashed back to the delivery room where I saw Jason Michael for the first time, then to a towheaded tot full of smiles and laughter as he carried his baby sister like a horse. Where had the years gone? How could we turn and walk away, leaving him?
In the days that followed, we found ourselves resenting the fact that life was moving on. The clocks kept ticking, the calendar pages turning, leaving us feeling like bystanders. We were seeing life happen but noticing little and feeling so alone and empty. How would we ever laugh or be happy again? Yet, how would Jason have wanted us to feel? Surely he would not want us to be continually sad. We made an effort to focus on the positive, the spiritual, and tried not to dwell on our loss.
Still, our world will never be the same. We are forever thankful to God for allowing Jason to touch our hearts. Through him we learned much about God’s sustaining grace, love and power. While he taught us a lot about dying, he taught us much more about living as we witnessed a peace that comes from trusting God completely.
Often we remember the words of II Samuel 12:23: “I shall go to him, but he shall not return unto me.”
Jason once told us, “God puts us here and gives us a job to do. When it is done he takes us home to heaven. God is going to bless me by taking me home early. Do what you are supposed to do, raise your family for God and I’ll see you when you get there (heaven).”