Hello, my friends. I would like to take some time to talk to you about my relationship with my son, Sandley. First off, a little background, for those who don’t know me well or haven’t heard this before. I have always had a strange, irrational fear of small children. Now please don’t get me wrong, its not that I don’t like or love them, but small kids have always just caused me to panic. I’m not really sure what or why I have this reaction; I have a theory that’s it has something to do with the fact that I have always been really overweight, and I was always afraid that I would accidentally step on and hurt a little one. Not sure if this is the reason or not, but it’s the only thing that I can think of to explain my reaction to small children.
Upon answering God’s call for my life to serve in Haiti at NWHCM, I knew my life would be changed in ways that I could only imagine. But I have to be honest, I wasn’t prepared for Sandley.
My first Sunday in Haiti, I sat outside of Church with Stephanie Mosier and Heather Meyer, the 2 amazing ladies that run the Miriam Center, the special needs orphanage here. I tried to explain my calling to Haiti to them; that I was here to help fix what they needed so they could focus more on their ministry, and not worry about the small stuff. I told them how much I admired what they were doing and that I would help out however I could, but I did warn them about my fear of children.
A few days later, we were all hanging out in our staff lounge at the end of the day, when Stephanie came in carrying the smallest, most awkward little child I had ever seen. His little back was arched into a painful backwards C shape. His were so thin you could see every bone through his skin. He had bulging arm muscles, and his fists were clenched as if he was ready for a fight. Huge brown eyes filled his tiny, mostly bald head, and he had a perpetually grumpy look on his face, which only got worse when he cried. As we sat talking, Stephanie said she forgot something downstairs, laid Sandley in my lap, and headed for the door. As I fumbled with the little guy, not really knowing how to hold him, he looked at me and started to wail (honestly, I felt like doing the same thing.) But as we sat there, we both calmed down and Sandley slowly started clutching my arm as I held him. That was all it took. Stephanie came back and took Sandley back, but it was too late, he had his hooks in me.
Throughout the next week or so I made excuses to visit Sandley down in the Miriam Center, and to ask the ladies about his story. Sandley came to the Miriam Center with Heather, when she moved from the orphanage she worked with close to the Dominican Republic (For more of Sandley’s back story, check out Heather’s blog at: www.heathermmeyer.blogspot.com) about 2 weeks before I moved to Haiti. I don’t know why, but that seemed to cement our bond even more, we were both in a strange new place alone. As I began to spend more time with Sandley, both Stephanie and Heather were very patient with my constant asking of questions, as far as how to hold and care for him. They were very kind to help me learn how to provide the support he needed, to feed and burp him, and eventually to even change his diapers!  |
| Sandley & Kem |
Sandley very much became my lifeline here in Haiti. No matter how hard a day I had, no matter how frustrated, how hot, how tired, how down I was, a little time with Sandley made things better. He helped me to get my focus back on the things in life that matter. One of my biggest struggles in my time here has been with not really knowing my place here, not really knowing what I was called here for. As I struggled with feelings of inadequacy and just not fitting in, the one thing that was constant was my son, Sandley. Many were the nights when, not able to sleep, I would hear him crying downstairs and I would go and get him and just sit and hold him until the sun came up.
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| Sandley's 2nd Birthday |
When I left for a week in June, I struggled with having to leave Sandley here, and I was really trying not to think about how I would leave for 2 months in November. I knew he would be in very good hands, but still, how could I leave my son? I know adoption here is pretty much not an option, especially for a divorced, 39 year old man. So the next best thing I could think of was to start working on getting a medical visa for Sandley, so that not only could he travel home with me, but I could also seek medical testing and treatment for him while in the states.
On October 25th, Sandley left his earthly home and went to be with our Father in heaven. He had been a little sick the previous couple days, nothing too serious, just diarrhea. He had been doing better, getting Pedialyte every couple hours, but then passed sometime quietly early that morning. I was upstairs at our morning devotions when my friend Ashley came to get me and said they needed me downstairs. As I walked into the Miriam Center to the small group of people huddled around Sandley’s bed, I can never forget the sight of Stephanie holding him, with tears in her eyes as she told me he had passed. She handed his tiny body to me, which I clutched to my chest as the tears flowed down my face. I’ve lost many loved ones in my life, but this was different. I simply shut down, just standing there holding the body of my son, praying that somehow it was a mistake, that I would feel him take a breath, that I would once again hear his distinctive wail. Ashley and Stephanie invited me into their room, where we could mourn privately, away from the normal hustle and bustle of morning in the Miriam Center. As we sat in the quiet and I slowly stroked Sandley’s head, I tried to regain my composure, to be strong, to push my feelings of pain and loss down, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. (I know, not very healthy, but it’s what I do.) I tried to focus on what needed to be done; only really allowing myself to cry whenever everyone left the room. (Again, not very healthy.) Luckily for me, as we started talking about plans, contacting Sandley’s mom etc., life here at the mission pulled me away as my phone rang, and I went to fix a couple of things for the surgical team that was here. As I walked around the mission, numbly going from one task to another, I kept hoping that I would wake up, that it was a nightmare, that Sandley wasn’t gone. I would periodically check back in to see what needed to be done for Sandley’s funeral. We wanted to respect his mother’s wishes as best we could as well as honor any Haitian customs.
We had a small funeral service for Sandley that afternoon at the mission. I was able to kiss his little head one last time as I placed him in the tiny coffin, then stood off to the side as the funeral began. There was much prayer and singing, and a short sermon by Pastor John Barnes, a former missionary here at NWHCM and a good friend of mine. Following the service, I was engulfed by hugs and kisses from the Miriam Center staff, as well as many of the other staff from the mission. About 15 of us loaded up into a tap-tap to head to the cemetery, where Sandley was laid to rest in a crypt owned by the mission.
The next few days were very hard. I found myself going down to feed Sandley, forgetting that he’s not there. I would stand upstairs, staring down into the Miriam Center where his bed used to hang. I tried to avoid the Miriam Center and the other children that I have come to know and love, just because it was too hard to hide my pain from them. I tried to stay busy, to keep my mind occupied, but spent a lot of time by myself, hiding, trying to figure out how to go on.
In my mind, I know Sandley is in heaven, happy and healthy. My heart is heavy and broken, though, and I’m not sure how to go on. As much as I am hurting, I have to acknowledge the great gifts and changes in my life that Sandley has inspired. Through my time with Sandley, I have spent a lot of time with the rest of the kids in the Miriam Center, and have come to love all of them. I have grown from being afraid and nervous around them, to caring and loving them more than I could have believed possible.
I have always felt a secret, deep sadness I would never be a father; would never know the joy of being a dad. God has granted me my greatest wish, although not in the way I would have thought. That’s kind of the way He works, though. Sandley was my son, always will be, and even though are time together in this world was short; I know that we’ll be together for eternity.
Since Sandley’s passing, I have been flooded by thoughts and prayers from people who met Sandley during a trip here to NWHCM. For such a little man, he touched many, many lives, and I have been blessed by the stories and pictures that they have shared with me.
I have struggled a lot with Sandley’s death. I feel hollow and broken inside, barely able to talk about Sandley or look at pictures of him, yet finding myself breaking down at odd times, crying for my lost son. My hope in writing this is that I’ll be able to start healing. Letting the story which, is too hard to speak out loud, come out in writing.
As I prepare for my return to Haiti, I am excited and ready to get back to my missionary family, the kids, and the work that the Lord has prepared me for, but part of me is still saddened about being back in Haiti without Sandley. I praise and thank God daily for the way He has broken me, only to raise me back up and grow me into the type of servant and man He wants me to be. I know my future is in Haiti, and I know that God will continue to use me there, to serve the Kingdom and people of Haiti.
