Our house didn’t need to be painted.  I wanted to paint it eventually, but it didn’t need it.  Parts of it needed it, but not the whole thing.  It was a nice neutral tan.  But I’m never content with leaving things alone: everything could use a little personal touch.

So I invited the family up for a weekend of painting.  Pam and I were itching to paint the house yellow.  Why?  Surely other homes in our neighborhood were bright and cheery on our block.  Nope.  They are all neutral.  Some of them are white… that’s about as bright as they get.

So it was set, my family was going to come from Philly to York the last weekend in April for a weekend of painting.  All Pam and I had to do was pick the shade of Yellow.  Simple enough, right?  We purchased dozens of samples and put them on our house.  Some were too white, others too bright, others too peach, others too tan.  All we wanted was a nice gentle yellow.  Our house was asking us to make it more like a cottage (at least that’s what we thought we heard it saying).  We finally choose the color “May Yellow” from a local paint store.  We bought 15 gallons and were ready to rock and roll.

A couple of days before my family showed up I called my dad who used to be a professional painter by trade.  That’s a critical point here.  We were counting on Dad’s wisdom and expertise to analyze and assess the situation and advise accordingly.  Our house isn’t massive, but it isn’t tiny either.  It’s a two story colonial house with a full attic.  It’s got some height to it.  I thought the family was coming up for the weekend, but Dad informed me that they only needed a Saturday as long as I did all the prep work.  I clearly remember asking him if he was SURE he needed just one day.  He assured me.

“One Saturday is all we need.” he said.

Saturday came and I woke up at 6 a.m. to finish the final stages of prep for the house.  There was a lot to clean and power wash.  I started painting the trim white on the bottom part of the house and waited for the family to come.  The Philly bus arrived at 11 a.m. for an all day job.  My only thought was: this is going to be a very late night.

As soon as they arrived Pam left with my mom to get some missing materials from Lowes.  That’s when my dad opened the 5 gallon drum of May Yellow and rolled the first section on the side of the house.  It was horrible.  It wasn’t yellow: it was yellow on acid.  Yellow with battery power.  The color of dog pee in fresh snow.  You couldn’t stare at it longer than 5 seconds without it burning your retinas.  I called Pam instantly.

We panicked on the phone:

J: “Pam, what should I do?”
P: “Is it the color we picked?”
J: “Yes… I think.  It’s the same name of the sample we bought.
P: “Can you put it next to the sample still on our house?”
J: “Good idea, I’m doing it now.”
P: “Is it the same?”
J: “No. Well, kind of. I don’t know. Now they both look bright. I’m sooooo confused!!!!”
P: “Call the paint store.”

So I did.  And they were closing in 10 minutes.  My neighbors came out and joined the fun.   They said they loved the color.  Even our neighbor’s mom and dad joined in the fun.  So here we were: My dad, my brother Andrew, my sisters Emily and Ashley, and my brother-in-law Ian, my two neighbors and their mother-in-law.  Rollers in hand looking at me to make a choice.

So I called Pam again.

J: “Pam, the paint store closes in 5 minutes.   We are 15 minutes from there.  I don’t know if they messed up or not.  I don’t know if this color is right or not.  All I know is that this corner of the house looks like it’s on yellow drugs.  They are all standing around me with paint brushes and rollers.  What should I do????”
P: “Just have them paint the house.  I’m sure it will be fine.”
J: “I agree.  Let’s just let them loose on the house.”

So we let them loose.

I painted one side of the house, my brother and brother-in-law painted the other side’s bottom and the front bottom, my sister Emily (for some reason) power washed what was already painted, my Dad was on the chimney painting it white, and my sister Ashley wisely stuck to planting flowers and set up baskets under all the windows.

Pam arrived at 1:00 to 1/8 of her house painted tinkle yellow.  And that was her reaction.  Logically she began to panic and logically we tried to calm her down saying things like, “It’s still drying.  Once it’s dry it will be much duller.”  “All the neighbors liked it.”  “Just give it some time and it will grow on you for sure.”

We started at 11:00 broke for lunch at 1:00.  Two hours of solid mission trip style help.  We had hamburgers and hot dogs and sat in the back yard.  At one point my dad said, “Hey John, these brown spots are great places to put your plate and drink.

“Dad, they are brown from the dog’s pee.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

So our afternoon shift picked up again at 2:00.  Pam wandered around the house looking at in it in the shade, looking for dry spots to get dryer and duller, and praying to God.  Basically in full out panic.

Then came 5:00.  I was unaware this was shut down time.  1/3 of our house was painted bright shinny yellow.  Pam was a quiet wreck.  I was in shock.  My family was tired and ready to go home.

So we packed up.  Ash finished the flowers.   We all cleaned our brushes.  The day of love was complete.  All we needed was one last cherry to top the day off: a picture of our amazing work.  Look close and take careful note at the look on Pam’s face.

That night as Pam and I laid in bed she was trying to think how we could just sell the house and loose any profits.  We had a half neon house, a tore up attic, a tore up master bedroom, and a tore up potential space for a master bath.  She just wanted to walk away and get a do over.  If she was playing Nintendo she would have hit reset on level 6 of Mario Brothers: just when it was started to get good.  She was convinced our realtor had a reset button we could hit.

This day in history will always be known as “The Day of Love” in our family.  What’s so great about this day is that Pam and I really did need it.  We were drowning in sorrow with Ben and needed Miller family chaos to give us something new to stress about.  It gave us something to laugh about, and we continue to laugh about it.  I think when people around us are suffering we often don’t know what to do or to say.  It’s because so many times there ISN’T anything that can be said.  Sometimes you just need to show up.

So they showed up with brushes, rollers, soil, flowers, pots and a two-foot roller that my dad and brother fought over.  When they left our house was 1/3 painted bursting with flowers.  It really was a sight to be seen.  The paint never got any duller.

Within days Pam found a much quieter yellow and painted the entire bottom half of the house by herself in one afternoon.  She was in full panic mode.  That too, was a sight to be seen.  My dad came back by himself in a couple weeks and finished the job all alone while I was at work.  I love my family and would do anything for them.  And they would do anything for me entertaining me every step of the way.

(If anyone needs 11 gallons of May yellow, let me know.  We have some really cheap.)

Pam's face says it all. (she's the one in the back middle)

This is our favorite. He's perfect.

About a month after Ben died we got a package.  I love packages.  I love presents, so even if I ordered something for myself on the web and even if I paid for it, it’s still exciting.  Sometimes I even forget what I ordered, which makes it even more exciting.

I brought the package in and opened it up.  It was from the photographer that came in to York Hospital at 2am and took pictures of Benjamin, Pam and I.  She was amazing.  So kind, quiet, and quick.  We had no idea what we should do.  She took her pictures, had us hold Ben, and was gone as quick as she came.  I had almost forgotten.

The package was beautiful.  Pam and I spent thousands on our wedding photos that were sent to us in a CD wrapped in bubble wrap.

She made us a hard cover book.  A DVD and a CD of the originals.  Everything wrapped, packaged, and prepared as if we paid her thousands.

I opened the book and burst into tears.  My son was beautiful.  He was perfect.  I was crying so much I couldn’t see straight.  I handed the book to my wife, picked up the phone and called her immediately.   Most normal people would pull themselves together before they have a phone conversation like this.  Not me.  I wanted to be a mess.  I wanted her to hear how much her images meant to me.  Through my tears I thanked her.  I ordered two more books, one for Pam’s mom and one for my mom.

Here they are: My son in all his beauty, imperfections, and complete uniqueness.  I’d stop the world and melt with him.

Here is the website of the Photographer who took Ben’s pictures:  http://www.franweimerphotography.com/

Here is the website of the organization she volunteers with called, Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep:  http://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/

Read the full story from Genesis 37-45

Reading the Bible has always been difficult for me.  When I took the SATs I could handle almost every part until it came time for me to reading comprehension.  I clearly remember having no clue what I was reading.

When I got to college it didn’t get much better, I was just forced to do it more.  So I learned how to suffer through it, but it remains a chore.  I’ll never forget my first semester at Calvin.  It was so easy until I took my first final exams.  I had so much free time that semester.  College was the best.   I’ll never forget opening my first exam.  I had no clue what 80% of the questions were asking me for.  It was like I was in the wrong class.  The professor never taught us this content I was starting at.    I took my exam to the front of the class and quietly whispered, “Sir, we never covered most of this material.”

He said, “Did you do your assigned readings?”

“No.”

“Well then, you’re not going to do very well on this exam.”

I also clearly remember thinking, “Crap.”  I had visions of my father slowly bowing his head into his hands.

I’ve grown to love reading over the years and some books have been incredibly transformative.  But the Bible continues to read like a text book for me.  Over time it’s slowly getting better, but it’s a very slow process.

A week after Ben died I opened my Bible for the first time on my own with no one around.  I had no clue what to read.  I was terrified.  I was just so hurt by what happened around me that I didn’t want God to tell what was wrong with me, I wanted God to tell me what was wrong with the world and why I was in so much pain.  I was just afraid of reading the wrong thing having no clue where to start.

I choose to read the story that bears the name of my son: the story of Benjamin, Jacobs second son from Rachel.  I just wanted to see my son’s name in print.

This is the story I read:

Jacob had 14 sons.  12 of them came from Leah, two of them came from Rachel.  Jacob loved Rachel the most and her two sons were favored the most of them all.  Joseph was the first born, Benjamin was the second.

Joseph’s 12 other brothers hated how much favor Joseph got from their father Jacob so they pretended to kill him and sold Joseph into slavery in Egypt.  They killed a sheep and took Jacobs clothes and covered them in blood to show to their Father. Jacob thinking his son had died grieved him heavily.  He became extremely protective of Benjamin, terrified to loose him too.

But God was with Joseph.  Many horrible things happened to him, but each of them lead Joseph on a path that after many years he ended up becoming the second in command in all of Egypt under Pharaoh.   Joseph was instrumental in preparing Egypt for a massive famine that saved the nation from starvation.   People from nations all over the Middle East came to Egypt for food.

Joseph’s brothers were among them.

When Joseph heard about their coming he tested his brothers to see if they changed or if they were filled with hate still.   He framed his only full brother Benjamin to look like he stole valuables from Pharaoh.  Pharaoh’s guards were sent out to look for the valuables and found them planted on Benjamin.  The 12 brothers were told that Benjamin must return to Egypt and face the consequences for his actions.

Joseph listened as the brothers broke down and pleaded to have mercy on Benjamin because their father already lost one son.  They said Benjamin was all his father had left.   One man, Judah, even offered to take his place.

When Joseph heard this he revealed himself telling his brothers not to be afraid.  He forgave them and said, ‘what you meant for evil, God means for good.’

It’s an amazing story.  But I saw something I’ve never seen before.  After Joseph reveals himself he weeps with his brothers and it’s one of the most beautiful moments of forgiveness, redemption, and beauty.   After he reveals himself to his brothers the Bible says this:

¹⁴ Then he threw his arms around his brother Benjamin and wept, and Benjamin embraced him, weeping. ¹⁵ And he kissed all his brothers and wept over them. Afterward his brothers talked with him.

The text is clear: he specifically looks for and find his brother Benjamin.  He’s pulls Ben aside and weeps with him separately.

I thought of finding Ben in heaven.  I thought of my future son or daughter finding Ben in heaven.  The same amazing reunion will be ours too.  Our story also has redemption.

And then I realized something else.  Something else that makes the story so much more wonderful than I ever realized before.

Benjamin, in this entire story that spans half of the first book of the Bible, never said a word.

Just like my son.

At Ben's grave days after his burial

The day after we buried Ben the clouds disappeared and a clear warm day somehow escaped past March’s cold rainy grip.  We buried Ben about a mile from where we live in a place that we drive by constantly.  At first it seemed like a great idea: we would always be near him.  But the day after I began to get nervous: what will it be like driving by Ben?  Will I feel guilty if I forget to look?  Will I not want to look?  Will I feel guilty if I don’t have time to stop by?  What will it be like when I stop by?

Honestly, I was just scared.  I was scared of forgetting.  I was scared of remembering too much.  I had no clue how I would react when I saw a 1 x 2 foot patch of ground freshly filled in.  So the day after I left my son in the hands of God I came back.

It turned out to be one of the most beautiful days of my life.

Pam, Tim, Stacy, and I went together.  When we pulled my jeep up to Ben’s grave site you couldn’t miss it: my friends Tim and Carl with the help of the funeral home took all the flowers that people bought for Ben and piled them on his grave site.  I had no clue.  Not only couldn’t you see the fresh soil; you couldn’t see his plot.  There were so many flowers that it covered about a 6×4 foot area piled about 3 feet high.

As dark and empty as the day before felt; today was full of the promise of the resurrection. For the first time I felt a spark of life standing next to my son.

After we left I wanted to come back the next day.  And the next.  And the next.  So I did.   Of course it was so sad; but seeing all those flowers gave me hope.

One of those days I took four things with me: a black permanent marker, two large pieces of cardboard, a copy of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, and my camera.

The cemetery had put a bench next to the grave.  I sat down and read what I needed to hear: chapter 15 of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, Deeper Magic from Before the Dawn of Time.  I buried Ben with a stuffed Lion and a copy of this book.  Pam and I just bought the same stuffed lion on ebay only a much larger version.  I’m designing Ben’s tomb stone now with an image of a lion.  All because of the hope that God speaks to me through the Narnia books.   This is the chapter where Aslan is dead because he was killed by the false queen of Narnia.  The two girls in the story watched it happen and saw Aslan die.  When the sun rose the next morning C.S. Lewis says that a deeper magic, one that the queen didn’t know about, reversed the curse on death.  Aslan who was dead is now alive.  My favorite part in this chapter is the first thing Aslan does when he comes back to life: he plays with the girls; they dance.  This is what Jesus did; and this is what Jesus will do when he returns.   Dance with my son.

When I finished reading I was overwhelmed with two thoughts that I can’t share with you.  Two promises came to me instantly that I made with my son that day.  I made a covenant between me, my son, and God.  I shared that covenant with just two people.  It’s one of the greatest choices I’ve made in my life.

Then I took out my marker and made two signs that I wanted to take pictures of me holding up.   I wanted to “Shout into the darkness and squeeze out sparks of light.” My first sign read: “I’ll see you when I go home!”  Heaven is my home, and it’s where Ben is.  I wanted to scream this out to the world.  My second sign read, “We love you Ben.”  I’m constantly overwhelmed with my pride in him.

If Ben were alive sitting in the car I know what his reaction would have been.  He would have been utterly embarrassed.  Here is his dad, setting up the camera, hitting the self timer and running into various positions holding signs up and jumping in the air.  I took hundreds of pictures of me jumping in the air, standing on the bench, and posing as much as I could with my signs over all the flowers.  Even in my son’s death I managed to pass along my own father’s great ability to make his children wish they could disappear from shear embarrassment.  I think this ability is magically given to every dad when they have their first child.  I love my son so much I just don’t care what I look like.  I wanted the world to see that I love him, miss him, but that I’m choosing to hold on to hope: that one day I will see him when I go to my final home.  When I go to heaven.

My dad used a phrase with me that I’ve never heard before about what I did that day.  He told me that I was, “practicing the resurrection.”  Wow.  I had no clue.

I think this is the place hope is born.

Tim, Leslie, Steve, and Myself waiting for the front row

Hello Hello!  I haven’t posted in some time now and wanted to give everyone an update.  The update is that there are lots of updates!  This coming weekend I’m going to be posting a lot.  There is so much that is happening in our story that we want to share with all of you.  At the same time, I have a list of chapters in the story of Ben that I don’t want to loose or forget.  I will be posting all of them this weekend. My goal is to get all of you up to date on our lives and what God is doing.

On a great note, I went to see U2 in Boston this past Sunday (September 24th).  I have some great pictures that I took and want to share them with you.  The show was amazing.

I want to ask you all to pray for Pam: I’m dragging her to New York for her first U2 show.  Pray that my excitement doesn’t overshadow her health.  I can get crazy when it comes to this band and I want to love Pam first.  All of you are amazing.  I can’t wait for you to read all the posts coming your way.

Here are the photos.  Enjoy.

Ben's Casket, my dad took this with his cell phone

After Ben’s service we put everything in his little casket that we wanted to bury with him: letters from Pam and I, a laminated picture of us with a note from us, a copy of The Lion, The Which, and The Wardrobe, a stuffed animal Lion we named Aslan, and my sister put in a copy of her poem.

Pam said the picture of us represented us burying a piece of ourselves as well.  I see our picture as his GPS to us when Jesus raises his body from the dead.  That will be the happiest day in the world.

Our funeral director let me carry his casket out to the front car as everyone went outside to get into the procession to Ben’s grave side.  The casket was so tiny and light.  A couple years ago Pam had an Acura.  She loved that car.  Some idiot with nothing better to do stole it.  It turned up in Reading PA completely gutted.  Nothing we left, just a shell.  They even took the plastic sides on the doors.  Pam’s dream car is an Acura MDX.  This is the car that Ben rode in to his final resting place.  Ben’s only car ride was in style.

Pam, Tina, Mary, Pam’s Mom, and I drove right behind the Acura and everyone followed the 2 mile procession for my son.

One of the most amazing things happened as we drove to the graveside.  Arlene, Pam’s Mom, has a best friend who runs a Laundromat that was on the way to the cemetary.  Arlene told her friend that we would be driving by.  As our procession approached the Laundromat, I saw a woman standing outside on the side of the street, saluting my son.   It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever experienced.  No landscape could capture more beauty to me.

When we arrived at his graveside in “Baby Land” at the Mt. Rose cemetery everyone got out of their cars and went to the tent that was set up.  I went to the Acura, opened the door, and picked up his tiny casket.  I could have carried it with one hand it was so small.  Only 17 inches.

I had the honor of carrying his tiny body all alone.  I was so proud of him.

By the time I got to the tent, everyone was seated.  I put his white micro casket on a platform made for a full grown adult.  One more reminder to Pam and I that this just doesn’t happen: babies aren’t supposed to die.

Pastor Brian spoke quietly, briefly, and beautifully.  I only remember one thing he said.  “We believe that God has the power of heaven and earth to raise Benjamin from the dead: that Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life.  But not this day.  This day, we will wait in anticipation for Ben to be reunited with us on that final day.”

Not this day.

Not this day.

How much of life fits into that sentence?  How much faith?  Not this day…

When Brian was finished we were handed roses from Ben’s casket and everyone went back to their cars. Pam and I stayed behind.  When Ben was in Pam there were two songs that I wanted to sing to him as he fell asleep.  I memorized these small songs.  I practiced them.  I wanted to sing them to my son or daughter as they fell asleep so they didn’t feel alone.  So they new I loved them.  So they knew there was a God who loved them.

When everyone left knelt, sang, and prayed for Ben.

I got to do it.  I wanted to put my son to bed, and I was.  I wanted my son to wake up in 8 hours after I put him to sleep, but this wasn’t my story.  He was going into a permanent sleep, waiting for Jesus to restore all things.  I was so nervous to sing for him.  I wanted to sing, but I didn’t want to stop. I just wanted to stay there until my body gave in, so I could be with him.  These songs took on a whole new meaning.

Pam and I knelt before and I sang these two songs:

MLK by U2

Sleep, Sleep tonight
And may your dreams be realized
If the thunder cloud passes rain
So let it rain rain down on he

Alright for Now by Tom Petty

Goodnight baby, sleep tight my love
May God watch over you from above
Tomorrow I’m workin what would I do
I’d be lost & lonely if not for you

So close your eyes
Were alright for now

Ive spent my life travelin
Ive spent my life free
I could not repay all you’ve done for me

So sleep tight baby
Unfurrow your brow
And know I love you
Were alright for now
Were alright for now

Then Pam and I prayed. I’m not sure what I prayed.  I know I prayed and thanked Jesus for Heaven.   For him to take care of Benjamin for us.  I prayed for Ben and told him that we would soon be joining him.  Thank God this life is a blur compared to eternity.  In my heart I prayed for courage.  I don’t know if said it out loud.

After we prayed we stood up and had to say good-bye.  We had to walk away.  It was a horrible feeling.  To this day, I wish I had stayed behind by myself and put Ben in the ground myself.  I didn’t want to leave.

As we walked away and reached the car we rode in I saw the second photograph that my mind will never forget: a massive line of cars that all waited for Pam and I.  A mass of cars who came to honor my son.  A mass of cars who were hurting for us.  I know that Jesus had a car in that line too.

We got in the car and slowly drove away.  As we drove away I realized I stayed up all night for the past two nights making a mix CD for everyone.  I wanted everyone to have one to remember Ben, but there was only one CD I really cared about: the one that would bury with my son.  As we drove away, I felt the CD with my hand in the seat.  I forgot.  I wanted to turn back, stop the men from putting my son in the ground without songs of hope, Jesus, and heaven.  But it was just too painful to turn back after we walked away.

And the truth is, I could have turned around and never left.  Buried myself with him.  Nothing would have made it complete.  I realized then and there that there will always be one more thing.

This is the picture we laminated and burried with Ben. I scanned it to save what we wrote.

I want to explain as much as I can about the actual service that we held for Ben.  It was, beyond a doubt, one of the most beautiful, powerful, and painful experiences of my life.  For those of you who weren’t there, I hope this gives you a taste of what it was like.  For those of you who were there, I hope this post helps you to recapture or to see what Pam and I were thinking and feeling.

I chose to open the funeral with “Where the Streets Have No Name” by U2.   Ben is my son, my son who is waiting for me in heaven.  No other song takes me to the very threshold of heaven as this one.  I was so nervous to play a rock song at the funeral, and when it started my doubts disappeared: the funeral started with a chance to rock out with my son to a song about the place I believe he is right now.  As soon as the song started, Edge’s guitar breaks the groan of the organ and introduces Jesus’ final message into the darkness and decay: this is not it.  There is something more.

After the song, Pastor Brian spoke.  You can read his full message by clicking here.   I asked Brian to say my son’s name again and again: I will never grow tired of his name.  And Brian did.  He looked at me again and again saying the full name of my son as he pointed Pam and I to Jesus and the hope of the resurrection.

Brian read to us from the story of Lazarus, Jesus friend who died.  Right before Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead he turned to Mary and said, “Do you believe that I am the resurrection and the life?”  When Brian read this passage, my reaction was swift.

Loud enough for everyone at the funeral and God himself to hear I said, “Yes, I believe.”  I will never forget saying those three words.  It was as if it was my last effort to plead with God to raise my son from the dead.  I just wanted God to see my heart.

Then my sister read a poem she wrote for Ben.  I will post her poem soon on this blog.  It’s truly amazing. There are few things that I feel are divine and inspired directly from God.  This is one of those miracles.  The poem is perfect, and my sister read it with clarity and rage.

When she was done my dad read something that he wrote.  You can read what he said by clicking here.  It’s amazing.  My father loved my son.

When dad was done we sang “Be Thou My Vision”.   This is one of my favorite hymns.  Are there moments when you have been in a group of people and you have heard the complete fullness of people singing together?  A couple years ago I saw U2 play after 911.  When they sang, “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” I clearly remember stopping and listening to the crowd sing the chorus.  It was amazing!   At my son’s funeral, 50 people sang “Be Thou My Vision” with more full volume than 20,000 people at that U2 show I saw.   It was an eternal instant.  Heaven ripped into that room.

High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven’s joys, O bright heav’ns Son!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O ruler of all.

After that we played U2′s Walk On, a version they did for a 911 fundraiser.  At the end of this version Bono screams out to people who died in 911, “I’ll see you when I go home!” over and over.  Bono is saying that when he dies and goes to heaven, we will see those we have lost and love.  Because of Jesus, there is hope after death.  But the core message of Walk On is that Pam and I must keep going because we love our son.  We need to fight the fight, even if that fight means just getting out of bed, taking it one step at a time.

I wish I would have raised my arms in worship to God while it was playing.  It was perfect.

After that song we closed the funeral with one final song, one of the most beautiful I’ve ever heard.   The song is “Hallelujah” originally by Leonard Cohen.   The version Pam and I choose was sung in Italian, because there are no words for the pain and the loss that we felt.  We needed something to close our second and last time with Ben that transcended words.  This song was perfect.  Here is a video of that very song.

Pam is the one that wanted to close Ben’s funeral with this.  It was more than perfect.  There just aren’t words.   Our only words to God are “Hallelujah”.   It’s all we can muster.

When this 45 minute service was over my heart broke again.  It was time to take my son to his grave.

This is the cover to Ben's program

Pam and I woke up Monday morning in a fog. We picked our clothes out in that fog. We got dressed in that fog. And we waited for Pam’s best friend to pick us up in that fog. I’ve read from multiple people in multiple books that none of us knows how to face death because it’s not what we were programed for. We were created and designed NOT to face this: death. It’s not how God designed it to be. We just don’t have to tools built inside of us to know how to face this.

Think of this. When a child is born, no one has to hold that little girl or boy up to the mom or dad and say, “love and care for this new person in your life.” It just happens. It’s one of the few things in life that just happens. When that child comes out: you are captivated and bonded. It’s how God’s designed it. It’s the opposite with death. We look around for people to tell us what to think and feel, only to get offended when that person doesn’t offer the perfect words of comfort. There are no perfect words of comfort. In death they only exist in Jesus’ return.

So it was with that morning, we were all in a fog.

My best friends Tim and Carl who stayed that weekend with woke up quietly, and got dressed quietly. We brought the CDs, the programs that I made for Ben’s guests, and all the things we wanted to put in his casket with him. We got dressed too quickly. We got ready too quickly. And we waited for some of Pam’s closest friend’s Tina and Mary to come to pick us up to get there early ahead of everyone else.

When Tina and Mary came we left for 100 Market St, where Ben’s body was waiting. Pam’s vision is now clear and she is in and out of a whole other kind of consciousness: ready to see her son.

When we got there and saw Ben and his tiny little casket, only 18 inches long, we wept. We just stood there and wept. At 10:45 our friends and family started to arrive, each of them seeing Ben’s soulless body for the first time.  We didn’t tell anyone about the funeral, we just opened it up to family and close friends to found out.  About 50 people came to see Ben.

There are a few things I’ll never forget before the funeral started:

• Standing with my wife introducing people to our son
• Crying with my father.
• Seeing all the flowers that people sent up, entirely surrounding Ben and the back of the room
• Watching 50 people come who love Ben
• Our closest friends and family
• Tom LoBianco crying with me saying, “this is not the way it’s supposed to be.”

He’s right. It’s just not the way it’s supposed to be.  No death is.  No matter where you are in life, no matter who dies.  Death will always cut deeper than anyone of us knows how to face.  It’s just not right.

My next couple of posts will all be words that people spoke at Ben’s funeral.  Pam and I planned the funeral for our son: we wanted to honor him in the same way we would have enjoyed him.

We sang one song, played 2 U2 songs, our friend Pastor Brian and my father spoke, my sister read a poem, and we closed with an Italian version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”.  There are few sacred moments in my life: this is forever one of them.  Ben’s funeral was so beautiful and so perfect that it’s transformed into a place of Shalom for me as I continue to try and process his death.  I was with my son and my wife, we listened to U2, sang to Jesus, read about Jesus and heaven, and so many of the people I love was in the same room since our wedding.  If I could freeze time I would: this is the place I can cry for my son and call out to God for help.

To all of you who came or wanted to come: thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Please read what my friends and family said at my son’s funeral.  It brings more hope than I can describe.

The funeral director also goes to our church.  His name is Larry.  He was amazing to us.  He called me just a couple days before the funeral and said it looked really good for us to have an open casket.  Because he’s a baby, he was born a week ago now, and his skin was so fragile and thin he wasn’t sure if we were going to be able to have an open casket or not.  He called us and gave us the good news we were going to be able to see him one more time.

One of my favorite TV shows (although very vulgar but extremely profound) is called 6 Feet Under.  It follows a family who lives in  a funeral home.  Every episode someone dies and the family is put in the constant situation of facing the meaning of life.  Watching the show years ago I was captivated and often wondered why people do what they do at funerals.  Why an open casket?  Why cremation?  Why?  There are so many odd choices when someone dies.

With Ben, those choices were obvious and instant for me:  I didn’t want the hospital to cut him for an autopsy.  They very thought of him being touched like that was too much.  I didn’t want him cremated.  I wanted to carry his little coffin.  And when Larry called me and said we could have an open casket, I instantly knew this is what I wanted.  Only a few people saw him: My mom, my dad, Pam’s Mom, Stacy, Pam and I.  People who loved us and Ben were coming to the funeral.  We had no idea how many since it wasn’t public, but I wanted my close friends and family to see his body: to see he was real.  To touch him.  That we didn’t loose something small: we lost someone larger than life.

That night Pam and I had such a mixture of feelings.  We wanted nothing more than to get up as early as possible so we could just be in the same room with Ben and make our final goodbye last as long as possible.  And we never wanted Monday to come at the same time: it was just one more confirmation that our nightmare was true.  It wasn’t a fog, it was a reality.

That morning I woke up and wrote my letter to Ben.  I thought Pam’s words were so amazing and so powerful, that I wanted to tell him something too.  I guess that’s how it is.  When you loose someone you love, I think you just look all around you to see what you can do to make it better.  Pam and I could have written a hundred of these.

A toy from her childhood?  Should she make something? Buy something? She couldn’t think of anything.  I had no idea how she struggled that night as my two friends Carl and Tim stayed up with me putting together the last of the cds.  It was Sunday night, the eve of the funeral.

That evening Pam came into our spare room as I was just finishing up.  What she choose to put in our son’s casket was so simple and beautiful that it’s shocking.  Pam wrote Ben a letter.  That night, when Pam couldn’t think of anything to give, she gave her voice and her heart.

Watching Pam during these last few months has been sad for me; but they have also been amazing in their own unique way.  She will be and IS an amazing mother.  I’ve never in my life seen a love like Pam has for Ben.  It’s the strongest thing I’ve ever witnessed, other than God’s love for us.  The night that Ben was born, Pam was in such a state of shock and loaded up with so many drugs that she wasn’t able to really fully understand what was going on.  She was in and out of consciousness.  Her vision from the preeclampsia and HEELP syndrome was really messed up.  While I was weeping, and Pam was just quiet.  I clearly remember worrying if Pam really understood what was happening quietly wondering if I was going to be alone in this grief process.

I was so wrong.

Pam constantly talks about that night.  She wants nothing more than to be fully conscious and to hold her son and see him clearly.  Pam has and continues to cry just thinking about the possibility of holding him longer.

Since the night Ben was born my wife has changed:  she’s more focused, she talks constantly about heaven, her faith is stronger, and her treasure moved from earth to heaven. She is and will always be the most amazing mother of our son.  I love my wife now, more than ever.

Here is the note that she wrote to Ben.  We laminated it and put it in his casket the very next day.  She wants to share it with all of you.