It’s a really sad day when you stop praying for your child to live and start praying for him to die.
From the moment I became a mom, my prayers became something bigger than they had ever been. As I closed my eyes at night I started my prayers with “Dear Lord, please watch over my children as they sleep soundly in their beds tonight. Please keep them safe and send them the happiest dreams”. This would always turn into myself asking God to give them amazing futures and for my kids to have faith in Him. I would thank God for these wonderful little beings he had blessed me with.
When Payton got sick, my prayers would sometimes include only him. I would pray for hours, talking to God, asking him to heal my sweet boy, for a miracle I knew only he was capable of. I would tell God all about Payton, as if he hadn’t created him and he needed to know how much this little boy meant to me and what kind of soul he had. I would end my prayer, only to start another directly after. I felt I couldn’t pray enough.
I will never forget the day I began to pray for Payton to leave this world. It feels so dark, saying I wanted my own child to die. He was so sick. He deserved to live, but he did not deserve to live that way. He was far too great to suffer the pain he was in.
I recall walking out of the room, where my child’s body lay lifeless. My mom followed. She held me as I sobbed these words: “He finally answered a fucking prayer!”. For the rest of my life I will hate the fact that the prayer God answered was that of my child to die, but I will also be forever grateful that my child did not suffer for months on end as many children with DIPG do.
I am no longer afraid of death, and I ask God every day to answer that prayer for me. I understand if it is not my time, I will remain here to suffer, but that does not stop me from asking God to bring me home sooner than maybe planned.