Updated: Dec 13, 2021
During the harsh winter of 2017. My Marshall my son's body was driven from NYC to Delaware by the funeral home.
I buried my beautiful child at St. Joseph's on The Brandywine - the same cemetery Beau Biden is buried though I did not know it at the time. Having ordered a double-depth plot, I will later be buried there when it is my time to go.
I walked away totally inconsolable. My life abruptly changed with my son's death and even to this date, the pain of his loss has never become bearable with the exception of my reaching out to God daily with one question;
"God, why did you not heal my Marshall? He had been healing and helping my youngest son Jason for years! Why did you not heal my son? You had better have a good reason, God! For you could not possibly have needed him with you more than I need him here on earth with me!"
I never let up on God. I call upon Jesus Christ minutely and hourly to give me an answer. For I needed to know. I needed answers, especially as He had healed so many people I had brought to Him.
A few months later as I prayed and asked the same question over again. Suddenly, Jesus Christ answered. He said, "My child. My son Marshall was in great physical pain so I took him home."
What His statement did was to remind me that my children were His children first -- before I becoming their mother.
However my life was forever changed and my will to go on with my life the way it was, without my first son Marshall and later my son Jason, life as I knew it had come to a drastic end.
Everything had changed. I wanted to go to my sons. How could my babies be somewhere else without me? I've been my children's protector all their lives. Why did I not have the ability to heal and save my sons?
Though I thank God for ending the excruciating pain Marshall had endured -- even though I often thought of Jesus Christ's ability to just heal my son with even a half of thought, or less! He chose instead to take my son.
Once upon a time, when I thought of life and doing everything to extend my life on earth. I now look forward to the day when I go to meet my son Marshall again.
In the meantime, I still have work here to do. Especially for the eight of my grandchildren who still depend on me. (Marshall's children despise me. They hate me without a cause. Still, we all must learn and life is a huge lesson for each of us.) For my daughter Patty who had been in remission of Lupus. (God did answer that prayer for Patty's life to be spared and I am thankful for this).
I am no longer angry at those who contributed to my son's death. I have forgiven them, for they know not what they do.
While Marshall was fighting for his life in that New Jersey hospital, my youngest son and child Jason had been admitted to a hospital in Delaware.
Jason had a blood infection brought on by his injecting himself with dirty needles in his drug use.
Jason had become hooked on Heroine from his teen years, introduced to him by his then-girlfriend and her family. Needless to say, those were years of excruciating pain and torment.
Jason could not be consoled over Marshall's death. He refused to go to the cemetery because he did not want to see his brother in the ground. So he never went.
Jason had been lost from himself and to us for many years. There were times when Jason could not be found. Other times as we scoured the mean drug-infested streets of Philadelphia then suddenly as if in a dream, God would place Jason in front of us.
In November of 2019, I left home in Delaware to go and find Jason again, in Philadelphia.
My son-in-law James drove me, up and down streets as I prayed.
I decided that James parked close to the stairs of a subway entrance for me to go into the subway to find my son Jason.
My body was still shaky and weak over the death of my son Marshall. I held securely onto the rails as I descended the stairs into the subway.
I walked shouting, "Jason! Jason! It's mom! I'm here Jason!..."
I saw many of the homeless lying asleep or trying to go to sleep on the cold concrete of the inner part of the subway system. I prayed for God to bring Jason to me. I noticed my breathing was shallow. It was difficult for me to walk even so I walked the distance of that part of the subway which was much longer than I had thought it would be. Back and forth, calling, "Jason! Jason! It's Mom!"...
Jason had disappeared once again into the drug-infested streets of Philadelphia, for almost one year!
I did not find Jason that night. Though his sister did days later. Jason finally decided he wanted to change his life and heal from drugs. He was home once again. Yet once again Jason began havoc in our home. He was an addict who created havoc within the home when he wanted a fix and could not get it. Plus, home is in the suburbs. Not anywhere in walking distance to drugs. Jason created trauma in the family and fled once again.
Before he left, I hugged him and said to him, "Jason, don't die! Don't die Jason! He responded, "No Mom. I won't die." Then he was gone.
Later, he told me via our telephone conversations that he was going to get clean. He said he got a job and once again, I helped him get an apartment and would have paid for it for another 20 years if necessary.
Jason found himself celebrating his newfound life. He went out and purchase his drugs to celebrate with. The only problem is he might not have been aware there was Fentanyl mixed with the drugs!
For weeks my children and I went looking for Jason. His 1,000th cell phone which I had just paid for, was going to voicemail only then, nothing.
One day in January I had been praying and felt I heard Jesus Christ say to me; "Call the city morgue..."
My daughter Stacy, had at that time been admitted to the hospital where she was undergoing a blood transfusion. Her husband seated close to me behind his desk, I said, "James call the city Morgue, please. Ask them if they have Jason there?"
I could hear the woman on the other end of the phone ask, is his mother there with you? "Yes, one moment please," James answered.
At that moment I went into a roaring cry. At that moment I knew I would not be seeing my son Jason again in this lifetime. At that time, I know Jason my beautiful son was gone!
Oh my God! How will I survive this! I screamed.
Jason had been in the morgue for several weeks. The day I found his whereabouts was the exact day the morgue had planned to take his body to be buried at Potters Field.
Immediately I contacted a funeral home who rushed to retrieve his body. I buried my awesome son Jason next to his brother at St. Joseph's on The Brandywine, in Delaware.
Mercy has re-wrote my life in such a way that, even with all my pain. The physical and the emotional. I am still able to get out of bed each morning to help better the lives of many -- those who cannot help themselves. I am still making a difference... until the time when I am allowed to join my beautiful sons. Living is not easy especially knowing that part of my soul is gone. I am but a shadow of the person I was. Still, I do my part until it is my time to go join my beautiful children.
Marshall was 45 years old when he died. Jason was 44. My babies are gone and so is a part of me. It is Jesus Christ who carries me through these days, months, and years.