“Don’t ask about that, please don’t ask.”

We got your autopsy report and an in-depth accident report
the other day.
I surprise myself by reading them thoroughly
multiple times,
examining the details carefully.
I didn’t think I’d do that, Noah,
I didn’t think I wanted to know.
For some reason,
I have found the topic of the accident and the details of the crash
to be off-limits in conversation
outside our family;
my heart grimaces at others’ curiosity
and silently pleads as they look into my eyes,
“Don’t ask about that,
please don’t ask.”
I do not want the questions
and the speculations do not comfort
me in the realities of your death.

But still I read about
the moments and the injuries that took your life;
the accident report pulled deep, gulping sobs
from my chest,
while the autopsy report made me
praise the Lord for His mercy to you.

You did not fear and
you did not suffer.
You did not feel the pain of your broken bones
or the agony of crushing injuries.
You did not have to wonder
what was happening
or what would happen to you.
You only had to die
instantly.

It is your mercy
that instead of surviving the severity of
your injuries
and the immense physical, mental and emotional
anguish and loss that would have followed for you,
you got to instantly enter the
glories of heaven
and the presence of our Lord.
It is the gift of mercy
given to you.

And this mercy I see you have received
strengthens my heart
as I look at the numbers on the pages:
The lengths of blood splatters 1, 2, 3 and 4,
the position of your glasses, 43' from where you were hit,
the position of your body, 58' from where you were hit,
the position of your bike, 76' from where you were hit,
and between your body and your bike
your dislodged safety reflector at 71'
flashing red
flashing red
flashing red...

I would have been there, Noah
I would have taken the hit for you,
or at very least,
I would have held your hand in the place where you landed...
but the fact that I could not
is the mercy I’ve received.

I saw the visual aftermath
in a lesser measure:
The blood was gone
but the spray paint remained,
and they had picked up your glasses;
your body was gone
but the matted grass remained,
and they had picked up your bike;
the flashing lights and investigators were gone
but the illustration and measurements remained
and they had picked up your beckoning red reflector.
While I would have held your hand
and offered you every ounce of strength I could muster
as your heart beat its last,
even as I let your brothers go before you,
God knew it would have been
more than my human heart could have withstood
and so He covered my eyes with mercy.

To know you did not fear
and you did not suffer;
you did not feel
and you did not wonder
is my comfort in the center of description
of things my eyes never have to see.

I know that to live is Christ,
and to die is gain;
and to know you’re whole in Heaven
is healing balm for my searing pain.