Rescue by Lauren Daigle

Laying my eyes on William for the first time was earth shattering in the best way. Anytime I describe that moment, and each moment of being his mom since, that’s the best way I know how to describe it. That moment didn’t just change my life, it shattered my world. Everything I knew about my life, myself, and everything I expected to feel in that moment was broken into the most beautiful collage of pieces I could’ve ever imagined. Seeing his eyes roam around only an hour after while Alex held him took all the brokenness and confirmed that what was to come would be incredible. I didn’t know how hard that “incredible” would be, but I knew it was going to be amazing.

When his perfect body was placed in an incubation tube to be transferred in the ambulance; the first IV I saw be put into his perfect skin; seeing his tiny chest open after his surgeries; and especially after he went into cardiac arrest and his right hand and arm up to his elbow turned purple because it didn’t get enough blood flow… these are all memories and images that replay in my mind quite a bit these days. And in real time, my mind couldn’t believe how my perfect baby was so sick that all of these things were absolutely necessary or in response to something that was absolutely necessary. I couldn’t believe that this little boy had to go through all of the things he had to go through, just to survive. It wasn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

I am absolutely an empath and I’ve known this for a very long time. In high school, I would physically feel other people’s emotional pain. I had a really amazing friend in that period of my life who was the only person I ever told that to. I told her that a boy I sat across from in my science class was going through something and I felt like I should reach out, even though we didn’t know each other. She encouraged me to follow my gut and talk to him in class the next time he was there. It turned out about a week later, that boy had taken his own life. It was devastating to me as I sat next to that friend in choir class as our teacher read the same letter every teacher in the school was reading to their class to inform the student body of his death. That sweet friend immediately looked at me in horror and wrapped her arms around me. This is not a “brag” or anything of the sort… just an explanation of the deep feelings I have.

Being an empath and William’s mom made it so that I couldn’t sleep thinking about how scared he must be and how much pain he must be in. It also made it so on the morning of June 27th (the day we found out William was going to leave), I already knew before his care team told us of the reality. That same night, Jeremy (yes, Uncle Jer) texted me with this song. It read, “On the way up [to the Twin Cities from Iowa] and this one got me. Just felt like she’s relaying a message for William early this morning…” I pressed ‘play’ and listened as I walked on the same sidewalk Alex and I had sat on so many times before. Then I cried in acknowledgment and it felt like my chest was cracking open. Right down the middle to match William’s.

The song opens with “You are not hidden. There’s never been a moment you’ve been forgotten…though you have been broken, your innocence stolen. I hear you whisper underneath your breath. I hear you SOS, your SOS.”

The melody sounds urgent, but beautiful and kind in a way. The anger I had felt about William never even getting the chance to get anywhere close to “deserving” the trauma he lived, had bubbled up so many times that day and in the middle of listening to this song, the anger was gone and the relief when I heard, “I hear the whisper underneath your breath, I hear you whisper you have nothing left. I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night…I will rescue you.” The love and grace and hope I know as God swept over my entire body and I knew where William was going was far away from this body that had let him down. That body hadn’t just let him down, it had propelled him through all of the painful and scary things he went through. It was that perfect body I had been so enthralled with in that first 24 hours that couldn’t keep him and his beautiful, wise soul here with us.

It’s not easy to write about these things and I know it’s not easy to read through them. I have noticed anytime I show a picture of him and how he lived, people put their hands over their heart or wince in response to it. I know reading the details of his life is tough, and I am so thankful that you’re still here reading… witnessing. William was rescued from his body, and we are the ones who get the extremely heavy duty of carrying his story on. We are the ones who will take all of those horrific visions and uphill battles of his 97 days and do something with it.

William taught us all so much (I’m aware that sounds cheesy), so when people wince while looking at him, if they turn away, we can move onto the next opportunity to share his story. If they wince and keep listening and asking questions- we remember that William was rescued and we are now the “army [that is sent out] to find [him.]” And share him and his story.