The Cuddle Bug (Warning! Get the tissues.)

Today, instead of a picture, I’m going to post a Memory.

Sometime, but not too long before our oldest daughter was born I cared for a little guy who had severe brain damage. His mom called him Cuddle Bug. His issues were not so much how he got them, but how he lived. And it was a difficult life for this little guy. Seizures wracked his body many times a day, and he cried. Most of the time, when he wasn’t having a seizure, he was sleeping. His care was…. well, for me, easy. I say easy because aside from the medications and breathing treatments, his care just involved loving him. And we loved him up. From morning till night, even in the middle of the night I would be up walking and talking with him, praying for him, and just loving him.

This little guy lived with his birth family, and they took good care of him. But several times during the week I would have him at my house, providing respite care for his family. For those of you who would love to care for a baby with special needs this is a great job. We took care of him and then he went home for a few days, and then he would come back and I would care for him and love him up some more.

I didn’t realize back then what a wonderful situation this was for the family. I was just the respite mom, that was my job. Now that we have a child with severe disabilities, and we are in the parent’s shoes, I totally understand the need.

The Cuddle Bug was with us for 10 months and in that time he grew, and we grew to love him. Even after all these years I can recall his soft brown hair and his immensely chubby cheeks. And to hold him was like holding the softest sack of potatoes you could imagine. He had no muscle tone and care had to be taken when lifting and moving him. His head would drop if not cradled, and his feet would catch on blankets if not detangled in the process.

In all the days I cared for him I prayed for him. There was always children’s music playing, singing about Jesus. And when I would rock him in my arms I would tell him that one day he would see Jesus and Jesus would make him whole. One day he would be able to run and jump and play. And Jesus would love him more than I did, and more than his mommy did, and he would love Jesus.

One evening after sharing a wonderful meal with his family I asked his mom if he would like to come for a visit, to spend the night. She had been up with him for several nights in a row and I wanted to give her a break. So she packed his clothes, and toys, and pillows, and we put him in the car.

When we got home I fixed his medicine and fixed his bed and lovingly dressed him in his “big-boy” pajamas. I told him how I was fixing him up just like his mommy does it. And then I told him how much his mommy loves him, and how much we loved him, and how much Jesus loved him. And I kissed him goodnight. From my room I could hear him breathing rhythmically, his bed was on the wall behind my open closet.

Morning starts early at my house. Depending on the child, medicines are given as early as 5am, so I’m usually up that early. Instead of turning the light on I used the night light to see by as I administered the morning meds through the feeding tube to the Little Cuddle Bug. He was sleeping so peacefully… As a matter of fact I had never seen him sleep so peacefully. There’s that word again, “Peaceful”. It was remarkable how good, peaceful, he looked.

Then I noticed, with my hand on his tummy, holding his feeding tube that I had just put medicine into, I noticed that his chest wasn’t moving. HIS CHEST WASN’T MOVING!

Quickly I unclipped his feeding tube from the pump and grabbed him and ran to my room which was right next to where he slept. I knew I needed to start CPR but my brain went blank. He lay on my bed, lifeless, as I called 911. The operator instructed me to put him on the floor and then told me how to start the CPR. It flooded back in an instant, all the classes I had ever taken. Years and years of CPR, renewing my card every year just for this day.

Between breathing into the Cuddle Bug and the chest compressions I was able to call out for my younger son to get the dogs put into a room and open the front door for the medics.

It seemed like it only took a moment for them to arrive, and there they were, in my house. The medics used all their might to try to bring him back, and yet he would not breathe. And I cried.

He was gone. I called his mom and had to tell her that I thought he was gone. I didn’t know that he would die. I knew he had severe brain damage, but I didn’t know he would die. His mom arrived and she sat and held him. She held him till after the coroner arrived. She held him while the priest prayed over him. And she held him longer. And then the coroner took him away.

Everyone left. My arms ached. They ached because of the CPR, and they ached to hold him again. And I grieved. I grieved for the family and I grieved for our family, and I grieved for myself. How could I let this happen? I knew there wasn’t anything I could do. I knew it was God’s perfect timing.

We cared for other children after the Cuddle Bug. And in that time two more of our foster children have gone to heaven before us, though one lived to be 6-years-old, and one we only had for a week. And because God gave us the strength and desire to care for children with special needs He gave us the grace to go on.

So as I remember the Cuddle Bug today I remember that God was the one who gave me the strength to get through that day, and through the weeks that followed, and the years after that. His strength is perfect in our weakness, and I lean on Him. I know that The Cuddle Bug is with Jesus, running and jumping and living in more love that we ever thought of giving him. Its a sweet memory now.

Those of you who are going through devastating times I want to encourage you that God hears. He knows your situation. Through his love you can gain comfort and hope. If you need someone to pray for you, please write, I’ll be happy to pray for you, with you, through your situation.

Michelle