I've thought about putting this in here for quite a while, but I haven't until now. I guess there is a
part of me that is captured in these words, and there is a part of me that doesn't want anything to do
with them. Its a complicated thing... The only way that I have to remember those days, and more
importantly, my son is in the emotions of that day. There's something in me that holds on to them
because I loved my son. There's also something in me that wants to run from feeling them anymore.
Now almost a year later, I've come to a place where the emotions are a pleasant blend of bitter-sweet.
I wrote about ten or so pages in my journal (which I started keeping to improve myself in business).
I'm only including a couple of those pages, but it will give you a sense of what was going through my
heart and head in those days.
For context... In the day that preceded all of this, I had taken the kids to church and then come home
and taken a nap. All of this as I was assuring Patti that everything was ok. When Patti insisted on
going to the hospital, we found out that there was something wrong. Patti was induced we were going to
have to wait through the night to see how things went. I had a couch in the same room to sleep in, and I
did go off to sleep. When I woke up I discovered that Nathaniel was coming and that Patti had not slept
at all.
Journal
Mingled Tears February 4th, 2005
...In came a basket covered in white. There in the middle was a tiny child, my child, my son! I
can only see the head, the face, so cute, so perfect! I give him to Patti. She unwraps him, thank
you! There in front of me is my perfect tiny son, my child, my dreams, our family. Beaming with
existence, but lifeless. I broke, I felt, I wept. There was a hand on me. It was Patti. I had
taken a nap but she touched me. I had not believed, but she comforted. I had left for
dinner, but she loved. I had slept [when she had not] but she held me up. She travailed, she
delivered, she suffered, but she had strength for me.
We held him, we loved him, we gave him to the one who loved him more. We said goodbye, maybe
less than we could have, but we KNOW where he is.
Nathaniel Mark Culley was born at 6:25am January 24th, 2005. Our forth child. Our 2nd son, but
he had already gone to be with Jesus. No family came that morning. There were no cheers. No
smiles. No excitement, but there was peace. His peace passes all understanding. We came home
with footprints, and a hat in a box.
I know what it is to bring home a child; to ready a place; to show them the world; to discover
flowers and rocks and ponds and animals and tickles and baths and hugs and tears and love and
"No No’s" and smiles. Smiles that say "I love you" and smiles that say "You
are mine" and smiles that say "I'm proud of you" and smiles that say "I love
you too, Daddy!" I know what it is to hold a child, a son and see the future with them. I
know these things, but never have I felt the agony and emptiness of bringing home a box...
memorabilia. A box full of things and broken dreams and remorse for the things we took for granted.
Oh, why do I feel? I don’t want to feel!
[a friend had picked my other kids up and taken them for the day. They even offered to keep them
overnight.] I wanted my babies home. I didn't want to hold a box. I wanted my children home.
Angelica, Alexandra, Jeremy. Angelica Joy, Alexandra Janelle, Jeremy Jude. Geli, Xan, JJ... I love
you. I love you so very much. I could not, no matter how hard I gripped, hold Nathaniel. But I
could hold you three. I could love you. I could drink you in. And you held me too.
In that moment, God whispered "the Father’s heart."
God didn't send His son to die, to hold memorabilia of you. He sent Him so that He could hold
you. And there is no question about your worthiness to receive a hug at that moment, there is
only an embrace that is not easily broken. If God desires us the way that I desired to hold my
children that day, and if He feels the emptiness of one dead to Him, then woe to the one that holds
them captive from His love.
[skip a few pages]
Nathaniel, I love you as only a dad can. I gave you to Jesus on the day you were born. My
dreams for you are with Him now too. But I hold these words... these thoughts... You've pushed
me to think... to pray... to live more than any of my other children. Angelica changed
me because she made me a dad. You've changed me more because of the way that I now view the
breath they have, the lives they lead and the way I now see the dreams I've held for them. I
dreamed for them on the days they were born but I haven't pursued them or driven the other
children to attain them. Not any more! Besides that, I haven't pursued my own dreams honoring
the breath I have. Not any more! Nathaniel, I love you. I miss you. Always drive me to breath
my dreams and breath life into them, and breath life into your brother's and sisters' dreams.
