Finding Direction: The Wind Vane Chronicles

[Note:  Please VOTE for Julian today here if you haven't already.  See last post.  Dee]

Today is the birthday of my son, David.  I was a mere 18 years old when he was born in a small hospital way down in east Texas – Nacogdoches, Texas – by a general practitioner.  His delivery cost $150 and was a difficult one.

But, we both survived, David thrived, and I determined to raise him to be all he could be and to always answer any question he had of me.  And, I did.

I’ve written about David before (here comes to mind), but want to add this today.

As the years of our lives – David’s and mine – have flown by, and they have flown, we’ve not only grown much closer in age to each other as the world measures time, but closer in love, spirit and deep respect for one another.  

Growing up he was my truest advocate and dearest friend through many difficulties and much adversity in our home.  He was a constant light for me to focus on when despair wrung itself around my troubled heart and I could not see my way.  (We still turn first to each other in times of deep trouble and stress.)

The day he left home at barely 17 to go to Annapolis and the U.S. Naval Academy, was one of the blackest days of my life.

That day remains just a tiny scar on my heart now, many years later, and I’m richly blessed – above all women – to have had many more better – make that wonderful – years with David in my life.   He has blessed my life far above what I could have ever blessed his. 

 So, for today, I want to praise David for his exceptional abilities, steadfast loyalty and love for all, but most of all for his tender heart.  In honor of David, today, I offer the following.  I know many of you have read the following story below before, but take a moment to read it again.  It is not long and I still believe, some three years after writing it, is of vast importance in all our lives in the way we think and live.   

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An Uncommon Love Found in "This Hallowed Ground"

There is a grave in the Quantico National Cemetery, located near the Marine Corps Base
at Quantico, Virginia, that has been there five years. It is a truly
beautiful, peaceful place. It is a national military cemetery, such as
the ones found in Arlington and Gettysburg.

We know these cemeteries well, not needing to give
the states they are in or the battles and wars they represent. We know
them by heart. In his Gettysburg Address
dedicating the grounds of the Gettysburg Cemetery November 19, 1863,
President Abraham Lincoln called these "hallowed" grounds, and indeed
they are.

The grave I am speaking of at Quantico has a
headstone bearing the name "Davidson Christian." It is an uncommon
name, perhaps, but as his father later explained to me, the
circumstances surrounding his son’s naming were unique. And then, the
reason he is buried there is uncommon, as well.

He is buried there because of his father’s, and
mother’s, uncommonly strong, deeply felt, love for him. When he died,
his father, a military man, was terribly bereaved because while he had
two daughters, this was his first son. Further, the son died "before
his time," as we measure time on this earth.

How does God consider time and our lives here on earth? What sacred measure does He use?

I don’t know. None of us do.

The father didn’t either, but felt compelled to
remember and honor and sanctify his son’s life and death by having him
buried in a place of sacrifice and honor and sacredness. So he spared
no energy, left no stone unturned in seeking out the means by which he
could lovingly have this done.

Unable to go before, when the headstone was placed
upon the grave, the father went and left flowers in remembrance of his
son. He goes there occasionally still. This resting place for the
earthly body of his child.

You may wonder why this is such an unusual story or
such uncommon love. In many respects, I suppose it’s not. But there’s
more to the story.

You see, the gravestone further reads "Davidson Christian O’Neil, Son of David Patrick O’Neil, Capt. US Marine Corps."
He is my grandson. And he did not die in battle or in war. He never
even really lived, as many among us would have you believe. But he
lived.

He was conceived in love and his life ended only
three or so months later in what we call the "miscarriage" by his
mother. But he lived long enough for them to know he was their son and
for his dad to give him his name. And he lived long enough for his dad
to also cherish his life and all it meant. It meant enough that he now
lies in a place of honor as lovingly chosen by his dad.

I did not know of his life or death or burial until
after it was done. My son David called to tell me how he had had a son,
had lost a son and had named this child Davidson, as a tribute to my
family name and dad, David’s grandad, Eugene Neil Davidson,
whom he loved. He chose Christian because of his deep beliefs and faith
and wanted that name on the tomb of his son for all to see.

When he told me of this, I was profoundly moved and
wept at the depths of David’s heart to so reverence and memorialize
this child in circumstances where some would have done the very
opposite without a thought.

This is no child unknown, except to God. His life
will be remembered. Maybe not by many, but to those few, and to God,
his life and his father’s uncommon love will be remembered for all eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mark, l, & David, r, in my all time favorite picture of "My Boys" from Christmas 1986 in San Diego.