Time, there are many ways to measure time. Many of us check our watches, and we don’t realize how quickly time has passed by until another year has come and gone. Typically, we don’t measure time in a concrete sort of way. However, during times when I have had to endure intense and stressful periods, I try to make time take shape. When I was in basic training for the Air Force, I marked the days by the French toast I had in the morning. When I was on my mission, it was by weekly reports. During my years of online school, it was by modules. When Heidi and I were at Stanford with Archer, I measured time by Ronald McDonald House stickers.
When we checked into Ronald McDonald House, we were given an ID badge with a lanyard; and every morning we had to check in at the front desk, tell them we didn’t have COVID. They would then give us a sticker for the day and we attached the sticker to our badges; each sticker had the name of the day that it was given. At first, I wasn’t trying to measure time in stickers, I was measuring time with the moments that I could hold Archer. It wasn’t until a month later that I began to notice the stickers protruding out from my ID badge. I couldn’t believe that the stickers could stack like that. I was also amazed how just a small sticker could eventually have any meaning other than for which it was made. After about two months of stickers, I had to remove them from my badge because they were catching on things. I did not want to throw them away, however, I did not know if I would keep them. They were just stickers with the days of the week printed on them. I removed them and set them on my nightstand and didn’t really give those series of stickers any more thought.
It wasn’t until a few more months later when I removed the second series of stickers that they began to have meaning. Time began to weigh us down; the stickers were like an anchor holding us in place. We didn’t know how much longer we would have to be at Stanford, and frustratingly, it didn’t look like we would be leaving any time soon. Then we began to trudge through the intense monotony of everyday life—being at the NICU during the day and Ronald McDonald House when we slept. Even though life began to be heavier, I made it a goal to get that daily sticker. It had become my daily, weekly and monthly marker. There were a few times that I was not able to get a sticker, and I was a little sad about it. It may seem trivial, but it was a moment in time that I won’t get back.
After more months of ups and downs, there were plans to send us home. The NICU staff were done with us (not in a mean way, really), Archer was getting too big, and he needed to be with different doctors for his age. He also had advanced beyond the reason why we had come to Stanford in the first place. It was that glimmer of hope, or the light at the end of the tunnel that we had needed. We were going home. I was going to get just a few more stickers and it all would be over with. As they were beginning to coordinate our transfer, a major out break of RSV hit, and Primary Children's Hospital became too full, we had to stay put. The pediatric unit at Stanford was too full, we had to stay in the NICU. They told us that they didn’t expect us to leave the NICU until February the earliest, but most likely April. I had to collect more stupid stickers. I began to hate those stickers, but I collected them anyways, because it was my marker.
While time began to be so oppressive, it was a shock when it finally stopped. At around 12:45 pm on December 8th, after a series of traumatic events, Heidi and I knew that Archer was ready to pass. We went to Ronald McDonald House and we prayed for guidance. We never wanted to make such a decision. We had asked for Heavenly Father to remove that decision from us. After we prayed, we felt comforted that we could make such a decision. Later, after we had arranged with the NICU for Archer’s passing, I noticed the clock on the wall had stopped at 12:48, near the time when we knew what we had to do. I took a picture of it so I would never forget that hour. It was 24 hours later when Archer passed away, similar to the time when time had stopped for him.
When I look at those stickers now, I see how little time I had with Archer. I wish there were more stickers, more pictures, more times holding him, but time must stop. Our earthly time will stop for each and every one of us. We may think we have more time, but we quickly forget how much time has already been spent. Like my stickers forgotten on the nightstand, it was over before it had begun. And that is how it is now, a year has gone by since Archer’s passing. I wonder now what I have to make time take shape as I wait to see my boy again. Time seems so slow, yet it has gone by so fast. I hope that I don’t make the same mistakes, regretting things I missed, and wishing I could go back. I need to be like my special little boy who made the most of his life with little that he had. He has affected so many people just by being himself. He couldn’t cry, but he was heard; he would look, and we could feel his love. I miss you my son, and I love you.
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