Without a Word: How a Boy’s Unspoken Love Changed Everything

by Jill Kelly

  “What about hope and love?” I responded as I circled Jim… again. “Our entire story and Hunter’s life is a love story. It’s all about love, don’t you think? So how does this sound… Without a Word: A Family’s Love Story?”

  As we reached the end of the cul-de-sac on our street, Jim replied, “What about Without a Word: Our One and Only Son? How about that? That sounds sort of biblical because our one and only son brought us to God’s one and only Son. And you always say that, Jill, right?”

  He’s right, I do. I’m amazed by the parallels between our love for Hunter and God’s love through Christ. It inspires me to press on every day.

  Jim and I continued to walk and talk, and after a while I brought up a subject we’d prayed about and considered but up to that point had decided not to pursue: “So, have you thought any more about adopting?”

  Without hesitation Jim responded, “Nope. HB’s my boy, and I’m glad he was chosen to be my one and only son. He’s my son, and he’s the best.”

  Whatever God was doing in Jim’s heart became even more evident to me in those moments. We had both wanted to adopt and had thoroughly researched our options, but we eventually realized that our motives were rooted in selfishness. Jim had wanted a healthy son. So did I. Though adoption would have been great, it would not have healed our hearts. We both needed to come to a place where we were content with what was. We needed to know that adopting a boy would never fill the tremendous void that Hunter left. Only God could help us to surrender our desires so that we could learn to be thankful that our son, Hunter… would be our one and only son.

  I slowed my pace so I could walk right next to my husband. “Jim, do you see how God has worked this all out for good? It’s incredible.”

  “Yeah, we wouldn’t even be here right now. Everything would be different. But here we are, exactly where Hunter would want his mommy and daddy to be, together and in love.”

  We were also exactly where we wanted to be. Yet like the writer of Ecclesiastes, we also recognized that we were living in a time in between. A time in between saying good-bye to Hunter and seeing his beautiful face again. The period when everything rides on hope as we trust and cling to the Keeper of the unseen.

  When we finished our walk that day and returned home, I thought some more about the question, “What about the time in between?” And I’ve thought about it a lot since that summer day. I understand that there is a tender balance in living with one foot here on Earth while the other desperately longs to step from time into eternity.

  I know I’m not home yet. There is life all around me and I am still alive. I’m a wife and a mother… I have so much to live for, and yet my heart longs for heaven—for my forever home. I am still torn between living with the loss of a beloved child and surrendering to the Father’s will. It’s a daily struggle to trust that everything will be okay in this time in between.

  I also understand that my time in between ultimately depends on the reality of the unseen. It was during my darkest moments of smothering despair that the faith and hope I clung to proved to be a mighty, impenetrable fortress. And the absolute certainty of what I do not see, sustained by the promises kept for me through my salvation, are carrying me through the in-between time, and will sustain me until time is no more. Although I don’t know what the future holds, it is clear to me who holds the future.

  Knowing that changes how I live and love.

  It changes how I celebrate.

  And how I grieve…

  Yes, I’ve had to acknowledge to myself that even after four years, I am still grieving. I have discovered that while there are some things in life you can find a way around, grief is not one of them. I have found no way around it, only a way through.

  My journey of grief has been unique in many ways, but one event in my life while Hunter was still alive is proving particularly significant in allowing me to further work through it.

  When Hunter was six years old, I had a very vivid dream about him. There were four people in my dream: Hunter, Jim, my girlfriend Mary, and me. Hunter and I were in a large room that was unfamiliar to me. After finishing Hunter’s chest therapy, I got up and walked out of the room and down a hall. As I turned around and started to make my way back toward the room where I’d left Hunter, there he was down the hall, walking toward me. He was walking, and he looked right at me, but didn’t say anything.

  Typical of a dream, everything was in slow motion. As soon as I saw Hunter, I ran toward him and scooped him into my arms. I was crying and calling out to Jim, “Jim, Hunter’s healed! You have to come here right away! Hunter’s healed! He’s healed!” I looked down at Hunter, and he just looked up at me and didn’t say a word. I yelled down the hall for Jim again. “Jim, Hunter can walk! He can walk!”

  Jim finally heard me and yelled back, “That’s great, Jill. I’ve got to get going or I’ll be late for my appearance. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I was shocked and bothered by his response, so I quickly called my friend Mary. Hunter was now sitting next to me on the bed, staring at me and still not saying a word. I stood up and started pacing back and forth while holding the phone to my ear. As soon as Mary answered the phone, I exclaimed, “Mary, you’re not going to believe this. Hunter’s healed! He’s okay! He can walk!”

  “Wow, that’s amazing, Jill. Hey, did I tell you about the new gift we have right now at Estée Lauder?”

  And then, just like that, my dream ended.

  I thought and prayed about my dream for days and asked God to help me understand its meaning. And He did.

  Here’s what I believe God wanted me to understand… people forget. If God had healed Hunter this side of heaven, people would eventually forget. Initially, the shock and excitement of Hunter walking and talking, playing and smiling would be huge news—the top medical story everywhere, maybe even globally. However, it would only be a matter of time before something new would come along and people would forget.

  We would all move on to the next big story. And the miracle would become yesterday’s news. That’s just the way we are.

  As meaningful to me as that dream was when Hunter was alive—and however profound the lesson learned—I now believe there is another, perhaps even more significant, meaning that could only have been revealed after Hunter’s death. True, Hunter’s physical healing would have been pronounced a “miracle.” And indeed it would have been. But the miracles that are at the heart of the life and death of Hunter James Kelly are so much more profound than a single miracle of healing: The miracle of my marriage surviving. The miracle of our family still being together. I see a miracle every time I look at my two precious daughters and recognize the emotional and spiritual maturity brought about by their lives with Hunter. Hunter’s Hope Foundation is a miracle, and so are the lives being touched by the work there.

  But the most profound miracle of all was having my son’s suffering lead me, Jim, and our two girls to the greatest act of suffering that changed (and continues to change) everything—the Cross of Christ. In understanding His sacrifice and suffering, we have found meaning and beauty in Hunter’s suffering.

  So now, during this time in between earth and heaven, we cling to the one Person we desperately need, because He, too, is acquainted with sorrow and grief. The joy and hope in knowing that inspires us to persevere as we anticipate tomorrow, treasure yesterday… and look forward to forever.

  Epilogue

  While I Wait

  September 9, 2009

  I’m sitting in my office looking around at the clutter that follows writing a book—journals, memoirs, notes, reminders, my Bible, page after page of words—and my eyes wander out the window. I see the beauty of the first signs of autumn everywhere. Fall is my favorite season, and always has been. After all, it’s when… football season starts! (“Are you ready for some football?” We are always ready for some football in the Kelly house.) The sprawling sunburst honey locust tree outside my window is starting to turn a stunning array of golden yell
ow hues. And our maple trees are changing, bursting into all sorts of maroon, red, and bright orange shades. It’s breathtaking.

  Today is my birthday. I turn thirty years old… okay, forty. Jim, Erin, and Camryn woke me up this morning with snuggles and singing. The birthday hat Camryn insisted I wear is just a tad tight—kind of like some of the cute jeans I used to wear. I’m surprised my little Chihuahua didn’t come running through the house with a party hat on, too. It’s probably only a matter of time before Camryn makes me beat a piñata or do something equally embarrassing. I mean, I am forty.

  Regardless of the fact that all three of them would like to see me run around like a monkey and perform circus tricks, I do know they love me and want me to have fun today. The number forty is plastered all around the kitchen, thanks to Jim and his two little helpers. I get it… I’m forty, and you want everyone and their brother to know it.

  Before bed last night Jim prayed, “Lord, please bless Mommy now that she’s over the hill.” Very funny! After he finished praying and before Erin started, I gasped, “Wait a minute, I thought the over-the-hill thing was for when you turn fifty, not forty.”

  Jim smiled and laughed. “Oh yeah, you’re right.”

  He’ll turn fifty in less than six months. I’ve got him by ten years (actually, only nine as of today)—but I’ll always be younger and will never stop reminding him.

  As Cam was leaving for school this morning she begged me to dance the limbo under one of the decorative, sparkly fortieth-birthday things hanging in our kitchen. (You thought I was kidding about the circus acts.) Reluctantly, I did the limbo. I did it over and over and over again. Camryn and I laughed the laugh that hurts your stomach and makes your jaw sore.

  Before she walked out the door she grabbed both my arms and said, “Mom, I need to give you forty kisses before I leave, four real ones and one in the air for the zero in forty.” Of course, we kissed four times and once to the air between our two faces. She is such a cool kid! Her personality liberates my soul.

  She ran out the door, but after a few seconds burst back in after forgetting her drink for school. Jim was beeping the horn because he hates being late. I should have gone outside and made him do the limbo….

  It was another typical morning at the Kelly household.

  Or was it?

  Exactly a year ago today we signed papers to buy the house we now live in, the house Jim and I still can’t believe we own. After we moved, a few of my friends asked me how the transition went. I guess they assumed it would be hard to leave the house all three of our children grew up in; the house that Hunter lived in his entire life. Oddly and thankfully, the transition was incredibly smooth. I don’t miss our old house at all—evidence that God is still at work in healing my broken heart.

  So today is my fortieth birthday.

  And it’s been 1,496 days since I held Hunter’s hand, looked into his gorgeous green eyes, and told him, “I love you, little buddy.” It’s been that long since he raised his cute eyebrows and blinked back three times. But I’m also 1,496 days closer to seeing his beautiful face again, to hearing him talk for the first time and feeling him wrap his arms around my neck.

  The gift of Hunter’s life will continue to astound me for as long as I live. Through Hunter, God made death a fearless passage. He taught us to look to our next life with a longing that only He can bestow. We have an eternity with Hunter waiting for us.

  Every passing day is one day closer to that glorious reunion. One day closer to heaven. One day closer to the One who paints the stars in the sky and teaches the sparrows how to fly. The One who holds me right now and waits to hold me for forever.

  So I celebrate and cry today. Not because I’m no longer in my thirties, but because I’m here. The yearning I have for heaven has to balance out the yearning I have to stay in this temporary life and be the best mother and wife I can be. I have an amazing family and great friends. These people all deserve to see my zest for life—this beautiful gift of life on earth that I have with them. I pray that my joy and hopes for tomorrow are reflected in my relationships today.

  Wait… how can I have a passion for anything at all when my boy isn’t here? He’s gone. But tomorrow I will be 1,497 days closer to him, remember? It baffles the mind, but I know it’s true. I want every single minute of my life to count for something greater than I can fully comprehend, as Hunter’s did.

  The question before me is, “What will I do with the time I have left, knowing that every breath is a gift?”

  Will I cry sometimes? Absolutely. Will I want to hide in bed some mornings? Probably. Will I possibly dance around and do the limbo to make my children laugh so that I can laugh? Of course I will. But it’s all right because everything’s going to be okay—right now and forever. Plain and simple… I was blind but now I see.

  Jim has a birthday dinner planned for tonight with my family, and he better not try to pull a surprise party or anything. It’s not that I don’t like surprises; I just want to know about them before they happen. I was the little girl who searched the house to find hidden Christmas presents, and if they were wrapped when I found them, I carefully opened them and peeked anyway.

  I guess I have a hard time waiting for what I know is going to be great. So like Christmas morning, I wait to experience the indescribable gift of being on the other side of time, in eternity.

  Later today I’m going to spend the afternoon with my mother, sorting through the thousands of photos we have of Hunter. We plan to pick out just the right ones for this book. And as we look at each picture, we’ll probably cry and laugh and cry some more…. And that’s exactly how I want to spend this day: remembering my son and all that God did through his brief and incredible life.

  Because I’m missing the boy whose unspoken love…

  Changed everything…

  Without a word.

  Acknowledgments

  There are many special people who deserve praise for having been instrumental in making this memoir a reality. People I met as a result of journeying through this project, and individuals who’ve been there with me all along.

  You all mean so much to me—more than I can possibly describe or explain. I thank God for all of you and your partnership with me in bringing this heart-engraved work to fruition. You’re amazing people. What a blessing it is to have you all in my life. Thank you for everything!

  To the entire FaithWords team: Joey Paul, wow. You have gone above and beyond. I’m truly overwhelmed by all you have done to polish this heart-drenched memoir. You have invested much, and we are deeply grateful. To your precious wife, Sharon: I thank God for the blessing of having your eyes and heart touch this, too. To Holly Halverson, Whitney Luken, and the rest of the team: I’m thankful for the privilege of working with you. We have entrusted our story, our testimony, into your hands, and we’re so glad we did.

  To Kris Bearss: I’m so thankful that God allowed you to play such an important role in the editing process of Without a Word. God will use the time and talent you have poured into this memoir in ways we can’t even imagine; of this I am certain. Thank you for everything, Kris.

  To the “Pray for Jill Kelly” Facebook Prayer Team: Thank you for your commitment to pray our family through this book-writing journey. I felt the power of your countless prayers on my behalf every time I sat down at my computer. And I continue to pray that God will bless you in ways only He can. And to Katherine McCauley, my dear friend who started the Facebook Prayer Team: You will never know how thankful I am for your commitment to stand in the gap for me. Thank you for rallying prayer warriors and for being one yourself. Without you, I’d never be able to make the best meatloaf in the whole world—and I’d never know the blessing of sharing life with such a wonderful friend.

  To Robert Wolgemuth and the entire staff at Wolgemuth & Associates (affectionately known by the Kelly family as “Team Wolgemuth”): Your encouragement has meant so much to me. What you do is more than a profession—it’s a calling, and I’ve wit
nessed the hand of God use each one of you in such profound ways. Erik: Thank you for being an excellent Publishing 101 instructor. Michael: Thanks for your passion and excitement. What an encouragement you (and your precious wife) have been. Robert: Thank you for your friendship and for believing in the author I didn’t know I could be. This book and its powerful message are a testimony of your faith in the One who made it all possible. Please give Bobbie a hug for me… she’s fabulous.

  To Tim McGraw and Faith Hill: Your willingness to be involved in our memoir in such a profound way blows us away. Thank you so much! Your love for each other and your commitment to family are an example to all of us. You remind us to live like we’re dying.

  To Nancy Guthrie: Thank you for your words of encouragement. Your experience and wisdom in the literary world have been invaluable to me. I look forward to meeting Hope and Gabe someday. What a day that will be.

  To Rick Kern, otherwise known as Maverick or Barney (short for Barnabas—Son of Encouragement): You, my dear friend and confidant, are a writer’s dream—especially a writer who never knew she could actually write. I don’t want to be on a team or fight a battle unless I know you’re going to be there, too. I can’t imagine writing anything unless I know you’ll be the first to get your hands on it. You’re an amazing writer, meticulous editor, super dad, gracious brother, and treasured friend. I thank my God every time I remember you… and I always will. Get some sleep.

  To Patti Thomas: Are you kidding me? Can you believe we met when we were just thirteen years old and we’re still going strong? Patti, you are so talented. Thank you for dropping everything to take a good, long, hard look at Without a Word. I appreciate every tear you have cried to help make this memoir what it is.

  To Team Hunter: From the depths of my heart I love you. We all miss you terribly. You’re family, and you always will be. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about our beloved Hunterboy, and not a day goes by that he’s not cheering each and every one of you on from the mighty grandstands of heaven. We will see him again, girls (and Robert, Justin, and Jaden)… we will. And when we do, let’s reunite the Hopesters and have a prayer party, too.