Altar Call – Opelika-Auburn News
Walter Albritton
April 23, 2017
The April day we will
always remember
Dark
clouds filled the sky. Light rain was falling. My wife and I were uneasy; we
had heard the forecast of bad weather. But staying home was not an option. Dean’s
water had broken. She was enduring sharp and rapid
labor pains. We had to get to the
hospital. Our first child was about to discover America!
Though
the stormy weather grew worse, we made it to the hospital in time. Dean was
quickly in the hands of caring nurses. As was the custom in those days I was
directed to the waiting room. Fathers were not allowed to witness the delivery
of their child. I waited impatiently for several hours, unaware that a violent
tornado had wreaked destruction across a wide path in the Auburn – Opelika
area. By the time David Walter was born, the tornado had done its worst and
moved on.
While
Dean was birthing David the storm brought down nearby power lines, forcing the
hospital to switch to emergency power. Torrents of rain rattled the hospital
windows. Water poured into the hospital through the air-conditioning ducts.
Dr.
Ben Thomas, our physician, had to drive through heavy rain to get to the small
hospital that would become the thriving East Alabama Medical Center. Had he not
arrived when he did, we would have been without his service. Shortly after his
arrival, debris from the storm made driving in the area quite hazardous.
April
18 has come and gone once again. It is not a holiday, just another day on the
calendar. But for Dean and me it remains a very special day, the day our first
son was born 64 years ago in 1953.
So
this past Tuesday we drove to the cemetery, stood by David’s grave and offered
a prayer. We thanked God for the joy of having David with us for three brief
years. We thanked God for what he taught us through David’s suffering and for healing
our grief-stricken hearts.
In
1953 we were living in a small rented house at 818 Lakeview Drive in Auburn.
The rent was $75 a month. I was in my third year at API, the land-grant college
now known as Auburn University.
When
I returned to the house, elated by the safe delivery of our firstborn, I found that
the tornado had paid us a visit. The roof had been ripped off above the front
door and rain had poured in, soaking some of our stuff. But our damage was incidental
compared to the destruction of several homes nearby.
David
was beautiful and healthy. His blond hair and blue eyes made him even more
special. We were thrilled to have started our family. Though we had little
money, we enjoyed life. The future was bright. We had the world by the tail. The
next year I finished at Auburn and we moved to Nashville where I enrolled in
seminary at Vanderbilt University.
Ten
months later another storm descended upon us as swiftly as the tornado had come.
Tests brought bad news about David. His voice breaking as he fought back tears,
Dr. T. Forte Bridges said, “Your son has leukemia.”
As
we sat there in shock, the doctor explained that there was no known cure. The
best he could do would be to keep David comfortable until he died. “Perhaps,”
he said, “a cure will be discovered soon.”
I
asked how long David had to live. His answer sent a chill up and down my spine.
“My best guess is somewhere between two months and two years,” he said. It was
the worst moment of my life – hearing that death sentence for our precious
little boy.
The
diagnosis shattered our world on that day in late September. David suffered. We struggled with the burden.
We prayed. We cried. We stifled our anger, wrestled with our fear. We pled with
God to heal David but to no avail.
Finally,
David’s suffering ended on a day in May the next year. His death wounded us but it did not destroy
us. Though tested sorely by the loss of our only child, our marriage lasted and
became stronger. God met us in the hallways of hell and showed us the way out.
We refused to become bitter and let God make us better. Somehow, without really
knowing what we were doing, we let God use our pain to help us overcome our
grief.
Sadness,
in the years that followed, would gradually give way to the overwhelming joy
that is God’s gift to those who keep holding his hand through tough times. So
each year, as April 18 rolls around, we pause to give thanks that we are still
together, still able to remember David’s beautiful smile, and still thankful
for the joy that was ours on the day our first child was born, a day we will
always remember. + + +