The cold one
New member
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2021
- Messages
- 6
Hello brothers and sisters under Satan. I depressingly am forced to inform you that one of our legions has passed away. My son, Beorn, who just turned five years old, died shortly after waking up.
We had been warned this day would come since before his birth; as they originally informed us that he had what they believed to be an extremely rare condition called acerebellar (also know as cerebellar hypoplasia). At this time when we were informed, my wife was only four months pregnant.
Immediately after this they demanded a signature for what they called a 'live autopsy' once he was born. Claiming that while he had a heartbeat and would breath and live like most people: he would essentially be dead. Telling us it would be the 'right thing to do...for science.' Needless to say: we got the hell out of there and never went back. We did seek a second, third, and eventually a ten and eleventh opinion on the matter overall however. Everyone said the same thing.
Then finally we found an OBGYN who was not afraid of fighting the ZOG and she made arrangements to have a live birth. Even inducing my wife early and to such a degree that they immediately medevaced her 300 miles to the closest medical center capable of handling the specialty needs in order to birth my son.
He didn't breathe for the first three minutes after he was born. When he finally did breathe, he didn't scream. He didn't make any noise but what sounded like a growl from deep in his throat. I know this because everyone in the room heard it. It is impossibly quite in an OR when a baby has been removed and doesn't breathe. Like the calm before a storm. Then suddenly everything and everyone is rushing and moving.
He spent 2 months in the NICU before they finally released him into our care. During that time they realized that he did not have what they thought, but instead had pontocerebellar hypoplasia. They also tried saying that he was having seizures and put him on a large starter dosage of phenobarbital. But thank Father Satan I arrived shortly thereafter to stop it.
Screaming and yelling at the Jew doctor who authorized this. Demanding proof that is what was happening.
"Have you done an EEG?"
"No."
"Does he have a high protein count?"
"No."
"How are his white blood cells?"
"Normal."
"Then get that shit out of him!"
After fighting legal action directly with the board of medicine: they agreed to do an EEG. Twenty four hours later, when it was over, they submitted that he was not having seizures. He was moving of his own accord!
That was the beginning of our fight. From then it was non-stop fighting those who claimed to 'care' for him. Fast forwards two more months and he is having physical therapy at home and the therapist slams his leg down on the ground because he refused to bend it.
The a few days later it is swollen, badly. So, naturally we take him into the ER to be seen. Broken femer. Which by law requires them to do a full body exam, since he is a child. Dozens of breaks were found. Many of which were absolutely impossible breaks due to the angle, locations, etc.
CPS was called. As soon as they found out we were a family of Satanists: they took both Beorn and his older brother away. Claiming Satanic Ritual Abuse. The next day our home was SWATed and our whole home destroyed by CSI and detectives. Our ritual chamber ransacked and pillaged.
They even took every electronic device in the home with the exception of our television and the xbox we had at the time. Claiming that they left them because we could not use them to communicate with anyone.
Eight months later, we finally won in court as CPS was finally required to turn over both the X-rays that they had been holding from the courts, as well as the results of the genetic tests they also had been flat out refusing to provide in evidence. Both showed that Beorn also had osteogenesis imperfecta, type one. In commom terms: extremely brittle bones. He shrugs his shoulder: broken collarbone.
They were forced to return our children to us, but by that point Beorn was in the hospital again and about to be medevaced himself due to the horrible case of pneumonia that he had. Another month in the hospital and he is back home, safe and sound, with his brother and parents again. After more fighting with doctors and proving them wrong, of course.
Over the years, at every doctors appointment, and every specialists call: they always told us that he was going to die. They said it before he was born, after the birth, and bi-weekly for five years after that.
We got used to hearing it. But of course, we tried not to think about it. Instead focusing on giving him the absolute best life that we could. We strived to understand and sympathize with him. Seeking out all knowledge about his conditions we also happened to find out that he also had 14 other genetic conditions that everyone had refused to tell us about.
One of which was Rett Syndrome, which is excessivly rare in males. In addition to this he was also ninety percent blind in both eyes. Yet, around age one he started to talk! And he tried to roll over, crawl, and pull himself with other heavier objects!
This being in addition to his throat starting to collapse and the discovery of his protein intolerance. So, surgery to give him a G-Button in order to provide him with continuous feeds of vegan formula in order to survive.
But what he lacked, he more than made up for in: personality and trying to learn, live, and love. His other senses intensified ten fold, and quickly we learned what he loved and hated. So, he spent all day, every day: doing what he loved; listening to his stories. Be these the written word, read by his parents, to listening to his favorite bands or watching his favorite movies and television shows. Mostly Star Wars and the band Behemoth. He loved the Sith and melodic black metal. Those were his friends, his story tellers, and his best mates. Next to his brother that is.
His brother, while being only a few years older, also amended his life for Beorn. Learning early on that his brother, while unable to physically play with him: still loved to be his cohort in childish skeems. Making plans where Beorn would distract us, his parents, with anything from screams to explosive diapers: so that he could go and steal them an ice cream bar out of the freezer in the kitchen. The hijinks commenced and hilarity ensued.
Every so often Beorn would get sick and he would be taken to the ER. Every time they told us he was going to die, that he couldn't take care of someone with his conditions, and would medevac him to the first hospital he was ever medevaced to out of the womb. Each time we returned, it seemed like it would take him longer to get out. Each time he progressively got more and more sick. Each time we halted our lives completely and spent every moment by his side.
At the beginning of COVID was one of these times. During which the truth of the ZOG propaganda was heavily apparent, as in the hospital waiting room the television (permanently stuck on Fox News) was blaring about how every hospital in the state was overflowing with cases of the new plague. Yet erected around us was an essentially empty hospital; in a city so large it rivalled the state capital?
Some of the nurses thought it was funny to call around other hospitals in the city and confirming that they as well we're empty. At first it was fun and they bragged about it, but a year later: they deny it ever happened. During that year, Beorn returned for three more visits. The last time for what they claimed to be septic shock, in which again they told us he was going to die and they had no idea of what was causing it. He left a month later, screaming his hatred for doctors quite vocally and clearly on the way out.
Four months we had left with him at that point, and if I had known then of that clock: I would have stayed up late and woke up early every single day, just to spend more time with him. I would have let him skip to his favorite book series instead of continuing with the ones he was on currently; and enjoyed all the same but not as much. I would have let him know how much of my world he made up, even more than I daily did already.
As soon as we found out he was blind: we ordered $200 worth of glow in the dark stars. We set to work and covered our living room ceiling with them in no reason or rhyme. Then we would all lay on the floor, turn off all the lights, and listen to a book on tape. Making this a somewhat regular family thing. This allowed us to see the world like Beorn did. Since that was the equivalent amount of light in a world of total darkness: that he could see. Needless to say, he loved it and it gave us insight into his world.
When we found out he had protein intolerance: I went vegetarian, just so he would not be alone. Compound this with how we had also lost all of our family and friends due to the witch hunt we went through with CPS the first time around, and you have a small family of four who are lost amongst the xtains on their own; with no support structure and or emotional support. Thusly making any action like choosing to never have a rare steak again, and replace it with heaps of vegetables instead: a big deal. Especially to Beorn, who recognized it for what it was and we became ever the closer for it.
This connection growing more when my job became remote and work at home, during the pandemic. This allowing me the gracious fortitude to be able to watch my children grow and work at the same time. Now, I got to watch and take care of him while also supporting my family. My wife was no longer alone in his day to day healthcare, and we got to hang out and bond more than ever before.
Then this morning we wake up and do life as usual. I get ready and go to work by simply going to a side of a room in our home and logging in. Separate from the rest of the family and home to be PCI compliant, but still enough for me to run and help if needed.
My wife reported to me that there seemed to be something wrong, and we may need to take him to the hospital. I inquired if this was ER level need or not, and what was happening. Beorn had gone purple during a diaper change that had just happened, then had gone back to a red color. I asked her to check on him again, less than three minutes after the diaper change, all the while he looks fine on our baby monitor that I can see and watch him through.
"He's not breathing!" She screamed across the house. His medical monitors which kept track and reported his breathing and heart rate had not gone off, so in utter confusion I quickly and aggressively turned off my work station and ran to his room.
Because of his protein intolerance he is very skinny, so much so that you can see his ribs normally and his heartbeat between them. Except at this time, his heart is not beating! I run over and open one of his eyes: his pupil is a pinpoint. I knew then that something was very wrong.
I grabbed the phone and call 911 while my wife lays Beorn on the living room floor, before our eldest on the couch: and grabs the defibrillator. The paramedics are on their way as I put the two sticky patches on his chest and abdomen and turn the machine on. Praying that his heart is just arithmetic and not fully stopped.
"Stand back"
It commands our obedience totally.
"Fine" the defibrillator reports.
Looking down: Beorn breathes in deep, opens his eyes and looks directly at us. Pupils wide, and he smiled. I truly believe he saw us for the first time with his own eyes then.
Then the pupils shot back to pinpoint as he exhaled and went paler than he ever had before.
"Stand back"
Again, complete and total obedience.
"Fine"
Again, we look down and he is breathing in once more. Smiling, he stuck his tongue at us in a way he never had before. Shrugged, looked me in the eyes, and...
Now, multiple things happened at this point. We heard the sirens outside of the approaching ambulance, fire truck, and police vehicles. Before the machine could command us again: my wife ripped off the defibrillator pads and rushed out the front door to meet them. And in the briefest of moments: my son and I locked eyes as his pupils once more went to almost nothing. Making it seem like a crystal blue lake amongst the white of his eyes. More than that, the shine and brightness they once contained, was lost. It was only hours later did they tell us that he was dead by the time he was put in the ambulance. It was also at that time I realized that I had watched the life leave my son's eyes. It was not like the books, the music, or the movies. It was like a light switch had been flipped off, so very suddenly. It is a look that will haunt me until my dying day. Knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do for him in that moment.
They refused to allow one of us to ride in the ambulance, and later claimed they did absolutely everything to save him. At the very end this included CPR, as a last resort due to his OI. Which only mutilated his body further as they crushed his chest in on itself.
During this time they had a police officer watching our house from the front door. Until the detectives showed up and demanded to search the home without a warrant. When I would not provide this to them, they started threatening to throw me and my eldest son out on the street while they did what they wanted in the home. My wife being at the hospital at this point, alone and finding out that her baby boy was no longer amongst the living.
Finally the detectives agree to compromise and bring the apologetic detective (now promoted sergeant) from the previous police case: in on this one. He agrees to allow me to cover our ritual chamber in respect, and to it only be him walking through the home with just his body cam to confirm that there in fact was no murder scene. Interesting side fact: this detective was the only one who went out of his way to personally come by after the first CPS case and openly apologize on his own behalf, and behalf of the city. Admitting that it had been a witch hunt that he 'unknowingly' had been a part of and genuinely regretted being apart of taking that time we could have had with Beorn, away from us. Something he said again today, after he had learned of Beorns death.
He speaks with his supervisor and confirms this happened due to medical reasons and not by any action or inactions on our behalf. Stating no further investigation on their end would be needed, and he got all of the police force and salivating CSI to leave our lawn and front porch.
It was only then, four hours after my son's death: that I was allowed to take my eldest and us leave to the hospital to see him. The following four hours being a complete and total nightmare as I cried and held Beorns lifeless and ridged form to my own. Begging his cold hands to squeeze mine, for him to take a breath, smile and exclaim, "I lied!" Like he would when he was up to something.
But that never came. My tears fell on him and he did not quiver. I held him and he did not hold me back. I prayed and screamed to the gods, and I knew they heard my cries. I could feel it, just as real as I still feel the heartbreak in my chest. While I had been told countless times that he would one day die, and I knew in my soul that it would one day happen: it did not prepare me for the reality when it did come to pass.
Finally, after calling almost a dozen funeral homes: we found the cheapest one that is willing to do a cremation and will allow us to be there when they put him in the oven. The closest thing to a pyre that we can legally afford. But, they will not be able to do this until at least next week.
They picked up his tiny body, as I gave him one last ride in my arms from one location to another. From there we are finally allowed to go home. Upon arriving, within 10 minutes of getting in the door: CPS shows up again. Demanding interviews, demographic data, and another warrentless search of the home.
Again, they are denied. Again, they say they are sorry for the past and wish they could have done things different than they are doing currently. But when pointing out that they could always leave us alone to mourn; they laugh and say they will be back.
Now, I sit here with a coldness in me that is beyond description. No longer do my tears fall; as I have none left to shed. Instead, I come here to you my brothers and sisters looking for support. Not physically, as much as I would love to have friends again, and not financially as we cannot afford the cremation that we will have to pay highway robbery for just to do Beorn justice.
No, I come here seeking emotional and spiritual support. Begging all of the Legions of Hell, the agents of Father Satan and the Pantheon on this Earth: to pray for Beorn and his soul. To ask of Father Satan to look after his small form and keep him lovingly, protectingly, under his wings. As I literally cannot do these very same thi gs anymore, since he is now beyond this life. I beg of all of you the same: to do a ritual in his honor and mention him in your ritual prayers sometime over the next week for the exact same reasons.
This costs all of you absolutely nothing: but would mean the whole world to my family and me. I thank you for spending the time it took you to read this very condensed tale of Beorn. But to all of you who are parents, let me leave you with the wisdom that was forced upon me today, if you will allow me:
The gods allowed Beorn to come back, not once: but twice. Both for less than two seconds in length, but both were just long enough for us to learn that he is okay, he is happy, he is at peace: and the whole world of pain he lived in because of his maladies no longer troubles him. He let us know that while he was here and at home with us in this world, and this life, that he: was going home with Father Satan and to Pandemonium; where he was welcomed with open arms, love, and a freedom he had always dreamed of.
For while I may have seen the light leave my son's eyes, I also witnessed Father Satans energy momentarily consume him and carry him away in pure white rays of love and care. And while that comforts me, I still would give anything to have him back; just the way he was.
So, if you have to children: make sure you spend as much time as you absolutely can with them. Fuck sleeping, and instead let them stay up with you as all of you do what they love doing. Wake up early and make them their favorite breakfast. Then play some more with them. Let them know how much you love them, how much they mean to you, and how far you are willing to go for them at any moment. It makes no sense to say we would take a bullet and die for them, but won't spend and extra fifteen or thirty minutes a day doing just what they want to do (no matter how inane or ridiculous it may be), does it?
Pull those who you love close to you and never let them go. Because you may never know when it is too late, and or what your last words to them may be. Better for that to be, "I love you," than it be, "I don't have time right now." You may not, but they may not either.
I learned this, because my son Beorn died, just a little over twelve hours ago...
We had been warned this day would come since before his birth; as they originally informed us that he had what they believed to be an extremely rare condition called acerebellar (also know as cerebellar hypoplasia). At this time when we were informed, my wife was only four months pregnant.
Immediately after this they demanded a signature for what they called a 'live autopsy' once he was born. Claiming that while he had a heartbeat and would breath and live like most people: he would essentially be dead. Telling us it would be the 'right thing to do...for science.' Needless to say: we got the hell out of there and never went back. We did seek a second, third, and eventually a ten and eleventh opinion on the matter overall however. Everyone said the same thing.
Then finally we found an OBGYN who was not afraid of fighting the ZOG and she made arrangements to have a live birth. Even inducing my wife early and to such a degree that they immediately medevaced her 300 miles to the closest medical center capable of handling the specialty needs in order to birth my son.
He didn't breathe for the first three minutes after he was born. When he finally did breathe, he didn't scream. He didn't make any noise but what sounded like a growl from deep in his throat. I know this because everyone in the room heard it. It is impossibly quite in an OR when a baby has been removed and doesn't breathe. Like the calm before a storm. Then suddenly everything and everyone is rushing and moving.
He spent 2 months in the NICU before they finally released him into our care. During that time they realized that he did not have what they thought, but instead had pontocerebellar hypoplasia. They also tried saying that he was having seizures and put him on a large starter dosage of phenobarbital. But thank Father Satan I arrived shortly thereafter to stop it.
Screaming and yelling at the Jew doctor who authorized this. Demanding proof that is what was happening.
"Have you done an EEG?"
"No."
"Does he have a high protein count?"
"No."
"How are his white blood cells?"
"Normal."
"Then get that shit out of him!"
After fighting legal action directly with the board of medicine: they agreed to do an EEG. Twenty four hours later, when it was over, they submitted that he was not having seizures. He was moving of his own accord!
That was the beginning of our fight. From then it was non-stop fighting those who claimed to 'care' for him. Fast forwards two more months and he is having physical therapy at home and the therapist slams his leg down on the ground because he refused to bend it.
The a few days later it is swollen, badly. So, naturally we take him into the ER to be seen. Broken femer. Which by law requires them to do a full body exam, since he is a child. Dozens of breaks were found. Many of which were absolutely impossible breaks due to the angle, locations, etc.
CPS was called. As soon as they found out we were a family of Satanists: they took both Beorn and his older brother away. Claiming Satanic Ritual Abuse. The next day our home was SWATed and our whole home destroyed by CSI and detectives. Our ritual chamber ransacked and pillaged.
They even took every electronic device in the home with the exception of our television and the xbox we had at the time. Claiming that they left them because we could not use them to communicate with anyone.
Eight months later, we finally won in court as CPS was finally required to turn over both the X-rays that they had been holding from the courts, as well as the results of the genetic tests they also had been flat out refusing to provide in evidence. Both showed that Beorn also had osteogenesis imperfecta, type one. In commom terms: extremely brittle bones. He shrugs his shoulder: broken collarbone.
They were forced to return our children to us, but by that point Beorn was in the hospital again and about to be medevaced himself due to the horrible case of pneumonia that he had. Another month in the hospital and he is back home, safe and sound, with his brother and parents again. After more fighting with doctors and proving them wrong, of course.
Over the years, at every doctors appointment, and every specialists call: they always told us that he was going to die. They said it before he was born, after the birth, and bi-weekly for five years after that.
We got used to hearing it. But of course, we tried not to think about it. Instead focusing on giving him the absolute best life that we could. We strived to understand and sympathize with him. Seeking out all knowledge about his conditions we also happened to find out that he also had 14 other genetic conditions that everyone had refused to tell us about.
One of which was Rett Syndrome, which is excessivly rare in males. In addition to this he was also ninety percent blind in both eyes. Yet, around age one he started to talk! And he tried to roll over, crawl, and pull himself with other heavier objects!
This being in addition to his throat starting to collapse and the discovery of his protein intolerance. So, surgery to give him a G-Button in order to provide him with continuous feeds of vegan formula in order to survive.
But what he lacked, he more than made up for in: personality and trying to learn, live, and love. His other senses intensified ten fold, and quickly we learned what he loved and hated. So, he spent all day, every day: doing what he loved; listening to his stories. Be these the written word, read by his parents, to listening to his favorite bands or watching his favorite movies and television shows. Mostly Star Wars and the band Behemoth. He loved the Sith and melodic black metal. Those were his friends, his story tellers, and his best mates. Next to his brother that is.
His brother, while being only a few years older, also amended his life for Beorn. Learning early on that his brother, while unable to physically play with him: still loved to be his cohort in childish skeems. Making plans where Beorn would distract us, his parents, with anything from screams to explosive diapers: so that he could go and steal them an ice cream bar out of the freezer in the kitchen. The hijinks commenced and hilarity ensued.
Every so often Beorn would get sick and he would be taken to the ER. Every time they told us he was going to die, that he couldn't take care of someone with his conditions, and would medevac him to the first hospital he was ever medevaced to out of the womb. Each time we returned, it seemed like it would take him longer to get out. Each time he progressively got more and more sick. Each time we halted our lives completely and spent every moment by his side.
At the beginning of COVID was one of these times. During which the truth of the ZOG propaganda was heavily apparent, as in the hospital waiting room the television (permanently stuck on Fox News) was blaring about how every hospital in the state was overflowing with cases of the new plague. Yet erected around us was an essentially empty hospital; in a city so large it rivalled the state capital?
Some of the nurses thought it was funny to call around other hospitals in the city and confirming that they as well we're empty. At first it was fun and they bragged about it, but a year later: they deny it ever happened. During that year, Beorn returned for three more visits. The last time for what they claimed to be septic shock, in which again they told us he was going to die and they had no idea of what was causing it. He left a month later, screaming his hatred for doctors quite vocally and clearly on the way out.
Four months we had left with him at that point, and if I had known then of that clock: I would have stayed up late and woke up early every single day, just to spend more time with him. I would have let him skip to his favorite book series instead of continuing with the ones he was on currently; and enjoyed all the same but not as much. I would have let him know how much of my world he made up, even more than I daily did already.
As soon as we found out he was blind: we ordered $200 worth of glow in the dark stars. We set to work and covered our living room ceiling with them in no reason or rhyme. Then we would all lay on the floor, turn off all the lights, and listen to a book on tape. Making this a somewhat regular family thing. This allowed us to see the world like Beorn did. Since that was the equivalent amount of light in a world of total darkness: that he could see. Needless to say, he loved it and it gave us insight into his world.
When we found out he had protein intolerance: I went vegetarian, just so he would not be alone. Compound this with how we had also lost all of our family and friends due to the witch hunt we went through with CPS the first time around, and you have a small family of four who are lost amongst the xtains on their own; with no support structure and or emotional support. Thusly making any action like choosing to never have a rare steak again, and replace it with heaps of vegetables instead: a big deal. Especially to Beorn, who recognized it for what it was and we became ever the closer for it.
This connection growing more when my job became remote and work at home, during the pandemic. This allowing me the gracious fortitude to be able to watch my children grow and work at the same time. Now, I got to watch and take care of him while also supporting my family. My wife was no longer alone in his day to day healthcare, and we got to hang out and bond more than ever before.
Then this morning we wake up and do life as usual. I get ready and go to work by simply going to a side of a room in our home and logging in. Separate from the rest of the family and home to be PCI compliant, but still enough for me to run and help if needed.
My wife reported to me that there seemed to be something wrong, and we may need to take him to the hospital. I inquired if this was ER level need or not, and what was happening. Beorn had gone purple during a diaper change that had just happened, then had gone back to a red color. I asked her to check on him again, less than three minutes after the diaper change, all the while he looks fine on our baby monitor that I can see and watch him through.
"He's not breathing!" She screamed across the house. His medical monitors which kept track and reported his breathing and heart rate had not gone off, so in utter confusion I quickly and aggressively turned off my work station and ran to his room.
Because of his protein intolerance he is very skinny, so much so that you can see his ribs normally and his heartbeat between them. Except at this time, his heart is not beating! I run over and open one of his eyes: his pupil is a pinpoint. I knew then that something was very wrong.
I grabbed the phone and call 911 while my wife lays Beorn on the living room floor, before our eldest on the couch: and grabs the defibrillator. The paramedics are on their way as I put the two sticky patches on his chest and abdomen and turn the machine on. Praying that his heart is just arithmetic and not fully stopped.
"Stand back"
It commands our obedience totally.
"Fine" the defibrillator reports.
Looking down: Beorn breathes in deep, opens his eyes and looks directly at us. Pupils wide, and he smiled. I truly believe he saw us for the first time with his own eyes then.
Then the pupils shot back to pinpoint as he exhaled and went paler than he ever had before.
"Stand back"
Again, complete and total obedience.
"Fine"
Again, we look down and he is breathing in once more. Smiling, he stuck his tongue at us in a way he never had before. Shrugged, looked me in the eyes, and...
Now, multiple things happened at this point. We heard the sirens outside of the approaching ambulance, fire truck, and police vehicles. Before the machine could command us again: my wife ripped off the defibrillator pads and rushed out the front door to meet them. And in the briefest of moments: my son and I locked eyes as his pupils once more went to almost nothing. Making it seem like a crystal blue lake amongst the white of his eyes. More than that, the shine and brightness they once contained, was lost. It was only hours later did they tell us that he was dead by the time he was put in the ambulance. It was also at that time I realized that I had watched the life leave my son's eyes. It was not like the books, the music, or the movies. It was like a light switch had been flipped off, so very suddenly. It is a look that will haunt me until my dying day. Knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do for him in that moment.
They refused to allow one of us to ride in the ambulance, and later claimed they did absolutely everything to save him. At the very end this included CPR, as a last resort due to his OI. Which only mutilated his body further as they crushed his chest in on itself.
During this time they had a police officer watching our house from the front door. Until the detectives showed up and demanded to search the home without a warrant. When I would not provide this to them, they started threatening to throw me and my eldest son out on the street while they did what they wanted in the home. My wife being at the hospital at this point, alone and finding out that her baby boy was no longer amongst the living.
Finally the detectives agree to compromise and bring the apologetic detective (now promoted sergeant) from the previous police case: in on this one. He agrees to allow me to cover our ritual chamber in respect, and to it only be him walking through the home with just his body cam to confirm that there in fact was no murder scene. Interesting side fact: this detective was the only one who went out of his way to personally come by after the first CPS case and openly apologize on his own behalf, and behalf of the city. Admitting that it had been a witch hunt that he 'unknowingly' had been a part of and genuinely regretted being apart of taking that time we could have had with Beorn, away from us. Something he said again today, after he had learned of Beorns death.
He speaks with his supervisor and confirms this happened due to medical reasons and not by any action or inactions on our behalf. Stating no further investigation on their end would be needed, and he got all of the police force and salivating CSI to leave our lawn and front porch.
It was only then, four hours after my son's death: that I was allowed to take my eldest and us leave to the hospital to see him. The following four hours being a complete and total nightmare as I cried and held Beorns lifeless and ridged form to my own. Begging his cold hands to squeeze mine, for him to take a breath, smile and exclaim, "I lied!" Like he would when he was up to something.
But that never came. My tears fell on him and he did not quiver. I held him and he did not hold me back. I prayed and screamed to the gods, and I knew they heard my cries. I could feel it, just as real as I still feel the heartbreak in my chest. While I had been told countless times that he would one day die, and I knew in my soul that it would one day happen: it did not prepare me for the reality when it did come to pass.
Finally, after calling almost a dozen funeral homes: we found the cheapest one that is willing to do a cremation and will allow us to be there when they put him in the oven. The closest thing to a pyre that we can legally afford. But, they will not be able to do this until at least next week.
They picked up his tiny body, as I gave him one last ride in my arms from one location to another. From there we are finally allowed to go home. Upon arriving, within 10 minutes of getting in the door: CPS shows up again. Demanding interviews, demographic data, and another warrentless search of the home.
Again, they are denied. Again, they say they are sorry for the past and wish they could have done things different than they are doing currently. But when pointing out that they could always leave us alone to mourn; they laugh and say they will be back.
Now, I sit here with a coldness in me that is beyond description. No longer do my tears fall; as I have none left to shed. Instead, I come here to you my brothers and sisters looking for support. Not physically, as much as I would love to have friends again, and not financially as we cannot afford the cremation that we will have to pay highway robbery for just to do Beorn justice.
No, I come here seeking emotional and spiritual support. Begging all of the Legions of Hell, the agents of Father Satan and the Pantheon on this Earth: to pray for Beorn and his soul. To ask of Father Satan to look after his small form and keep him lovingly, protectingly, under his wings. As I literally cannot do these very same thi gs anymore, since he is now beyond this life. I beg of all of you the same: to do a ritual in his honor and mention him in your ritual prayers sometime over the next week for the exact same reasons.
This costs all of you absolutely nothing: but would mean the whole world to my family and me. I thank you for spending the time it took you to read this very condensed tale of Beorn. But to all of you who are parents, let me leave you with the wisdom that was forced upon me today, if you will allow me:
The gods allowed Beorn to come back, not once: but twice. Both for less than two seconds in length, but both were just long enough for us to learn that he is okay, he is happy, he is at peace: and the whole world of pain he lived in because of his maladies no longer troubles him. He let us know that while he was here and at home with us in this world, and this life, that he: was going home with Father Satan and to Pandemonium; where he was welcomed with open arms, love, and a freedom he had always dreamed of.
For while I may have seen the light leave my son's eyes, I also witnessed Father Satans energy momentarily consume him and carry him away in pure white rays of love and care. And while that comforts me, I still would give anything to have him back; just the way he was.
So, if you have to children: make sure you spend as much time as you absolutely can with them. Fuck sleeping, and instead let them stay up with you as all of you do what they love doing. Wake up early and make them their favorite breakfast. Then play some more with them. Let them know how much you love them, how much they mean to you, and how far you are willing to go for them at any moment. It makes no sense to say we would take a bullet and die for them, but won't spend and extra fifteen or thirty minutes a day doing just what they want to do (no matter how inane or ridiculous it may be), does it?
Pull those who you love close to you and never let them go. Because you may never know when it is too late, and or what your last words to them may be. Better for that to be, "I love you," than it be, "I don't have time right now." You may not, but they may not either.
I learned this, because my son Beorn died, just a little over twelve hours ago...
