Ten years. On August 11, 2016, at 9:03 in the morning, our son Carson Gene Higgins left this life and entered eternity. Somehow, ten years feels impossible, and yet here we are. There are moments when it feels like an entire lifetime has passed since I last heard his voice. Then there are moments when I can close my eyes, and he is right there. I can see the blue eyes, that smile, the quick wit, and the slightly mischievous look that usually meant he was about to say something that would make us all laugh. Grief does something strange to time.
I still miss him. I miss watching him read a book as though the rest of the world had disappeared. I miss the way he loved his brothers and the way they loved him. I miss watching him with Debbie and watching her watch over him. I miss hearing him call me Dad. I miss being the Higgins family of seven. Even now, something will happen, and my first thought is that Carson would love this, or Carson would think this was hilarious. For the briefest fraction of a second, my heart forgets what my mind has known for ten years. Then I remember that he is not here.
It would be easy on this anniversary to remember Carson primarily through cancer, but that would get his story terribly wrong. Cancer was something Carson had. It was never who Carson was, and he would not allow it to define him. He was a son, a brother, a friend, a reader, a Boy Scout, a Minecraft enthusiast, and a horseback rider. He was a kid with an extraordinary sense of humor and intellect, and a young man with remarkable humility and kindness.
Carson never seemed interested in being the center of the story. Even near the end of his life, he never wanted it to be about him. We were on what we called our Trip of a Lifetime, traveling through the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons, Glacier, Alaska, the Pacific Northwest, and many places in between. His doctors had told us that, barring a miracle, we were running out of time. I could see him getting tired and things becoming more difficult. Carson, however, wanted us focused on the trip, on his brothers, on what we were seeing, and on what we were doing together.
Along the way, National Park Rangers heard his story and fell in love with him. Many of them gave Carson their personal challenge coins, and he treasured them. He carried them everywhere in his St. Jude wallet. Carson loved the idea of creating his own challenge coin, so he designed one using the things that mattered to him: St. Jude, his faith, Scouting, books, and Minecraft. Twelve stars were eventually added, one for each year of his life. We had it minted in his memory and sent the coins across the country to the Rangers who had made Carson’s last days special. We give it to special people as a reminder to say “Why Not Me” in difficult times instead of “Why Me”?
His faith continues to ripple outward too. When we told Carson his cancer was back, and he relapsed, he said, “God healed me once. If He wants to, He can do it again.” Carson believed absolutely in God’s ability, but he did not confuse his own desires with God’s will. Faith is not believing God will always do what I want. Faith is believing God is still God when He does not.
Through all of it, he also maintained his sense of humor. One of my favorite memories came during his final hours. The night before Carson died, he needed to go to the children’s hospital in Las Vegas for blood, platelets, fluids, and the kinds of things that had simply become part of his life. As Debbie, Garrett, and Carson left the hospital and drove back down the Las Vegas Strip around 2:30 in the morning, Carson looked at his mom and said, “Mom, did you ever think you’d let your twelve-year-old be on the Vegas Strip at 2:30 in the morning?” Hours before he died, exhausted and after his body had been through more than most of us will experience in a lifetime, Carson was still making his mom and brother laugh. Cancer was winning its battle against his body, but it never got that part of him.
The morning of August 11 changed our lives forever. We awoke to the sound of Carson struggling and unconscious. We performed CPR, and paramedics arrived. At the hospital, doctors worked desperately to save him until eventually they told us there was nothing more they could do. Then something happened that I will never forget. Brendon asked if we could pray. Our family gathered around Carson, and while we prayed, after more than an hour of CPR, his heart began beating again. His blood pressure returned. The doctor called it miraculous and told us he was a real fighter.
God gave him back to us; I believe it was a gift, and an opportunity to say goodbye and let him go. Each of us had an opportunity to speak to Carson alone. Finally, Debbie, the person Carson trusted more completely than anyone on this earth, spoke to him. Their relationship had always been extraordinary. When Carson was little, he would fall asleep holding her hand so he knew she was there. They would lie together with their foreheads touching and try to outdo one another. “I love you, Mom.” “I love you more.” “I love you as big as the ocean.” “I love you as big as the sky.” Back and forth they would go, each trying to find some measure big enough to describe something that could not really be measured.
That morning, Debbie told him how much she loved him and thanked him for fighting to be with us. Then she told him something I cannot imagine having the strength to tell your child. She told him that if he wanted to stay with Jesus, it was okay, and we would be alright. Within seconds, Carson’s heart stopped. This time, we let him go.
For ten years, I have lived with the absence he left behind, but I have also lived with everything he left within us. I see Carson in his brothers. I see him in their compassion, their loyalty, their strength, and their willingness to put family first. Carson was not trying to lead his brothers, but through his actions and reactions, he showed them a peace and strength that shaped them for a lifetime. He was not the biggest or the strongest physically. Yet when the greatest pressure came upon our family, somehow our twelve-year-old son and brother showed all of us what strength really looked like.
Ten years later, Carson would be twenty-two years old. What would Carson be doing today? I watched as life left my son, but I do not believe his light went out. I have watched that light continue in the lives he touched. I see it in family, friends, and people who never met Carson but somehow found courage, faith, or hope through his story.
There is a tagline we have used throughout our journey with Carson: “Carson’s Journey: A God Story of Faith, Hope and Love.” A little redheaded boy with beautiful blue eyes came into our lives for twelve years, seven months, and nine days. He taught us how to live and suffer without fear or bitterness. He never complained. I had to trust God with the one thing I desperately wanted to keep: my son. There are days I still do not like it. There are days I still cry, but I believe with everything in me that Carson was healed, just not in the way I desperately wanted.
So today I will grieve, and I will celebrate. I will cry, and I will smile. I will remember that for twelve incredible years, I had the privilege of hearing him call me Dad.
Until I hear it again, happy ten years in Heaven, Gene Gene, my Jellybean. I love you, son. More than the ocean. More than the sky. More than words will ever be able to say.
– John, Carson’s Dad
#CarsonStrongForever
