The Little Warrior

When we share time with our children, explore life through their eyes and enjoy simple moments, we are blessed with some pretty awesome gifts, both for them and for us.  On this fourth anniversary of Wyatt’s death, we choose to remember his life and all the joy he brought to our world. This world is a better place because he was here.  We are better people because he was our son. We choose to remember his life; forever our beautiful boy, our Little Warrior.

The Little Warrior

When choosing his name, we always knew our son must have a strong name, for he would be strong, not just in muscle but in will and temperament. His name could not be common nor could it be odd, this name had to describe him, give him the character distinctive to the person we knew he would become. We never really came to a decision and as my belly grew to an enormous size the question of his name was still unanswered. 

My projected due date came and went.  Jim’s grandmother, mother and brother were visiting for the birth of the first and only grandchild (and great-grandchild.) The day came and went and they began to plan their leave. That evening as I was stretched out on the bed chatting on the phone with a friend and laughing cheerfully, I realized I was resting in water. So began the next 17 hours of labor.

Our son was born at 12:00 p.m., on a Wednesday.  The nurses whisked him away to check his heartbeat; then there was that scream, the beautiful scream of a newborn baby, our newborn baby.  As they placed him on my chest and I lay there with my husband at my side, we named him. So was born our Wyatt, unique in all the world.

That initial scream of life was the beginning of a very active, inquisitive and persistent little boy. Life was his to experience, to behold, to understand, to know and to enjoy. He was so very blessed with parents who loved him and abound with grandparents.  We had to become distinctive with names having so many grandparents, but Wyatt handled that himself bestowing upon each the moniker he alone would give them.  My mother was Memaw.  Wyatt was the eighth of her grandchildren and the only one who lived in the same town. He was the only grandchild who referred to her as Memaw, as if he didn't have to share her. Jim’s mother was Grandmother, honoring her genteel manner.  My step-mother was Grandma, endearing and comfortable. Then there were the grandfathers; my dad was Grandpa and Jim’s dad was Grandpa Jim, my step-father was endearingly given “My John.”

Wyatt means “Little Warrior.” Don’t we all choose to give our child a name we believe will be fitting for them as a person, speak to who they are and portray their personality. We didn’t see warrior as mean or brutal, but rather as strong in body and mind, faithful to God, family and friends, bold in his desires to achieve and accomplish, honorable in all that he did; all the traits we wanted our son to embody were defined by being a warrior. A “Little Warrior Boy” was exactly what we wanted.    

Active would be a sizable understatement to describe Wyatt’s manner. When Wyatt’s Grandmother was visiting she would simply shake her head and say,” I don’t know how you keep up with him.”  At two years old he spoke like a grown person, often beginning a sentence with, “Well actually.”  My John was the father of five children and he would listen to Wyatt in amazement and say, “I’ve never heard a child so young speak in complete sentences like that.”  The common question of a child, “why” was asked so frequently by Wyatt, his nickname became, “Wy-Man.”  He earned it, if I explained why once; I did it ten million times. I recall one day arriving to pick Wyatt up from Grandpa’s house, he came running up to me very excited. He shouted, “Come look at what we have!” as he grabbed my hand to pull me inside the house. Directing me to the stove, he climbed up a step stool and showed me a pot on the stove.  “See, its acorns, we’re boiling them.”  Then he moved to the little toaster oven and showed me the acorns in the oven, “in here were baking them.”  Then came the warning, “but, you don’t want to microwave them, that doesn’t work too good.”  So, I asked, “why are we doing this, son?” Well, I asked grandpa what would happen if we cooked the acorns and he didn’t know, so we decided to find out.

Over twenty years have passed since that day and I still recall the sheer delight in Wyatt’s voice and the happiness he received from being able to answer what happens when we cook acorns.

Our little warrior, strong, faithful, with an abiding love for God, family and friends.

Say his name.