The night the Angels Waited!

He was five.

A little boy with fire in his eyes and wisdom in his bones.

My grandson. My heart.

Cancer doesn’t care how small you are, or how loved. It comes anyway.

For seven months, we fought with him—held him, sang to him, carried him through every test and treatment. But on the 10th of October, the doctor said the words no family should hear: “Take him home.”

There was no air left in the room. No light.

I could not breathe.

But Liam—he was still living. Fully. Fiercely.

On the 15th of November, he asked me to bath him.

On the 16th, he wanted to do it all again. Another bath. Lip ice. His favorite shirt.

He saw the children come for him—the otherworldly ones.

He laughed, then grew serious: “They have to wait. I’m not ready yet.”

That night, I stayed awake. I knew.

Others didn’t believe me, but I knew.

I held him. I spoke softly. I felt my brother’s presence in the room. Angels all around us, waiting with the patience only eternity knows.

When it was time, I woke his parents.

His mother—my daughter—held him so tightly, barely breathing.

And then… he stopped.

Everything after that is a blur.

But I remember this:

He left in love. Surrounded. Not alone.

And he left on his terms—clean, dressed, kissed, and ready.

There is no language for that kind of pain.

Only breathless reverence. Only silence.

Only the promise that we will carry his light, always.

For those who want to know more, his story lives on our Facebook page: Liefste Liam.https://www.facebook.com/share/16Fz3HYGn2/?mibextid=wwXIfr