Bus 8228
Bus, 8228, I sat down a few rows back on the driver's side. It was about 7:15 pm or so on a random night in the Spring of 2017. The lights were off in the parked bus in the New Jersey Transit bus depot. I begin to sob uncontrollably. Not just those “man tears” like when you’re watching Rudy as he runs out onto the field and lines up at the line of scrimmage at the end of the movie. It was the kind of tears a child has when their toy breaks or when they fall off their bike and scrape up their knee. Except this was different, it was real and deep and helpless. It was the kind of sobbing that brings up a dark cloud of emotion and sadness. It was ominous and guttural and it wasn’t stopping.
It was a typical night. I punched in to work, as usual, 7 pm night shift. Changed into my uniform. You know the ones, blue pants, and matching shirt, I guess this is where the term “blue-collar” worker came from. The “guys” slowly gathering around the foreman’s desk, chit-chatting and jabbing at one another, all in good fun (sometimes). You have to have thick skin working in this kind of environment but everyone means well. Business as usual for a transit bus cleaner. “Hey, Steve, what do you got for me?” as the foreman on shift looks our way. The cleaners usually stand on the side as the repairmen get their jobs first. “Hey Jay, bus 8228, B clean.” “You got it chief, see you at 11.” The term Groundhog Day best describes life as a transit employee.
I make my way to the cleaner's closet and get my cart and park it outside in the walkway. Kevin, Jay, Garcia, and I walk over to the stock room to get our night's supply of Lysol, Zep 40, and throw some jokes at Richie, the night stock guy. “Hey, Richie…” I’ll spare you the details, I’ll just say this, Richie has the thickest skin of all around the garage. Ah, the garage, the smell of oil-soaked cement, torque wrenches zipping in the distance. You know the ones, every mechanic uses one to remove the lug nuts from tires. We’ve all heard them while we wait for our car to be finished at the local shop.
Once I got going and the verbal sparring died down, we got to work, slowly. Nothing happens fast at transit, except when it’s break time. Watch out, get out the way! I was numb to the smell of Lysol and bleach, the pungent smells of the cleaning products we used. I do miss the ambiance though and don’t forget Eric’s boombox playing Limp Bizkit or something in the corner. He was a good guy. They all were good guys. And I do miss them. So where am I going with this?
The date is fuzzy, but it would be sometime in the spring of 2017. Around that time we were noticing something was off with one of our children. We have 5, I know, I know, but I love them and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Ben (12), Caleb (10), Olivia (8), Josiah (5), and Maddie (3). We were noticing that our son Josiah, who was three at the time, was starting to limp, like a lot. My first thought was that he was sore from falling down the last three steps which happened recently. We also thought he injured himself on the trampoline with his older brothers. It wasn't going away and we were getting more and more concerned. We brought him to a few doctors. The pediatrician, pediatric orthopedic, chiropractor, and finally a physical therapist. They all said it wasn’t physical. The physical therapist said for us to see a neurologist. This can’t be good. No one wants to hear those words, especially a parent of a small child.
From here it was a waiting game. The doctor’s office was booked until July. We were going to have to wait a month or so until we could see her. In the meantime, we saw our pediatrician again as his arm started to drop. His gait was worsening and we were fearing the worst. What could it be? What could be causing this to happen? Let me say that our minds were racing like Mario Andretti. Sleep was not even a question. All the worst fears were growing and spiraling. What was causing this to happen to our sweet little boy?
At 2 yrs old he was dribbling his basketball, in the driveway. Like a pro. To say that he was active is an understatement. He was fearless, and he was a force to be reckoned with. He, to this day, is the only child to stand up to me and tell me point-blank… “no, daddy, you zip it.” “What did you just say?” The funny thing is that I didn’t even tell him to zip it. The nerve, right? Who does that? Well, Josiah did. He was unflinching in the eyes of authority. He was going to need that courage because he was going to have a fight on his hands. He was going to get to put all of that fortitude and resolve on display for all to see.
So fast forward and we finally get to see the neurologist. She said there was nothing wrong with him. She was wrong and the story with her is one for another day. She is no longer with Jersey Shore Medical Center so that is all I’ll say. We finally get an MRI, no thanks to her, and we’re waiting for the results in the hospital. I’m sleeping, or trying to, on a hospital bed in a room they let us use knowing our situation. I had just come off the night shift and I had no sleep the night before. I couldn’t keep my eyes open and at the same time, I couldn't sleep.
My wife says to me, they're taking too long, somethings wrong. A few minutes later the door knocks. “Mr. and Mrs. Klundt, can you come into the conference room please?” OK, this can’t be good. there were a few people in the room waiting for us… “We found a tumor in your son’s brain.” Eight words that rocked my soul. Even now I had to pause a few minutes after typing this. These are words that every parent dreads hearing one day. My head began to spin and my heart sank. I don’t remember exactly what happened and what I said, I’ll have to ask my wife to jog my memory (she’s sleeping now, I’ll update this post when I talk to her tomorrow). This can’t be true. They showed us the MRI image. It was surreal. Take a look below.
This couldn't be happening. This isn't real. This is a bad nightmare. No, this was real and this was not going away. Our fears became reality. Rewinding back to the beginning of this story, that day when I got to work I was on a phone call with my wife. She said to me that she thinks something is really wrong with him and it’s not good. We thought maybe it was an autoimmune disease, and that was terrifying. I hung up with her, went to the foreman’s desk and began this story. I sat on the bus that night after I hung up with Brooke and I cried for a long time. There wasn’t much cleaning going on that night, there was just a lot of soul searching and crying out to God. Lord, “why?” “What is going on?” “Can you heal him, Lord?” I remember hearing from Him one night as I was in the Word reading and seeking God’s peace. “Are you ready if I don’t heal him?” Well, I didn’t want to hear that. “No, Lord, I am not, at least I don’t think I am.”
Over the next few months, our faith was tested as well as our resilience as a family. We would be transferred the next day to C.H.O.P (Children's Hospital of Philadelphia) and he would have surgery two days later. The tumor was nonmalignant and the surgery and recovery were rough. We made it through to the other side safe and sound. A lot of other children don’t. We were blessed in the sense that the Lord wasn’t ready to take Josiah, but when He is ready to take him or anyone else in my care, will I be ready? I pray that I am. Thanks for reading about our story, it’s still being written, this is just a chapter in the longer story of our family.
If you find yourself in a place of sorrow, grief, sadness, or hopelessness please know there is hope and there is peace. There is rest and there is comfort. As we just celebrated Easter, the Prince of Peace was sacrificed for you and me, paying the penalty for sin. Cry out to Him. You may feel lost and that no one cares but He does. He cares more than you will know. I care too. If you need any prayer or just want to chat, hit me up. I’d love to talk with you and help you in any way I can. Be safe and be well and may God bless you.
“Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” — John 6:68
#ThrowingRocksForJosiah This is the story God gave me at 2 am one night while we were in the hospital. Take a look, it explains what Throwing Rocks means.
I know this may sound corny so please bear with me. I’m tired and have had little sleep this week. Josiah loves to throw rocks. Big whoop. He’s like any other young boy. We go on a walk at the reservoir, he and along with his siblings, quickly rid the lakeside of all small handheld rocks. It’s their civic duty to get rid of them all. Now that our older two are getting stronger, they’re branching out into bigger ones. But I digress.
As of late, meaning most of the summer, he’s really had very little range of motion because of his leg and arm being affected by the tumor we didn’t know that was there. So every time we go to the reservoir or this past week to upstate New York all he could really do is to sit down and throw rocks. He could do it for hours. Pick up rock, launch said rock and bloop, enjoy the rock’s entry into the water. Repeat. Over and over again one at a time. Pickup, launch, and. Loop. Oh, such joy.
Now I can’t get the thought out of my head that this “throwing rocks” is akin to prayer. Each rock that is tossed into the water has a ripple. That ripple travels across the pond and reaches a greater distance by that one simple action… bloop. That one little pebble goes out and affects the whole body of water. Just like prayer reaches so far and wide just by that one act in communion and intimacy with God. So please continue to join us in prayer by “throwing rocks” for Josiah. Something that has brought him so much joy can be tossed back to help him get through this trial.
