Kannon Bradley Foster was born to Kelli Hoskins Foster and Zach Foster on April 1, 2010. He was a special little boy, and he showed up in our lives as we were slowly, but surely saying good-bye to our Laynie.
It's so weird. Life is so weird. I had lived almost my entire life, almost totally untouched by disability of any magnitude. I knew a couple of children with down's syndrome, but I was always so enchanted by them, their pure joy for life and everyone. Then we were given Laynie. God opened our eyes and hearts to an entire way of life I didn't even knew existed.
Lacey was my hero (and still is), soldiering through the maze of the unknown. And then one of Kip's best friends, having her own little miracle and walking fearlessly into the maze, with her husband's hand always just inches away, ready to help her in any way.
I've watched Kelli and Zach for 8 years now. I watched them tackle everything that Kannon threw at them. They were handed a very special,precious challenge, and they rose to it and just crushed it.
As I sat and viewed Kannon's videos and pictures this morning at his celebration, the one thing that emanated from the screen, was L O V E. Pure, joyous, unadulterated love. Every picture had joy. That little boy never had a face that looked at him with anything but pure love. Wouldn't this world be a better place if we all looked at each other like that?
Kelli took the stage, with Zach standing behind her, always supporting her, always being her quiet strength, along with Hoss, Kannon's service dog (who is literally a person, I've never met a smarter dog in my entire life), and she walked us through the incredible journey that was Kannon.
I can promise you, there wasn't one dry eye in that church. Nor were there very many empty seats. Hundreds and hundreds of people, that love and adore and admire and grieve with the Fosters, were there to stand witness to a life well lived, a life that touched all of ours profoundly.
Kannon hooked you and brought you in. His eyelashes were miles long. MILES. His blue eyes looked straight to your heart. I like to think that he conversed with me, me forever talking to him in my high squeaky baby talk grandma voice, that I talk to all my grandbabies with, and him growling and yelling back at me, I am certain, insulted by my treating him like a baby. I didn't care. He will always be my baby, and I just adored everything about him. It seems wrong talking about him in past tense.
My girls and I helped Kelli and Zach at Kannon's golf tournaments, every year they had them, because to use Kelli's words, "No one sells Mulligans like the Deaton girls" and we did. I would act insulted and taken aback if I didn't sell at least $20 to everyone there and make them buy at least $25 worth of raffle tickets each, also for the endless, amazing silent auction prizes donated for this precious little boy. I am not ashamed to admit, I was an all out hustler when it came to my Kannonball. This year's responsibilities kept me from helping, and that will be my regret to carry for a long time.
Personal PTSD reared it's ugly, ugly head when I heard the news, and I wallowed in self pity and shared sadness with them, for a good, solid hour before I was able to pull myself together enough to even text and reach out to Kelli. Lacey said the best thing, "Focus on helping instead of hurting" and the wise words got me through.
It was hard, gazing at that tiny white casket holding the body of my little friend. I flashed back eight years earlier, thinking of another small baby, laying in the same casket and tears flooded my face. How precious the reunion in heaven, with his grandma Jan, waiting with open arms, and joining Laynie to run and play....free from earthly confines. On the hardest of days, that's all you can hold on to, when the pain is so real. Seeing them run and run. That's what gets you through.
That, and all the memories. They shared hundreds of photos and what a LIFE Kannon had. So many special times, every day etched in a memory bank. Fishing, airplane rides, Disney, Thunder, his love of spiderman, his love for his mom and dad, his grandma and grandpas, his sister and brother. So evident... so tangible.... so perfect.
He came to our adoption party in 2014 when we swam at Westwood in Norman, and Lacey didn't venture two feet away the entire time, we were so glad he (and his mama) were there with us.
Friends, life is tough. We are dealt hard things and it's in the broken times, when we lean not on our own understanding and let God steer our paths, that everything becomes clear. Many people raised their hands today at Kannon's celebration and accepted Jesus into their hearts and that is worth the pain. Kannon changed everyone that he came in contact with. His mom and dad, in their bravery and their willingness to share him and his story, impacted thousands of people.
We love our friends. We love God, and while we are grieving the loss of our sweet Kannon, the hope of heaven and seeing him again is real. I thank God for this reality. I thank God for Kannon and his family, their love of him and their faith and willingness to be God's hand and feet showed through Kannon's whole life.
We most likely won't see another Kannon in any of our lives. He was #4 in 2 billion. We witnessed something profound and changing.
They played Micah Tyler's song, "Different" today and the words were perfect.
Be different. Let Kannon's Life and Laynie's life, stir something inside of you, and be different. Different is where the good stuff begins.
I know this full well.
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