The first 24 hours

I just wrote pages of a story that I can’t post because my mind raced in a sentence that never ended but ran the length of hospital corridors and a mother's love.

The story of Elias’s birth.

As my words circled the fear, my body told the story better, by starting to shake.

I stopped writing. And walked outside to study the flowers.

To ground myself in living details.

Instead of my rambling mind, I'll  leave you with a short scene, pictures, and words of gratitude:

I wake up from anesthesia in a surgery recovery room with a doctor by my side:

“Where’s my baby?”

“He’s in the New Born Intensive Care Unit.”

I look for my husband. “Where’s Nick?”

“He’s, with the baby.”

“Is he Ok?”

The woman in blue with dark brown eyes looks into mine and says: “He’s alive—but I can’t tell you if he’s going to survive.”

"Can I see him?"

 

To Dr. Parish: Thank you for telling me the truth--as you saw and felt it-- the night my son arrived. 

Thank you for not hiding it in medical terms. Thank you for not dressing it in false hope.

Thank you for delivering only the core that everything else is based on:

Alive
But I can’t tell you
If he's going to survive

No one can

Oh, but we can love each other in the process.

Comments

[Ellie]

I know the words only too well and the implications of those words...

It does teach us that we have the moment and to live in it -with love. You are right.

[Catherine]

You need to put kleenex warnings on these posts...I'm sitting here crying at my desk at work.

[Shrinkingmom]

I'm all teary, too.

[kim]

me three....

[moreena]

So true, so lovely.

[amy]

You always make me cry. In the very best way.

[Karianna]

Tears-a-coming... And what a gorgeous photograph!

[stayathomemotherdom]

What a moving post..thank you for sharing..

[Rowan]

Thank you for sharing this.