Friday, February 24, 2012

Journal Ramblings 6:17am October 6th 2010

I arrived at the hospital and walked through very familiar halls toward our usual room, only to be shocked by it's desolate nature. The receptionist explained that Isabella was relocated to the back of a different wing in the NICU unit. With an escalating sense of foreboding, I walked down the hall toward the isolation unit. I constantly reminded myself to be respectful and resist the temptation to rubberneck.  I recalled the unwritten NICU policy that no one is allowed to look at the other babies, but the ambiguity of the rule made it difficult to obey. I failed.
 My eyes slyly shifted as  I passed so many beds on my way to Bella's.  I caught a glimpse of a mother preparing to hold her baby skin to skin, they were so precious.  I peaked at a father bathing his tiny daughter for the first time, he had tears in his eyes and his wife was filming.  I noticed a couple arguing at their babies bedside, she asked him to hold her drink while she sanitized her hands, he shouted "No" and accused her of "always making everything so damn difficult". I wanted to step in and hold her drink but I wasn't allowed  to acknowledge them.  I heard a woman phone her mother, sobbing, just shy of a scream she said: "He's gone...my precious baby is gone...please come...he's dead". My heart broke and I had a flashback of sitting in the waiting room overwhelmed with trepidation.
After a few weeks in what we referred to as the "VIP lounge", I knew which parents came to their baby's bedside regularly. I analyzed their expressions and tones, secretly hoping to understand the babies condition. I shouldn't have pried and I'm not sure why I did. Perhaps it was curiosity, the typical cop-out. Perhaps somewhere inside, I wanted to feel a little less alone.  Maybe I wanted to keep myself in check, and remember that ultimately, the Lord will decide what is best and it may not always seem "ideal"at the time.  I felt love and compassion for those around me. 
There was a sweet woman in our unit.  I've seen her almost everyday and snuck peaks of her seemingly giant baby.  She must have been 8 pounds, and feisty too.  Her mother and I would exchange weak smiles every day, and I often referred to her daughter as Isabella's friend. I snuck a peak at Baby's name and prayed for Mom's comfort and Baby's health.  I didn't know Mom's name, I wouldn't recognize her voice. We were complete strangers to the mortal eye, but on this particular rainy day, we were confidants. When our paths crossed our behavior was reminiscent of a reunion between close friends.  I could see sorrow in her eyes and the weight of the world on her shoulders. We didn't  converse, but we connected.  She shook her head back and forth and began to cry. We stood in the hall and hugged each other tightly. I felt her emptiness. I felt her confusion and her sadness.  Did she know that at that moment, I needed her to feel what was in my heart because I didn't know what to say? Could she feel my heart ache for her family?  Did she know that the spirit was with her? Did she know that her daughter was a perfect missionary, not a broken baby? She and I departed and I couldn't stop thinking about this woman.  I may never see her again, but I know that she'll see her daughter again. No tears, no sense of loss or sorrow, just love. 
"There’ll Be No Sorrow There"
"Far from the scenes of night Unbounded glories rise,And realms of infinite delight Unknown to mortal eyes.Fair land! could mortal eyes But half its charms explore,How would our spirits long to rise, And dwell on earth no more!No cloud those regions know, Realms ever bright and fair,For sin, the source of every woe, Can never enter there.O may the prospect fire Our hearts with ardent love,Till wings of faith and strong desire Bear every thought above.Prepare us, Lord divine, For Thy bright courts on high;Then bid our spirits rise, and join The chorus of the sky."  - Mary  Shindler 
                                  






1 comment:

Katie said...

This is Beautiful Vicki. I'm so glad you posted it.