David came home and even though I’d just woken up, I instantly could sense something was wrong. He was nonresponsive and agitated. On the third time I asked him what was wrong he told me he’d stayed up all night trying to save a baby that ultimately didn’t make it and that he had to go to sleep. He buried his head in the pillows and shut down.
I can’t help but associate a recent, strikingly parallel event in my family, the details of which I will not go into here.
I went to the corner market and bought some white roses. I pulled out a card I’d bought in preparation for a day like today.
When he woke up we just stood there and hugged, no words exchanged, just a silent knowing.
He read the card:
So sorry that your little baby didn’t make it. You did everything you could and that means a lot to both the family and to me.
Not every baby can or will survive, a terribly sad truth, but try not to let it get you too down. Try to focus on the many, many little itty bitties who’s lives you have or one day will have saved and all the good that you do.
I’m so very proud of you and all your hard work.
Take comfort in knowing that all this stress and these long hours are only temporary. One day, in the not too terribly distant future, you’ll be on a more sane schedule and we’ll get to spend more time together. Until then, I’ll be right here by your side in body and spirit, doing whatever I can to help you get through the tough times. I always have an open ear, an open mind and an open heart for you.
I love you dearly.
As he read, I saw the edges of his eyes and mouth holding it back.
I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it much, at least not yet. He just wants to get through the week of being on call at the hospital.
I held him for the few minutes I had before I had to head to work. Tears slowly rolled down my face. I never hold it back.
This was not the first, it will not be the last, but it never gets easier.
