Seventeen years ago last night, as i laid down to sleep in the waiting room of Arkansas Children's Hospital, i so distinctly remember telling Randall that i hoped when i awoke in the morning everything we'd just been told would have been a nightmare, not reality. Sadly it was reality.
No matter how many years pass by, we mamas (and daddies) remember all the minute-by-minute details of our children's death. I have trouble remembering names and taking my blood pressure pill and whether i shampooed my hair yesterday, but i remember tiny little snipets of those last 20 hours as if i'm watching a slow-motion film. Like after the doctor told us Wednesday evening that if Molly didn't show any signs of improvement from the ekg they'd do the next morning they'd have to take her off the ECMO unit, and how suddenly sugar sweet the nurses were to us, offering to allow me to "sponge bathe" Molly (very tricky with all the tubes and wires she was hooked up to). And how i'd already read through the entire Beginner's Bible aloud to her during that week, but i read it aloud to her from beginning to end again between Wednesday evening and Thursday afternoon. And waking up at 5:30 Thursday morning (to a cold reality rather than a nightmare) to go in and sit with her and read and sing to her some more. And the chaplain who spent time ministering to us and showing us a selection of little bitty smocked gowns to choose from that ladies routinely make for these kind of occasions. And how every spare moment i had that morning i spent in the chapel begging God to save her life.
And i remember the various friends and family, and friends of friends who dropped in at the hospital to minister to us, and i SO DISTINCTLY remember how comforting that was to me. Some were people i hadn't seen since graduating from Harding, but they dropped everything and came to Little Rock when they heard what was happening. I remember being allowed to hold Molly for the last time before they would remove her from life support, and being told that i could take as much time as i wanted. But i've never been one to prolong the inevitable, so after about 5 minutes i handed her back to them and told them to get it over with. She wasn't conscious anyway, and the fact was i could have sat there for the rest of my life just holding her, but what was the point? And then we all sat outside the room and waited for about 30 minutes, till one of the doctors came out and said she'd already "expired". (I can't tell you how much i loathe that word when used for people - coupons "expire", not babies.) And how i simply couldn't believe that God missed the opportunity for a miracle.
I also remember how my precious husband kept telling me throughout that week, and throughout that day, that "We're gonna praise God, no matter what." I'd never heard or thought of that before, so it was a new concept to me. And a strange one.
So now here we are, 17 years later, same day of the week, even. Still remembering and sobbing. And still learning/trying to praise God no matter what happens. Looking around me and seeing that same precious husband, a thousand times more dear to me than 17 years ago, and 2 precious children, and even a dog. (But the dog is only precious because of my children :0) Anytime someone i'm meeting asks me how many children we have, there's always this moment of hesitation and indecision of how to answer. We have 2 children here to be seen by all, but the fact is we have 3 children - one of them is waiting for us in heaven.
No comments:
Post a Comment