Sunday, February 1, 2015

Life and Death, Suffering and Joy

Aaron is home, for which we are very grateful.  He even seems to be doing well, although I'm pulling some nasty colored stuff out of him.  I'm holding out for that just being left-over junk because his lungs have been so constricted with the asthma.  It so need to NOT BE another illness.

I experienced some challenging moments in relation to emotions at the hospital.  Two very different scenarios, in close time proximity.

The first one occurred when I was out in the hall talking with Aaron's doctor.  I kept hearing a pulse/ox alarm, the same alarm that we respond to here at home.  But Aaron was on hospital monitors, not ours, and it wasn't his alarm.  It was a few doors down.  Down there, a little girl was being prepped to go back to her long-term care facility.  But it's only going to be a very short stay.  Her parents are quickly, oh so quickly, learning to take care of her because the goal is to get her home before she goes Home.  Because the hospital is so full right now, the other facility can teach her parents faster.  And time is not on their side.

Yeah, she's not going to live much longer.  Her tattered little body is tired, and done.  They're racing against a short time clock.  I looked in her eyes as they wheeled her down the hallway, and it may just be my imagination.  But her eyes looked tired, resigned, and oh so world weary.  My heart aches for her, for her family, for all they endure.  And she has endured much.  I don't know how old she is, but my guess is between two and four.  And her time is now measured in days.

Just an hour or so later, I headed to the Ronald McDonald Room to see if I could find something for dinner.  Coming towards me was a crowd.  In the lead was a little girl in a wheelchair, and surrounding her were people carrying balloons, some boxes, what looked like games.  As they got closer, I realized I recognized Mom.

The last time I saw her, she was sitting bedside in the PICU, and her daughter was lying motionless, tied to more machines than Aaron has ever been, laid low with Influenza A.  I have wondered so many, many times over the past month how she was doing, if she even survived.

And here she was, on her 5th Birthday, and tied to NOTHING.  She's been moved to the Neuro Trauma Unit.  She still has a long ways to go, but it was so wonderful to see them!

I've pondered this over the past few days, also in conjunction with my own challenges.  And the only way I can see through this world is to look to my Savior.  I know He lives, He loves us.  He wants us to come to Him.  He holds our hand, even when we are in too much pain to realize it, but when we do notice, we know He is always there.

Life and Death.  Suffering and Joy.  Pain and Relief.  And He is by our side.  Always.

For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, 
Fear not; I will help thee.


  1. He's the only thing that gets me through. Thanks for reminding me of this on a day when I feel world weary.

  2. Hang in there Mommy. We are told, All this will work together for your good and the purposes of the Lord- in the mean time, sending lots of hugs.