It was business as usual in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Children's Hospital here in Seattle.
On some level, they come, they go and you never see them again. The nurses, the neonatologists, the respiratory therapists, social workers and surgeons maintain a professional distance. But empathy and compassion and skill draw them to the most fragile of beings. You can't walk in and walk out without knowing.
A nurse told me once that they had a little one who passed after a year in their care. The German Sheppard that is brought in to cheer up the older kids made a visit to the lobby of the NICU that morning - for all who knew that little boy needed some levity, their sorrow so great. They'll need him to come by again, I suspect.
The eyes of our world were watching. His story was on the radio, subjects of journals - data supreme. The exception. The marvelous miraculous example to us all. One tough little guy who wanted it. A gamer who put on his hard hat on, brought his lunch box and stayed all day - for over 10 months.
He was in my daughters room. And was part of the healing process like so many before him.
It's hard, sitting on this side of the fence and looking in on the proceedings. All I know is happy endings - I did imagine and continue to imagine what Loss of this magnitude feels like. Condolences, hugs and memorials aside, the beauty and curse of the death of your child ensures you have that angel on your shoulder forever.
When I'M ninety, I'll be dreaming of the little man that was and what might or might not have been with my daughter. His parents ...
As it is, it was a sunny day. The most beautiful day of the year thus far. 10:06 AM, he chose to ride on.
Thanks for the memories, stories and photos little B.
