Exhausting Morning, Sacred Memory

As I am driving into work and stuck in the massive traffic jam on Hwy 288, I am remembering yesterday’s events at work.

I remember spending 3 hours and change in the morning with parents whose baby died but who had been hospitalized for a while. I remember the suddenness of the illness for them, but the anticipation of his loss so ever present in the last couple weeks.

I remember their screams to Allah and their tears of love streaming down their cheeks and onto the face of their child.

I remember seeing staff cry as they stood holding equipment for this dying child, as they washed the baby, and as they removed that equipment.

I remember the parents taking phone call after phone all, testing their grief and patience and focus on their baby.

I remember the tears, lots and lots of tears.

I remember the parents sharing stories about the baby, the mother gently touching her child and praying over him, the father’s gentility and beautiful caress of his wife and baby.

I remember the love present in this family, and how not many other people will ever see that in a family. I was there and observed the raw emotions of both marriage and parenthood, and while it was not glorious it was so profoundly sacred.

I remember the exhaustion of being there with that family, and I feel it this morning.  But I come to work humbled by what I saw yesterday.

To remember might be one of the most sacred gifts we have.


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