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.