No Need to Imagine

I was probably one of the only women that didn't gasp when President Henry B. Eyring shared the story about his granddaughter.  When he told the congregation that his daughter delivered a baby 15 weeks early*, there was a collective gasp in the chapel.  I was not one of them. I'm pretty sure I never even breathed as the dead calm settled over me.

I imagined his daughter, or so I tried, in a small two bedroom apartment, standing in the doorway greeting a dear friend who happened to drop by to check on her.  As I looked around the apartment in my mind, however, I saw my apartment.  At the door, I saw my friend Natalie ready to take my son while I packed in a rush to get to the hospital.

When President Eyring talked about how much the cute baby weighed, I imagined a frail body lying on a warming bed while being hooked up to high frequency ventilator.  The cold floors, sterile smells, and all-too-familiar sounds make the imagination come to life.  The room is full of other small lives hanging in the balance, but I can only see one.  In the midst of many machines, I can make out the tiny form.  His name tag stands out against the mechanical background.

I see the mother holding the baby in the only way she can -- a firm touch on his back or in the palm of his hand.

She sings and whispers to him that she loves him very much.

The first time she gets to really "hold" him is when she lifts his tiny body as the nurse changes his bedding and weighs him.

 I hear the doctors telling the parents about the long road ahead and all of the "possibilities" that they have to brace themselves for.  The nurses and doctors are sure to give the best scenarios following all of the "other" ones.  Mom and Dad feel like deer staring into headlights unsure of where the safe places are. 

The weight of President Eyring's daughter's path keeps my breathing shallow as to not release the emotion behind the memories.  You see, I don't have to imagine his daughter's path, I lived it -- or one very similar to it.  I can not imagine hers because I remember mine. I know what two pounds looks like as a baby.  I see gentle Bishop Fuller sitting next to my bed advising and comforting me and Matt on the decisions we had to make. 

 

It is very hard to try to not think of the "what ifs" for the new baby -- for there are many.  Instead I will pray for a sweet outcome after the mountains that they will (or have) surely climb(ed).  I will pray that in eight years they will only have memories of the "possibilities" and not have needed to live them.  That they will be able to see a sweet, smiling face (like I get to) and it kiss everyday (whether he wants me to or not).

For I know that they will never forget the miracles and blessings that follow.  It's not possible.


*For those unsure, 15 weeks early equates to a child being born at 25 weeks gestation.  Jackson was born at 25 weeks and 5 days.