I Saw You

I saw you as we were walking back from the courtyard play area to our small hospital room. You were sitting on the floor with your phone up to your ear. Your cheeks were wet with tears and your eyes red and swollen. Your glasses were sitting on the floor beside you. Your hair was messy. You were exhausted and probably hungry. When I looked at you, I saw myself: A mom whose baby is fighting for its life, as mine fights for his every day.

I know those feelings well. Heartbreak. Fear. Helplessness. Loneliness. Tiredness. Extreme exhaustion. Hungry. Thirsty. Wanting sleep but not being able too. Constantly on the verge of falling apart. The tears always being right there, reserved until the quiet or hearing news that isn't what we hoped for. Feeling like you never do enough.

You didn't see me earlier, but at 7:25 the previous morning, my baby was being wheeled into surgery to have his port placed and his hernia repaired. You didn't see me fall apart as soon as those doors were closed. You didn't see me cover my face with my hands and turn towards the wall in an attempt to hide my tears, because I just couldn't take it anymore. Where the surreal meets real. Where the preserved feelings turn to raw stomach wrenching emotions and freshly poured tears.

You didn't see me earlier talking to a nurse, through my tears, about hating my sons disease, sputtering that life isn't fair. Wishing to myself that I could keep it all together. Wishing I wasn't so helpless and that I didn't even have to be here. Wishing this life was only something I saw scrolling through Facebook, because then it would be okay, it wasn't my life. Then kicking myself for being so selfish.

You didn't see me cry as the nurse handed my baby to me in recovery and began rocking him as the nurse told me about the heart complications he experienced while waking up from anesthesia. You didn't see me pet his head and thank God they had medicine to help bring his heart rate down from 269 beats per minute. You didn't see me cry while laying on the bed with my baby as they transferred him to his hospital room, thankful that he wouldn't let me go.

I don't know what is going on with your baby, but I know your love for them. I saw it while you were there, crying on the white tile floor explaining the news or how you were doing to the person on the other end. Since I saw you, I've thought of you often, along with all the other Mom's who right now are sitting on the hospital floor, leaning against the wall, or holding their sweet baby at this moment while tears stream down their faces because things are out of their control.

I wish I could have waited for you to get off the phone. To tell you that you are a good mom. That you are doing enough. That what your baby is going through isn't your fault. That it is awful and horrible and unfair. To ask if you needed anything. To remind you to eat something. And especially to remind you that every hug, every hand hold, kiss, snuggle, and "I love you" you give your child is helping. That you aren't forgotten. And most importantly that you are not alone.

Just like I saw you, God sees you. He is there to hold your hand whenever you need it. He loves you and your sweet baby. Just like he loves me and mine.

Love,
Wesley's Mom