Coming in this morning traffic had to move to allow a children’s hospital neonatal pediatric ambulance with its lights line through our crowded interstate. I thought for a second how that baby’s parents might feel. I was lucky enough to not have children that were born with grave problems but Jackson was removed from the cut in my stomach, his head place by mine, I kissed his closed eye and he was rushed to the NICU. I didn’t hold him for 2 days. He didn’t come home for 46.
I know a lot of people go through this and worse. We all have our stories and they’re all very emotional. It’s a taxing event on one person.
I think about all of this and realize I’m crying. The people driving that ambulance. They people caring for the child in the back. It’s not their child but they care. They made this their profession. They are responsible for parting traffic and getting that child to a better team of doctors, better equipment, a possible better outcome.
And it’s moment like that when I question God’s existence. Maybe He does exist. How else can you explain that love and dedication? Who else would you turn to in the moment as the parent? The nurse? The doctor?
I found myself wanting to say a prayer and I remembered that I don’t really believe in that. But I wanted to say something and I wanted to feel like I was being heard. I wanted to believe I could take part in making that child survive. I wanted comfort and that family needs it.
Regardless, my thoughts are with them all.