MonoMonoMommy

It was the lowest point. The worst had become a reality.

I sat in a wheelchair while Michael stared out the window of the children's NICU waiting room as I stared at the white wall.

We had just minuets before said good bye to Owen. He laid there so peaceful, his hands were so small. He was so perfect. Yet, I guess most angles are. His body was so frail I knew it was the right choice to let him go but, still the haunting thought of "What if we waited a little longer, could he make it?" Ran through my mind and heart.

The room was large and cold, divided with curtains for grieving parents and tired parents who wanted to pull out a couch and sleep.

My c-section incision ached with every heave of cry I let out, Michael held me in his arms and we sobbed together.

Moments passed and a lady walked in.. She looked sad and tired. She saw we were grieving and passed us quietly. I watched as she drew her curtain, plugged in her cell phone and laid out a blanket. I could tell she had done this before. She struggled to pull out the fold out couch. Michael asked if he could help her, she Smiled and said

"No, this one sticks a little.. But, I always get it eventually." She continued .. " I've done it many, many times.. My Son is three now and he's spent most of his life here at this hospital, it's our home now. He has a failing heart, failing kidneys and brain damage, the surgeries are never ending. He suffers greatly." She paused and said, "Some days I wish the good Lord would take him home and put him at peace."

I looked at Michael, we instantly knew God sent us that lady at our lowest moment to reassure us and in some way comfort us that we had made the right decision. We gave her our apologies and said we would be praying for her and left the room.

I still think of that lady often and whisper a prayer for her when she crosses my mind. And I thank God daily for comfort, because in my comfort came healing.