Miracle

Today I hit my emotional rock-bottom. Several times. Whats funny is that each time it only lasted a few moments. I didn't think I could walk another step, face another person, pretend for another instant that I was ok.
I have spent a lot of time with Aimee and his mom the last few days. Today was the hardest I think. This morning we watched a mother break in half with the decision to not pursue any more chemo.
Yes, he will likely die. We will pray, we're so sorry.
Those words look so empty when they lay flat in black and white. I can promise they are anything but that.

I left this morning, barley holding it together. My mind was largely absent from the two visits I fumbled through. My last task of the morning was to pick up Maurice (remember him?) and bring him to the ship for admission. We are going to do another biopsy because the second came back negative for cancer, something that doesn't make sense.
As I pulled into our port, I sighed as I watched a large mac truck backing down the entire length of the dock.
Seriously?
I put the car in reverse and waited as the painful evidence of poor planning backed its way past me.
As we came around the bend I hear a little voice behind me say;
le bateau de bateau qui mon bateau
The boat, the boat. That's my boat
Getting snapped back into reality, back to a proper perspective, should come with some kind of sound effect. Like a swooshing noise or something. Honestly.
I walked holding Maurice's wrist down the dock to our entrance (afterall, he was carrying something in one hand and his snot rag in the other). He is so psyched to be here. He gets to see his "friends". The love in my heart for that little boy is indescribable.

I saw Aimee again after I settled Maurice. My heart again, fell hard. I walked to A ward in search of a baby to hold. I needed some therapy. Ali knew where I was, and her eyes desperately searched the room. Gloria came out of the bathroom with her dad. A three (?) year old special needs girl with the sweetest face. Her eyes are wide set, her mouth always found to be hanging slightly open, which breaks into a smile that would make your heart explode. All you have to say is her name and she looks quickly to dad to make sure he is smiling, in which she finds license to melt ones heart with her own wide smile. I crouched at her bedside and met her face with mine. We sat forehead to forehead, her soft skin warm against mine.
Thank you God. Thank you for this beautiful little girl.

Tonight, again, I felt my heart ripping open for Aimee and his mama as I sat with them.
"We can come see you everyday if you decide to take him home"
She is too afraid, she doesn't want to admit that she would be bringing him home to die. Who can blame her.
"Please, pray for Aimee and I. Please pray" she pleaded.

My heart. Its too much, God

I took one last walk down to D ward for a quick goodnight visit with Maurice. Upon opening the door I watched as my favorite 5 year old ran towards me, arms open wide. After our hugs I tried to get a kiss on the cheek from him. As most boys, he was reluctant at first. That's when I felt a little finger poking my arm.
Another little girl, about 5, was puckering her lips, ready to give me the kiss on the cheek I was trying to solicit from an unwilling Maurice.
Maurice was quick to follow suit after he realized my left cheek was neglected, and my heart soared.
"Whats your name?" I asked the little girl (In English, so as I asked I also looked for her name bracelet)
I wasn't surprised at all with what I saw.
All day I have been filled and poured out emotionally. Each second of emotional agony has been followed by sincere joy over something. God has been so present, so tangible, I can hardly start counting all of the instances He has provided comfort between yesterday and today.
Tonight, as myself and another nurse ran up and down the halls with two 5 years olds who find pure bliss in this simple act, I felt my heart being restored, my soul again being filled up.
That small tap on my arm and goodnight kiss, after a couple of the toughest days I have had, came from a little girl named Miracle.
He is good.
All the time.