I requested a nurse to clip some of this patient's hair for the family. I crossed myself after my silent prayer. I fought my tears. Hell, we all fought our tears. I consoled my partner, who, like me, has three young kids of his own. Slowly, a wave of profound sadness and nothingness swept across us. What good are any of us if we can't save a child's life? My partner went out to the family room to deliver the awful news.It's hard to excerpt from his post, because there is a lot more, but all of it is worth your time.
Then, time stood still. From two hallways away, I heard the haunting sound. A sound that I knew was coming. A sound that is played over and over in my mind for days after an event like this. A sound of profound anguish. A sound of utter disbelief. A sound of infinite pain.
A mother's cry.
Jan Beymer lost a baby, stillborn. Unable to get over this tragedy, she carried it silently until someone convinced her to put her cry online:
Every year I would wonder, what would Ashle like to do? The cookies I'm making, would she like them? How many different songs would she sing to me? What would she say to me if she knew of my heart? If she knew of the choices I have made?There's a lot more there, too - raw pain, if you're up to it. I was moved more than I can say.
It goes without saying that the death of a child hits us all harder than the death of an adult. It goes without saying that it hits the parents hardest of all. Lisa Rousseau finds a beautiful, inspiring credo from a mother who lost a child:
Just for today I will try to live through the next 24 hoursThere's a lot more there, too. Pain distilled into wisdom, although I hope that that particular cup never has to come to my lips.
and not expect to get over my child's death,
but instead learn to live with it, just one day at a time.
Just for today I will remember my child's life, not just her death,
and bask in the comfort of all those treasured days
and moments we shared.