Earlier this morning, I’d given her a call to inquire about setting up an appointment. I’d been away on vacation and needed to meet up with her either at CHOP (Children’s Hospital) or at her hair braiding store located somewhere downtown. Usually, I don’t return from vacation with my mind still fixed on a particular case. But, this child was different. He was a fighter. All through his 4 months, He’d undergone 4 surgeries and 2 heart transplants. Always swaddled in the NICU robes, transparent medication tubes and wires spirally turned into a make shift web always entangled his fragile body. I became his interventionist and connected with his mother right away. Even my lazy old fashioned French phonemes became another fondling element between us.
So, this morning, she didn’t pick up her phone. In a way I missed that. I missed her signature tone, her deep francophone reassuring voice. “ Oh, He’ll be back home next week. “ Oh, you know he’s going into surgery tomorrow? But he will be back home next week, and then you can come over and see him! – That was our last conversation. My last conversation with her, about him!
Today, I lost a client. A – 4-months- old baby. One I had connected with and had high hopes of seeing him develop age appropriately well into life. The news came in at the end of work day. And to think that I had casually called in to check on him through the mother this morning has left me speechless.
So, what makes you go hmmm? Is it only when you are wondering about something or perplexed about everything? Is it when you suddenly find love and afraid of getting hurt? Is it out of amazement or annoyance about something you cannot control? Is it when you lose someone you love dearly to death and you just cannot fathom it? Or is it when life itself puts you on an edge, turns your confirmation into confusion?
All I could say was hmmm with goose-bumps! ‘clogs of swelled-up tears now pouring freely and carrying along the once suited Revlon mascara I had on. It’s like I have never known or witnessed any infant death this way, but my heart bleeds for that tiny child I’d held once and had hopes of recovery for. My heart beats more for his grieving mother. But what do I know about things of life that’s baffling or inexplicable…
I only turn it over to the creator. Because He knows best.