The Ties That Bind

I hugged two mamas at work today. In the winter of 2012, all three of us gave birth to beautiful babies and our lives were forever changed. I'll call them Mark, Ali and Owen. (I have to protect heir names for privacy). Today one of those mamas was preparing to say goodbye to her youngest baby for the last time. The other one was leaving the ICU with a smile on her face, visibly relieved that the cardiac surgery keeping her up with worry was finally behind her. The embraces we shared were very different, one was full of triumph and one full of tears representing the deepest sorrow I can fathom. I have been taking care of Mark for months and it's been a difficult, emotional process. I've come to love him for many reasons and have always felt a special connection to him because he is the same age as Owen. I get him. I know how almost four year olds are. When he nods his little intubated head with fury, I know exactly how it would sound with working vocal cords. And when he's sad the empathy in my mama heart feels it. There is an intimacy that comes with knowing the exact stage of development he's at. It also makes it really hard because I see Owen in his swollen little face and know there is very little that separates them. I admitted Ali from the OR earlier in the week and cared for her the following day. I noted that her birthday was the day before Owen's and felt the same tinge of connection to her. Her mom was one of the kindest, most gracious people I've met in a long time.

I was proud of myself because I told each of these beautiful women that they are good moms. I thanked Ali's mom for sharing her coffee with me and told her that her daughter brought me joy. I told Mark's mom that during this incredibly hard journey, she has done everything she could for her son, that she has been amazingly strong. I think that's what I would want to hear if one of my babies were sick- that I'm a good mom. That I am succeeding at the one job that nobody else can do. Us moms have to stick together. We are all on the same team and I truly believe that there are no such thing as other people's children. I share their worry, their happiness and their sorrow. I ache with them. As a nurse I have the opportunity to help heal and I have the opportunity to help let go. This week I shared in both of these equally important jobs.

As I reflect on these different experiences that made for such a memorable week I can't help but feel a whisper of divine intervention. I needed little Ali's joy so that I would have the strength to continue fighting along with little Mark. When I got home I crawled into bed with my Owen and said a prayer. I thanked God for the opportunity to share in the journeys of these mamas. I thanked Him for all the things that bring us together and the deep emotional connection that forms between moms. I'm Christian, one is Muslim and one is Mormon. Despite religious, cultural or any other divide, we belong together. I thanked Him for my beautiful children and I prayed that this grief would teach each of us a lesson. I prayed that in the midst of darkness I could learn to follow Jesus' example of light. That I would know what to say and when to be silent. That somehow the breaks in my heart would be a comfort, that my shared joy would be remembered and treasured.

This is why I do what I do. This is why I spend 14 hour days away from my boys. It's hard. It's beautiful. It is what it is.