Friday, October 9, 2009

Therapy Baby

Bob's cousin is sick. He is very very sick. In the hospital, dying, kind of sick. Like pretty much dead, very very sad, on life support now prolonging the inevitible, kind of sick. He is in multiple organ failure. He is unconscious. He is not expected to make it through the night.

Alan Jr., is the only son of Bob's dear Aunt Barb and Uncle Alan. He is the only parent left for dear, sweet Andrew, who is only 19. Poor Andrew, now officially an adult, being forced to make medical decisions for his dying father, having only lost his mother suddenly 6 years ago. The air is heavy. The hurt is palpable. It is so hard. So sad. So, so, very sad.
The baby and I spent the day at the hospital today. From morning to night, 12 hours in all, my little baby provided some wonderfully comforting therapy in the bleakness of the days' events. She smiled and cooed, grinning from ear to ear as sad people took time out to speak to her. She held on to worried fingers of those who were grieving. She snuggled with those who were in desperate need of a comforting hug. She provided happiness in some very unhappy hours, during mutliple bouts of very grim news. And most importantly, she kept the positive focus on a great and glorious God, who provides the beautiful miracles of new life, even alongside the dark grips of death. She was the vessel of God's overwhelming love today, and she spread that love to everyone who needed it.

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