Faces

The beginning of our life here at the hospital was flooded with people. Blurs of conversations and faces. Finding peace and quiet in any sort of seclusion was sparse. I was blessed to have Neil by my side as we stared at our boy behind the plastic walls of his bed. Not only did I have my husband  holding my hand, but we also had our parents waiting in the wings, dear friends hugging us and holding us as we cried, family members that traveled for hours and hours just to squeeze us and get a glimpse at our boy, and countless visits from our dear pastors and prayer warriors at Hope. We were inundated with guests and things to keep our minds busy.

Time at the hospital is looking very different now. In the beginning I didn't have to eat a single meal alone, I had company to go grab coffee downstairs, I didn't even leave Coop's room without a chaperone of some sort. But now I'm often here alone. My days are spent in seclusion and it's not all bad. I have time to write, time to read and learn about what has happened, may happen, and will happen to my sweet son in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. I have time to reflect on what my heart and my family has faced these past 2 weeks. Upon that reflection I'm still in shock and a bit of denial but it's sinking in little by little. In moments it feels as if the full force of what has happened hits me then the floods of tears open up, and at those times I'm incredibly thankful for my seclusion. When I walk down the halls, step into the elevator, or sit down in the cafeteria alone I can't help but notice all the faces around me. Just a few feet away yet so far apart. All of us together yet alone in our own worlds amidst our own struggles. I see the exhausted blank stare of one woman and wonder what her worry is over. I then see happy chatting amongst a couple at the next table and wonder what they may be facing today...joy, sorrow, confusion? Just last night as I staggered out of the building to my car at 11pm I saw two vibrant faces walking toward the sliding doors of Mercy. A glowing mother-to-be sitting in her wheel chair with her swollen belly in her hands and an overly excited daddy to be pushing her a bit too fast. All I could think is, "What a night they are in for!" I smiled and said a prayer for them. What joy is to come for their hearts! I pray they had an easy labor and delivery and that their sweet baby is in the nursery 2 floors below me at the moment happy, healthy, and chubby as can be!

Hospitals are full of faces, each with their own story. I feel as if my face speaks for itself as I walk alone through the halls. Make-up free and lined with sleeplessness, my blank stare screams of the preoccupied thoughts of my family. It's hard to get into a different state of mind and put on a new face...that's the best part of the seclusion of our hospital home...I don't have to. I'm free to wear my new face. The face of a mother full of concern for her sick child. The face of a mother searching for answers and clinging to hope. The face of a mother exhausted from balancing her new life. I'm thankful for the opportunity to balance this and to have my son here but this face is a new one for me that I'm still learning how to wear.