parents

Early evening dusk was settling over the hospital when I got called to ICU.  I walked into a dim room to see a very thin, thirty-two year-old man breathing erratically.  Doctors had just told his parents that his brain function was gone. Life support had been removed.  Mom and dad were now saying goodbye.   They stood on either side of his bed, leaning over to speak softly into his ears and pat his face.  They held his hands while tears dripped down their faces.  


I had a flash back.  To New Years Eve 1999.  Our first baby boy was almost three months old. By midnight he was all tucked in his crib and had been sleeping for hours.  Too tired to go out, we had invited some friends over and were watching the ball descend in Times Square. 10-9-8- All of a sudden we knew where we wanted to be.  We rushed upstairs and leaned over that little man.  3-2-1.  Happy New Years!!!  We touched his tiny fists and stroked his fuzzy head.  We watched his chest move up and down and marveled at his perfectness.


I remembered all that in the seconds I was standing in the doorway of ICU room 6.  I wondered how many moments of awe these parents had had before choices, cars, buddies and drugs changed the trajectory and length of his life.  I wondered if they'd had any idea how much parenting might hurt.  Or if their hearts would break right out of their chests.   I wondered if I would ever have to stand over my boys in a hospital bed again.  Then I had to stop wondering and start chaplaining.


How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings... Luke 13:34