My sweet boy, my winky baby, was 4 weeks old a year ago today.
He had developed an infection from the shunt that had been placed the week before, and had been so sick for days. They talked about performing a Spinal Tap to check for meningitis, but had decided it was worth putting him through it. Instead they just treated him with antibiotics as if it was meningitis, and we prayed it wasn't.
The day before his 4 week birthday, I remember asking his nurse to pull the curtains around us for some privacy. She and the respiratory therapist got got him out of his bed for me to hold. After getting us situated, they left us alone for a bit. He quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the move. Even though he was resting soundly, he still looked pained. He was pale and dark circles were forming under his eyes. I became terrified.
All I could do was hold him closer as I rocked and cried. We knew, by then, that our time was limited. We knew we'd never take our Max home. We knew every moment with him was a miraculous blessing. We knew because his neurologist repeatedly explained to us that she didn't even know how he was still alive. I knew and understood all of that. But I just wasn't ready to say goodbye, yet.
I mean, how can you ever really ready yourself for your baby to die? You're never ready, of course. But I really needed more time. So, I rocked him gently and wiped my falling tears off his forehead and cheeks, and I begged the Lord with all my heart all the faith in my soul not to take my baby, just yet. I pleaded with him for just a little more time. And I begged my sweet Max to be strong and stay just a little longer, just for me. Though he had been sleeping in my arms just moments before, when I opened my eyes again both his eyes were looking up right at me and he squeezed my finger, and snuggled in closer.
I didn't know how much longer I was getting, but I knew that was my answer. He wouldn't leave me, just yet.
The next day, on his 1 month birthday, his level of infection had dropped and he looked so much healthier again. My brave little boy fought off that infection for one more week. The Lord gave me one more precious week with my sweet baby. I'll be forever grateful for that tender mercy and for all the tender mercies that came in the next 8 days.
Miracles happen. Prayers are answered. The Lord loves me.
If you don’t already know that, take it from me. My son is all the proof I'll ever need for those truths.