Friday, November 30, 2012

A poem

By Jeromy Guthrie

My Son's Birth

Late evening, peaceful quiet.
Blood, fear, 911
Calming voice, direction
Flashing red lights, strangers in my house
Christmas star, a familiar face
Drugs not working, prep for surgery
It’s too early.

Post surgery, recovery
Bad news, struggling to breathe
A plan, a chance for survival
Insurance approval, strangers with power
Her first embrace with our son
Let go, he is taken away
It’s too short.

Early morning, fearfully quiet
Hopes, prayers, love
Tough decision, leaving her alone
Cool fresh air, warm sunshine
Another NICU, trust in strangers
Hope in Him, faith, and prayer
He’s too small.

Late afternoon, mysteriously quiet
Ventilators, IV’s, expressions of pain
Tender nurses, praying nurses
Waiting, restless, sleepless
Friends, family, feeling supported,
Others’ outcomes not so hopeful, guilt but …
He’s coming home.

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