Hello, Mom

 

 

Colorado, but it is a beautiful Valley; Psalms 23

Okay, I will admit this up front:  I read the Obituary page in the newspaper, almost every day.

Most people don’t readily confess to this, as it has a sense of morbidity about it.  But, I am willing to bet a whole white chocolate macadamia cookie that many readers do at least glance at that page.

Maybe it is my age.  I will only grow older, although my brain insists I am still thirty-seven.  The primary cause of death in my age range is random.  Women—cancer of some sort, usually breast cancer.  Men—heart attacks and cancer.  Any age—automobile accidents or violence. 

So, I look at the obits and see if I know anyone there.  So far, so good.  Strangers, all of them. 

But every now and then, there will be a tiny obit about a tiny life.  It takes my breath away, and then I read the simple words:  born one minute, lived a short time, and then gone.  So much said in such a few words.

The movie plays in my head, slowly and I can see every moment.  First, the labor and the efforts of the mother.  Then the joy of that moment when the doctor says, “It’s a ----!”  The silence that follows as the room becomes a whirlwind of doctors and nurses, running to NCU with the struggling newborn.  The mother and father cry, calling questions, “Wait!  What is wrong---?”  Then there is the moment when the doctor walks slowly back to the parents.**

And that is the moment where I turn off the movie in my head, and feel horrific sorrow.

 

       Telling Mommy hello 


 If you or someone you know has been through those moments, this book is a healing book.  It celebrates 

 

One of the many part time jobs I held over my early married years was in Medical Records.  This scene was ones I saw that carried out many times and left sorrow in its wake. 

I confess...

Colorado, but it is a beautiful Valley; Psalms 23

Okay, I will admit this up front:  I read the Obituary page in the newspaper. 

Most people don’t readily confess to this, as it has a sense of morbidity about it.  But, I am willing to bet a whole white chocolate macadamia cookie that many readers do at least glance at that page.

Maybe it is my age.  I will be sixty years old, although my brain insists I am still thirty-seven.  The primary cause of death in my age range is random.  Women—cancer of some sort, usually breast cancer.  Men—heart attacks and cancer.  Any age—automobile accidents or violence. 

So, I look at the obits and see if I know anyone there.  So far, so good.  Strangers, all of them. 

But every now and then, there will be a tiny obit about a tiny life.  It takes my breath away, and then I read the simple words:  born one minute, lived a short time, and then gone.  So much said in such a few words.

The movie plays in my head, slowly and I can see every moment.  First, the labor and the efforts of the mother.  Then the joy of that moment when the doctor says, “It’s a ----!”  The silence that follows as the room becomes a whirlwind of doctors and nurses, running to NCU with the struggling newborn.  The mother and father cry, calling questions, “Wait!  What is wrong---?”  Then there is the moment when the doctor walks slowly back to the parents.

And that is the moment where I turn off the movie in my head, and feel horrific sorrow.

A new book has been published: The Golden Sky by EC Stilton.  This book is about all those moments, all those struggles, and the silences when Zeke dies after a short life of 2 ½ months.  Go to Elisa’s site to read and listen.  The book was released November 18, 2011.  



 If you or someone you know has been through those moments, this book is a healing book.  It celebrates the short life and reminds the reader to rejoice always, even in the face of sorrow.