I can’t scroll through it without stopping in awe at the amount of prayer that came our way for four days from all of you.
So let me tell you what it did.
That morning, as we somehow got ourselves and Bella ready in the hotel, we met my parents in the lobby, we headed out the door to the hospital – I don’t remember any of that. None. I remember the moments before he passed away. I remember all four of us on the little couch in the room, Bella on Sam’s lap as we rocked him back and forth, sang him the little song I sang almost every night when he was still waiting to be born.
I don’t have to be afraid,
In the night or in the day,
When I sleep my God’s awake.
He’s watching over me.
I know He loves me.
I know He cares for me.
I know He’s there for me.
He’s watching over me.
Every.single.moment I thought I was going to die. It hurt to breathe, to move, to speak. The only real thought I had was, “I can’t do this again, oh God, please don’t let us go through this, please heal him, please let him live, please give us a miracle.”
Then Sam and I asked the nurses to start the process. And one by one, the machines were unplugged. He was detached from cords. He simply laid in my arms, unable to move because they’d given him medicine that erased all the pain and put him in to a paralysis of sorts, and he just looked. And I couldn’t take my eyes off him, until they were done and he was free and all the weeks of waiting to hold him again were over as I pressed him up to me and rocked back and forth, back and forth while I sobbed and whispered how very, very sorry I was his little life was so short and painful, and how loved he was.
And you were there. All of you. I felt it, I sensed this overwhelming presence of hands on us, prayers surrounding each second as it ticked by. Tears from miles away, hearts aching for our little boy too. His room is almost blindingly bright in my memories, everything a blur but the four of us sitting and waiting for our miracle. It wasn’t the first time I’d sensed the presence of prayer there, but it was the most powerful moment. Horribly, tragically, incredibly powerful. I’ve always had this image of a thousand outstretched hands over our heads as we sat.
And at 11:58 am two years ago today, he was given to a waiting, grieving-with-us Jesus by our arms and your hands.