The Hope and the Hurt

I got the text Monday, threw peanut butter at the kids, and drove to the hospital.  Josh met me there and took our kids, Aurora, and Cynthia’s mom.  I headed directly to the delivery room.

The room was empty.  Cynthia had gone for an ultrasound as soon as she was admitted, so other than her purse, there was no sign of an inhabitant.  I sat in the silence and gazed at the room.  It was all prepared for its next patient.  Everything there had a hint of familiarity.  The bed was made up and folded just right so that a mama could easily slip under the blanket.  The bedside table was ready with ice, cups, bendy straws, and Chap Stick.  The computer was prepped, ready to monitor those contractions.  A cart was there, ready to receive baby.

It was eerie, looking at those things.  Things that, in the past, have always symbolized new life.  This would be mine and Cynthia’s fourth delivery room experience together.  Life is hard, and between the two of us, there have been plenty of bad days.  But Delivery Room Days?  Those are supposed to be good days.  Those are days of joy.  They may be days of pain, but the end is always worth it.

Until now.

You see, this Delivery Room Day was not supposed to be until September.  On Israel’s birthday, in fact.  I had already planned on having Arrow accustomed to enough cow’s milk by then to be able to leave him all day, if need be, so I could be in the hospital with Cynthia.  I had planned on having her show me everything she was going to teach Aurora in the fall, so that I could easily “substitute” for her in homeschooling so she could spend time just with baby.  I was thinking about what kind of shower to throw her.

But then I got the text, and it was Delivery Room Day already.  And when there’s no heart beat, Delivery Room Day is very different.  There’s a picture of a floating leaf on the door.  There’s significantly less traffic in and out of the room.

And to watch your best friend go through the terrible physical pain of an induced labor while she struggles with the emotional pain that’s far worse?  To come back in the morning to a tiny bassinet inhabited by a tiny, fearfully and wonderfully made  person, who wasn’t actually there because he was already Home?

I feel older.  And tireder, if that’s possible.  And my heart breaks for my friend. And I would do anything to give him back to her.

And I know I’m not alone in that emotion.

What I love about Bobby and Cynthia is that, regardless of the terrible things that are thrown at them, they vehemently cling to their amazing faith in Christ.  They always have Hope.

But, even with Hope, there is Hurt.  And this is a terrible Hurt.

I’ll be honest, sometimes it’s hard to know what to pray.  Because there are no words.  But God knows that.  “For we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.”  – Romans 8:26

Please pray for my friends.

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6 thoughts on “The Hope and the Hurt

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