I spent my weekend in a rocking chair,
Cancelled parties, dinner dates and a trail race.
I spent my weekend in a rocking chair.
His tiny body wrapped U shaped around my torso,
Hours turned into long night turned into days.
His medical tubes rhythmical tapping against my leg as we sway.
The sweat of his breaking fever against my chest,
His warm abdomen pushing and pulling with mine.
I am fearful.
Of too many things,
that never should be realities, but have been for me.
Brave is teaching me to be braver than my fear.
So, I try to love instead of fear.
I am grateful.
Grateful for so many things, to which I silently note through the quiet hours of the night.
Grateful for his breath.
Grateful it isn’t a serious illness.
Grateful for my husband sleeping nearby.
Grateful for medical staff and medicine.
Grateful for all the brave families in these Hospital rooms.
Grateful for a building and community fighting for life.
You think about a lot in a rocking chair.
I know Wilder will never remember these countless hours of holding him, but maybe they aren’t for him.
Maybe he was kind enough to beckon me to sit, to hold, to breathe deep.