Witness & Participant

I am a witness to Tikva's journey.
I am a participant on the journey she and I share.
I am her support.
I am capable of helping her ground her energy.
I hold her and I love her and I touch her soft skin and I love her like only her mother can.

Lately I have been recognizing that, right now, I am not her primary caregiver.
At the end of a visit to see her and hold her and rub her back and adjust her c-pap mask, I leave the hospital without her.
Today on the way out of the ICN and down the elevator, I saw two new moms and dads leave with their new babies in carseats.
In the last 6 weeks, I have probably seen this 50 times.
For 40 days, I have left the hospital without my baby.
For probably at least 40 more, I will continue to leave without her.

That is why sometimes I feel like a witness, and other times I feel like a participant.
I have assumed my role at the ICN, and the nurses and doctors all know me and flow with it.
I change Tikva's diaper, I suction the goop from her mouth, I make suggestions to the nurses and doctors and respiratory therapists about what might be helpful to her.
I hold her and talk to her and sing to her and pump milk that soon she will drink.
I do all I can under the circumstances.

Just yesterday, Tikva's cousin Isaac was born.
His birth was blessedly smooth and he was born healthy and strong and easily.
Deep relief flowed through me, a reminder that birth can go smoothly and babies can be born without drama.
Just the reminder I needed after last Friday.
Such excitement and joy for Dave's cousin Dan and his wife Deidre, and the happiest new grandparents ever, Dave's aunt and uncle.
The newest little member of our family, and a shared vision we all hold of the three cousins - Isaac and Tikva and Dahlia - sitting together with all of us grown-ups for a big shared meal with the whole family.
Soon...

A twinge of envy... mostly touching my deep desire to hold my child without any wires or breathing mask or worry.
A desire to comfort her with my breast, soothe the restlessness that all babies feel and which only a mother can soothe.
A desire to put Tikva in her own carseat, pack up all her little belongings, say goodbye to the ICN once and for all, and this time take her into that elevator, out the exit, into the car, and bring her home.

I think of all the things I took for granted with Dahlia, because I could never know how good I had it.
It's a good reminder now not to miss the preciousness of all the moments she and I share.
In the same way that she is already four and a half years old, I know that before I know it she will be fourteen, then twenty five, then herself a mother, and I'll wonder where the time went.
And one day when Tikva is four and a half, or fourteen or twenty five, we'll have a conversation about this time and I'll be able to say to her, "Oh yes, I remember the summer of 2008."
And it will be just a memory from the past.

The other day I was sitting next to Tikva in her little private room pumping milk.
She started stirring so I reached up and took her tiny little hand in mine.
I felt its tiny-ness, its softness.
Later that night after reading Dahlia a book and turning off her light, I took her hand in mine.
I was struck by how much bigger it felt than Tikva's.
Four and a half years and her hand is so much bigger.
Before I know it, Tikva's hand will feel that big in mine.

In the ICN, people make donations of glider rocking chairs, and some of them have little plaques in memory of a child lost or in recognition of ICN staff.
There is one that reads, "Love your child. Face your fears. These moments are precious."
I read this plaque for the first time during the first or second week Tikva was in the ICN.
When I did, I completely lost it and started to cry.
But it is pure truth, because you really never know what is ahead when you choose to love a child.
It's one of the scariest things ever, no matter how healthy your child is.
Yet for me, being mother to Dahlia and Tikva is the greatest gift I have ever received.
It is a gift I receive over and over, each day.
These moments are truly precious.