In the Night

I hold my Molly and stroke her cheek as she quietly nurses. It’s 2 am but I don’t mind. I lean my head back and smile, feeling completely content as my little one nourishes her body.  I take her chubby hand in mine and hold on.

And I never want to let go.

I jerk awake and find myself in a dark room. Was I dreaming? I’m confused. My head hurts. My body aches. And there is a heaviness in the air that I can’t explain. Then all of a sudden, the disorientation I feel slowly dissipates and reality sinks in.

Oh no. No. No. No.

I wrap my arms around myself and begin sobbing. I want to fall asleep again and dream that wonderful dream. Even more than that, I want it to be real. I want her to be Ok, to come home. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life.

I sit up in the hospital bed in our room across from the NICU and the questions fill my mind.

Why me? Why her? Aren’t we good parents? Don’t we deserve a miracle? There are hundreds, maybe thousands of people praying for Molly. Why can’t Heavenly Father just heal her? I KNOW with all of my soul that this can be done.  I KNOW it!

I can’t stop praying and sobbing. It seems like hours.

Tyler slips through the door and comes to me. We fall into each other’s arms and sob together. We decide to take turns praying. We both pour our hearts out like we’ve never done. The words we speak are filled with a desperate plea for a miracle. It would be so easy for Him to heal her. And our faith is so real and pure. We know it can be done.  I picture our Savior there with us, wrapping his all encompassing arms around us as we pray.

We start to doze, exhausted from crying and praying all night. Suddenly, my Mom comes bursting through the door. She tells us the Doctors want us to come. We quickly walk down the hall with our heads held high, but I can’t help but feel a deep sorrow like I’ve never known.