God, please don’t take my son

The young father looked down into the swaddled child’s resting place. The harsh fluorescence lights shown down on his baby boy, now sleeping peacefully, despite the wires stuck onto his small body.

The young father, wanting nothing more than to hold his son, gently touched the boy’s forehead again. He needed to feel the child, to make sure there was warmth in his little boy’s body. He needed the tactile evidence, needed to know that he was here in this moment, in this room, with his son and that his son was still here as well.

The baby, lost in the dreams of a newborn, kicked a foot out from under the blanket in which he was covered. The young father looked at the little foot. His baby was fighting, the father hoped, even in his sleep.

The hours and days that had led up to now had frightened the young father. His baby was just days old when it was discovered there were “issues” the doctors wanted to “keep an eye” on in the coming days.

The coming days were not kind to the baby or the father. The baby’s mother was with the child every possible minute, but the father had to earn a living for his family. He was pulled away from the child he wanted to be with, to ensure his family could eat and remain in the small home he created for them.

It hurt every minute he was away from his little boy. His thoughts were of his first born, every minute of every hour of every day. Even in his sleep the young father thought of his child and hoped for the best.

Earlier the day before, the doctors had suggested a new course of treatment for the young child and now the baby was sleeping. A heart monitor showed a mostly steady beat, except for an occasional blip that would startle both the young father and mother. A respiration monitor showed a mostly steady breathing pattern, except for the occasional pause that would startle both the young father and mother.

“We’ll know more in a few days,” the doctor had said, as he annotated directions for the nursing staff on the pad which hung on the foot of the crib in which the baby now slept. “He’s not out of the woods yet, sir, but we have done all we can. We’ll know more in the next 48 hours.”

That had been a day ago.

Now, this day, this moment in time, as the child’s mom stepped away for a few minutes, the young father was alone with his son. He reached down and re-covered the little foot that had kicked out from under the blanket.

In all his life, the young father had lived with the belief that he knew how things were. He knew that life was life and that what is, is the reality in which he lived.

He loved his wife and his parents, loved his life and his friends. He worked hard and he played harder and his life was what he had made of it. He thought his life was full.

Until his son was brought into the world.

He then understood that everything in his life had been but a shallow level. Everything that had gone on in his life, the joy, the sadness, the work and the play, had been a just a day by day living of life. He saw that he'd been living on the surface of life's great world.

The child brought life to his life. It turned his black and while into full living color. No longer was the young father living on the surface, but now he was living in the entire world of life, the surface through the universe above him.

The young father, who had known what he believed in, heard the echo of the doctor’s unsaid words. He had said “we have done all we can.” What he didn’t say was “the rest is up to your child and God.”

The young father, who had never asked God for anything, felt a tear roll down his face. “Dear God,” he heard himself saying, “please don’t take my son.”

For the first time in all the days he had been in this room, the heart monitor’s gentle beat and the respirators rhythmic pulse were steady and reassuring.