Sick Child
It's almost 10. Might as well be midnight. 4 am wake-up and I'm up and listening in a
quiet terrified way to my son breathing. He had large tonsils and
the cold he has isn't helping.
What can I do? Take him worried to a room full of sick people
and get told he just needs his rest? Mess up and not take
him?
I wait. His breath gets more ragged. I
record it so I have evidence if I decide to go. I wait some
more. I shift him in his bed; making him sit up, and find a
better sitting position.
I double check the humidifier again and pray. I've
confirmed more than one that he's had meds recently. He shifts and
I ruffle his hair gently. And wait. And pray.
What helps people breathe? I search the Web on my phone
from his bedside for a few minutes in a calm fear. Then I put
it down because it only adds things for me to fear.
What to do? Last time I went he wasn't sick. The
last time I didn't he got worse. Way worse. It's expensive and I
don't want to waste grocery budget on fear. Nothing is two
expensive though if he's in real danger. What to do? I
cry inside and then calm myself and pray. Praying makes me
scared. You only pray when it's serious. You pray when
it's a game.
I wait and try to pray without making it serious. He
wakes up. I ask how he's doing. He says fine. I
tuck him in and pray over him. He sleeps restlessly and I wait ten
minutes.
I wake him up and take him to our smallest bathroom.
I run hot water in the shower for the steam. The lights and sounds really
was keep him up and we talk. He is chipper but sounds so meek and so
small.
After a bit he asks to take a shower. I adjust the water back
down from scalding and wait behind the curtain listening to his breathing
improve. Finally something right. I cheer internally but
worry about the cold air in the bedroom. He every so often asks me
to adjust the water.
The shower is over. He gets out. In a very sleepy
little boy voice he asks for help getting dressed and tucked in. I cover
him in as many blankets as I can. I tousle his hair and pray over him and
his sister again. I make sure he hears me say I love you.
He closes his eyes and I go back to my bed. Both
doors are open and I lay in the dark listening to him breathe. Listening
to the family breathe.
Worry keeps me up so I write it all down to calm myself.
My writing wakes the baby and my wife grumbles angrily at the world as she
wakes up and calms him back down.
Everyone is sleeping. He still breathes oh so
hard. I still worry. But it isn't like he's trying to breathe
through a gas mask anymore. I don't hear that terrifying
straining. Just rough sick breathing.
I wait and pray hoping sleep will come. Begging for this
to just be a silly tale of night fears that I'll tell to others in the
morning.
I hope I did the right thing.
I wait.
I pray.
I pray.
Breathing for my son ...
Audrey
4:00 am. I’m awake my mind busy thinking of all the things
that need done that I hadn’t thought of … but now I am thinking of … only now
I’m really awake. Why hadn’t I thought of them before?
You know what, I’m just going to get up and pray. Ask Him to
show me what most needs done and how’s the best way to accomplish it … ok get
up and go …now … roll over.
My phone’s blinking … what’s wrong? I slip quietly out of
bed, grab the phone and pad into the living room. An email from my son sent
10:40 pm. My eyes quickly scan to confirm that there is no immediate emergency.
No it’s all good… now.
I start reading again, slowly checking for details. The
inner parent takes over. Did he try this? Has he thought of that? Did he pray?
Does he remember how to … He’s reliving my past – his past – our future.
He’s breathing for his son.
I remember those days, nights, years. Different. The same.
You find yourself aware that he’s not breathing right. It’s a struggle … then
you notice that you’re breathing with him … breathe in … breathe out … don’t
panic …
As I read his email my breathing becomes conscious. Breathe
in … breathe out … slow and steady … don’t panic. Only this time I’m breathing
for my son, my grown son. I’m breathing for me. Willing his inner heart to
trust God … to breathe.
I pray in earnest now. I beg God to help my grandson
breathe. I’ve been down this road before. The all night hospital visits. The
trips to the ER for nothing. Then the scary trips for life … for the ability to
breathe. The reminder that life is truly as fragile as air.
I open my Bible and start reading. An email from God written
before computers. A letter written a long time ago to a future generation that
would learn that life is fragile and we need to learn to breathe. A reminder
that He is life.
I read about God watching His Son live life, in a foreign
place, a place He willing let Him … sent Him to … watching Him hang on a cross
… ragged breaths … no breaths
…
Then the command “Breathe!” and His Son comes back to life.
God breathing for His Son.
And with that Son’s very breath we have life. I’m reminded
that because of His breath, my son and my grandson have life. That every hair
on their heads are numbered, and are the days that they will live are numbered,
as are the breaths they will take … and with each breath I know that God is
breathing for them … slow … steady …
“Do not let your heart be troubled. Believe in God. Believe
in Me. Breathe!”
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