(the birth of our first grandchild)
Tears brimming,
I listen to the suffering in my son’s voice
as he quietly whispers of his wife’s long hours of pain,
and the fear for their baby’s life.
I long to remove this experience.
If only I could endure it for them.
I envision my son alone, lost without his wife or child.
The moment of fear washes over, then passes,
leaving a calm assurance that whatever happens,
all will be well.
Hours later, a small daughter
struggles under an oxygen bubble.
So little and alone, she cries out.
Her father’s large frame hunches protectively
over her tiny body.
He extends his finger,
and speaks softly.
She holds tightly,
and is comforted.
Through their hours of suffering,
which I would have spared them,
has come a new strength, a depth of love.
Quietly, I give thanks
for being allowed
to share in the birth
of this new family.
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