Hospital, a series: Poetry

You can't kiss poetry

you can't rock poetry to sleep

Give me my son

Hospital, a series: Why

to 

be a punk teenager

learn how to walk

start talking and say mama

teach you to read

hold your kids

to 

be your mama when you're angry and angsty

cheer on your soccer games 

hug me when you're home from school

make me and dad laugh

be a big brother, meet your siblings

draw with sidewalk chalk and jump on the tramp, play with the neighbor kids and have a crush on one of them,

feel sunshine warming your skin, go to lake Powell, surf the ocean with your dad, taste fresh coconut milk, have a Christmas, read a good book, travel the world with grandpa, serve a mission, 

let me take care of you while your throat's all sore from these tubes --

There's so much, buddy. So many reasons why.

Hospital, a series: What

we want him 

we want him 

we want him 

we want him 

we want him

we want him

we want him

we want you

we want you 

we want you 

we want you 

we want you

We want him, Heavenly Father. We want him.

we want him

this is from when you almost died

when I look at you I see the future

(hear the hospital alarms from last week

but) see the future, 

you're 

learning how to bike

proud of dad and baby brother

love me (mama) too, hugging me so tightly

a kid, coming home from school, a punk, so handsome

I'm holding my grandkids, you're quite the man and 

I've always been proud of you 

son

I 

see

you 

the future I almost lost.

I almost lost 

in that emergency room on a Sunday night -- I'm hiding in the family waiting room. 

Sobs.

"Life is beautiful." a stray thought, strange that Sunday

pain and fear and surreal a closed door and a seat or two, dad's with you in the other room and I'm broken down. white tiles. white tiles and a sign saying not to leave (don't leave baby, don't leave)

they've probably seen it before, the hospital workers. I'm just another mom. 

Maybe lots of moms wait there with their hair crazy and eyes all puffed up, faces red, tears running, noses blowing.

I don't think I want you to read this someday,

so let me not tell you just this. The moment of realizing you, my baby boy, might be dying, might be about to. That pain is an experience in my chest and it 

feels

can't breathe

insides shredded like costa vida pork

dark, dark, dark

downward dragging at the bottom of my throat and 

terror

can't be scared by anything else because this ^ is real

could I ever have another kid if you ended like this--?

(panic, pain, terror, tears)

no room for thought but I started bargaining

built a fire inside and told God so much that I wanted you, and I was 

pleading with you telling you about life and how it really is worth living (even though it hurts and scares) and how if we have any say we really want 

you, love

my baby boy

we really want you, if we have any say death is exotic but no we don't want it, we want you you you you and we love you baby boy and somehow, I don't know why, not because of my bargaining, you stayed with us.

in those moments I would have done anything for the chance to wake up all night to a crying baby, to change your diapers, for toddler tantrums to consume my days--

bliss. 

Buddy, we got a second chance. You and me and your dad. some people don't. 

thanks God. thanks buddy. 

gonna try do right. 

gonna think about those other mamas whose babies didn't stay.

gonna put down my phone and snuggle you.

gonna not be so afraid. gonna cry some more, probably. 

now I'm in our living room again and you're napping. and when you wake up, I'll hug you real tight.