There is Nothing Sweet About Parting ...

The little ones came to visit me today. It was wonderful to see them, but terribly difficult to say good-bye. My 5 year-old's lips trembled as he said, "I love you, Mom". I am so torn between my responsibilities at home and being close to Emma. I know she senses my presence - I speak into her ear, whisper to her, tell her to keep fighting, will her to not give up. She grabs onto my finger and squeezes ... It is not my imagination. I see her heart rate go up, her respiration increases, and she squeezes my finger. She is in there, in that tiny little body, with so many I.V.s, and so many bruises from all the I.V.s that came before. Child abuse? Sometimes I do wonder. But where does one draw the line? If it were your little girl, lying there so sick, so helpless, would you just do nothing? Could you just do nothing? Emma is surrounded by other little ones, all belonging to someone - someone who is hurting, someone who is filled with despair, someone who had dreams of holding a tiny little baby in all its perfection. Have we all chosen the wrong path? Are we selfish in our desires to see our babies live? Is what we are allowing to be done to these infants for us, more so than for them? I have no answers for these questions - only the questions themselves. And the knowledge that when I speak into my daughter's ear, she does, indeed, squeeze my finger.