On Sunday I went to Toronto with my beloved and another friend. There, in the waiting room for the PICU unit at the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto, I baptised a then 23 day old baby. With shaking voice and trembling hands I made the sign of the cross wearing a pair of blue gloves and yellow droplet protection smock, and a purple face mask. I made the sign of the cross, three times with minimal water as he’s not supposed to get certain parts of his head wet. I made the sign of the cross on his forehead with blessed oil and exhaled.
Okay God. Heal him. Now.
Sunday night he was stable. That is good news. Monday he needed to have one machine exchanged for a new one and there were some complications from that. Then he was stable again.
A litre and 3 ml of fluid was removed from his tiny, bloated body. Again, he was stable.
Tuesday he had a dialysis machine attached to him. An 8 lb baby with more technology can I can spell.
Wednesday was a good day, until something went wrong in the afternoon. Two more tubes inserted along each side of his chest.
Open your eyes little man. The world is waiting for you. He would open his eyes, and wiggle his legs. He would grip my finger in his tiny hand and not let go. Or was it me who didn’t want to let go?
He responded to voice, to touch, to sounds. He would rest, he would wake. He was aware of his surroundings.
I had to leave last night and while it was difficult to say goodbye, I had to return to the reality of my crazy little world, and prepare for Sunday service, the All Souls service on Saturday and of course, for the community Remembrance Day service. Busy.
His mother sent me note a few minutes ago. She has a week in which to make a decision. Does she decide to remove the equipment and let him go (if he shows no improvement) or does she continue to let machines do his breathing, etc.?
A decision no parent should ever make.
What happened to hope? What happened to God’s healing touch? What has happened to all the prayers that have been sent and prayed on his behalf?
I know God is with this beautiful baby boy. And I am beginning to think, for the first time, that he may not survive this ordeal. We may have to let him go and return to the one who created him.
I’m not ready.
I’m waiting for a miracle.
GOD. ARE YOU LISTENING? IF YOU WERE PLANNING TO ACT – NOW WOULD BE A GREAT TIME!
And so, for now, we wait. We love. We fear. We hope.
Barefoot Bellringing 
Such a painful, waiting time for all of us who were there, but of course especially for his Mom. It is because of situations like this that I don’t believe in an omniscient God. I DO believe that God is present in all situations, but I don’t believe that he/she necessarily knows or plans every minutiae or even life or death situations. This is where God is Mystery. We would like to tie all the details in a bow and know why why why, but I find it more realistic to simply grieve with people and say “I don’t know why he died but I’ll be with you through this.” Perhaps there were miracles at play here, like the fact that he didn’t suffer for long, or that so many friends and family were touched by his little life. We want miracles to look a certain way, but only Mystery knows how something will turn out. Thanks for sharing.