Sharon Cupp Pennington
author of contemporary romantic suspense

A WEE GATHERING

The timbre of the neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU…flashing lights and the abrasive buzz of an alarm jerking parents to attention, the tentative smiles and collective sighs of relief when it turns out to be nothing, monitors keeping cadence with tiny heartbeats and respirators circulating life-sustaining air for lungs not yet able to. Every few spaces there’s an occupied isolette (the regulated and enclosed clear incubator) or a small metal crib. Between these sit haggard mothers or red-vested volunteers, crooning, consoling.

A father rushes in seeking the reassuring glance that will carry him to the end of another workday. A nurse, one of many resident angels, logs in notes at her station. A doctor continues quietly through his morning rounds, here one minute, there the next.

Each one with a story to tell, though we dare ask. If there was ever a place filled with more love and faith and courage, determination and the absolute will to survive, I can’t name it.

Life goes on and love sustains.

My husband sits across from me holding one of the two new additions to our family. He looks at me and I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing. Probably not. By the goofy grin on his handsome face, I’m sure he’s caught up in the miracle grandbaby in his arms.

I’m thinking, what a year we’ve had. What with our daughter’s difficult conception and pregnancy, then the injuries I suffered in a hit and run accident. Two months in the hospital, another five in a wheelchair and an additional four in rehab. One crisis after another, stripping away the mundane and reminding us of what is truly important.

But for God‘s grace, I would’ve missed all this.

During my recovery, many people said to me, “There’s a reason you didn’t die that night.”

I smile at the memory as I watch one of those reasons cradled in my husband’s loving arms. Amid the buzzes and bleeps of life support, I hear him whisper to the fussy infant, “What a big girl you are.”

Though she isn’t. In all honesty, you could carry this dark-haired beauty in a shoe box. The older of our daughter’s twins by a single minute, Sasha Grace entered this world at a wailing, wriggling four pounds, eight ounces. Shane Gabriel at four pounds, three.

They’ve lost a little weight since then, a normal occurrence we’re told, but even that‘s improving.

Our family is both lucky and extremely blessed. Born just under thirty-five weeks, our grandbabies are tiny but healthy -- and I’m here to enjoy them. To savor this moment with the man I‘ve loved for so many years. To hold these miracle babies and touch them, to teach them that music sounds unbelievably better if you go heavy on the bass and crank up the volume, that rock will always roll and chocolate chip cookie dough tastes almost as good as the cookies themselves. Almost. That with folded ribbon, a few ties and some strategically placed scissor snips, you can create a real bow. That being labeled stubborn is a compliment and most importantly…if you can dream and visualize, you can do anything.

Life goes on and love sustains.

I could expound on the feelings we share for these spirited wee ones, but it’s babies en bloc I think of as I look around the softly lit room. The valiant Tug-O-War between life and death, so evident here.

I silently pray that every child in this unit survives, and for each to grow to his or her full potential. For none of these devoted parents to go home empty-handed. Empty-hearted.

In a few days, as our babies continue to gain strength and weight, they’ll move from their isolettes to the small metal cribs. Then they’ll do thirty to forty-five minutes in their infant car seats. A test in preparation for the long ride to their home in Santa Fe, Texas where they’ll be transplanted into a nursery decorated with whimsical carousels and ballerina bunnies and cowboy bears. Immersed in that wonderfully familiar, magical smell only babies possess.

They’ll grow and graduate, love and marry. They’ll have children to raise and worry over, become old and revel in grandbabies of their own. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, and I’ll be eternally grateful I didn’t have to.

~ ~ ~

This is Sasha and Shane today.  Aren't we lucky?