So it’s a cold December night and I write this from my son’s hospital bedside. Emmylou Harris playing on his iPod – a soothing voice to lull him and keep him asleep. It is dark in his room, with just the nurse’s chart lamp on its dimmest setting. It leaks a deep orange hue over the eastern wall of the room, creating a warm, inviting space. This is nice. I like the feeling that my son is in an environment that he can trust and feel comfortable in.
My wife is laying next to him in her own recliner, reading up on some such internet meme or fail. A nurse by trade, mother to our handsome boys , she is the light of my life. She is soft to the touch, giving her warmth to whomever may need it. Empathy flows from her like the sun’s life-giving rays to Earth. Ever-caring, always there, my dear wife is amazing. My son thinks her workplace is a nice place to be if you are sick. I agree wholeheartedly.
It’s 9:30pm and I weave a tale of fatherly concerns and such using the tools I have. My Macbook Pro treats me well when I need it to. The keys responding to my thought proces as if it were hardwired to my brain. just-so lit, it calms me just a bit to see that it will run on without being tethered to the grid overnight. I am grateful for the ‘things’ I have acquired over the years. But noting that they are just things and not of any true value, I take them not for granted, but as tools. Treat them as you would your child, and they may outlast even your own expectations. My son loves to play Minecraft on mommy’s iPad, and is learning to play it on his own laptop. I like teaching him to use the tools around him.
The cold air from outside the window can creep up all it wants, but it shall not enter this warm, safe room. With the nurse and aide just outside, mommy beside him, my son, my firstborn, I may rest a little easier this evening.