“Jesus is here” 10-27-2020

My baby is so beautiful when she sleeps. So calm. So peaceful. So ok!

Savannah had a typical day that follows surgery. Her pain was more intense now that surgery medications were out of her system and the numbing agents had worn off. It was frustrating for her to not understand why parts of her body hurt that were not the areas of the incisions. Savannah was born tough. She has always had amazing pain tolerance. Always determined to be the strong one. Today, when asked by her nurse what her pain was on the pain scale, she bravely said it was only a 2. That is an amazing number post surgery. I watched as she bit her lip as it started to quiver and as soon as the nurse left the room tears started to escape down her cheek. I sat down next to her and wiped her little eyes, now biting my own quivering lip, “Sweetheart, it is ok to cry. It is ok to not feel strong, or tough or brave. It is ok to tell us if you are hurting.

I was humbled by her strength. Humbled by her determination. Humbled by her faith. She wants to feel good enough to go home and at home we talk about how if we say things out loud or repeat them in our heads, say positive affirmations, then those things can happen for real for us. This sweet little spirit not just believes, but she knows that if she tries hard enough and uses positive thoughts and words, then she will be able to feel good enough to go home. As the day progressed, she began to feel safe with her nurses and trusted that they knew what was best for you. Her pain scale changed and we were able to give her the necessary medications to help control and manage that pain.

Savannah got to spend a few minutes in the garden outside in the fresh, chilly air. She talked with me about angels as we stopped and looked at the angel statues so beautifully placed in this tender little garden. This little garden was somehow so peaceful and quiet despite the noise and the heartache that surrounded it. Still a little drugged and tired she said to me,

“Mom, do you think there was an angel with me during my surgery?”

I answered her without hesitation, “Oh, yes my sweet girl. I am sure there were angels with you. I bet Great Grandma Gwynn was there holding your hand.”

“Well, mommy, there are a lot of little kids in this hospital, right?”

“Yes, sadly there are always a lot of little kids here.”

“Well, then mommy this hospital is kind of like heaven cause that means that there must be lots of angels if each one gets to have an angel with them. Do you think that Jesus comes here sometimes too?”

“Yes, darling. Jesus is here. Do you know how I know that? I know that because Jesus loves little children and He loves you very much.”

When Brannick arrived at the hospital later in the morning, my heart was grateful for the chance to hand over the strong role to him for a few minutes. One of the blessings and tender mercies that we have discovered over the last couple years in our marriage is that we seem to take turns in our moments of feeling strong and feeling weak. It seems one of us is always prepared to be the strong one. That has become even more evident in the last 2 weeks as we have shared moments of tears and heartbreak together but one of us always steps up to the plate and is prepared to be strong and positive.

Savannah did her very best today. She went on her first walk. She fought back tears as they asked her to take deep painful breaths for chest x -rays. She wanted to badly to go home today but unfortunately, she has some fluid on her right lung and some numbness in her abdomen that needs to continue to be evaluated. She remained strong through the set backs.

So today was Brannick’s day. He knew the minute he saw me that it was his turn to be the strong one. My soul felt worn today watching my little girl struggle to move and to breath. My heart ached as the doctors came in and reminded us that pathology could take up to 4 weeks to get back. I fought back tears when I walked past the darling girl two doors down who is here alone, no mom to wipe her tears. No dad to race her recklessly down the hall in her wheelchair. I wanted to hug the mother of the toddler boy across the hall who would break into painful cries at random moments through the day. He could not be comforted. How I wanted to just tell her how strong she was. My heart felt so heavy as we made our way down the halls of the Oncology floor and passed by the mother and father of a young boy in his wheelchair. They were waiting outside the chemotherapy infusion clinic. I heard his mother say as we walked by, “I am sorry buddy, but we have to go in there.” The kind of pain she must have been feeling most mother’s will never know.

I sat in the purple rocking chair next to my sleeping baby girl wondering how I was so lucky to be the momma of this special spirit. Yes, there were tears today. Tears because this is hard. Tears because this is unknown. Tears because it is heavy. Tears because I want to be stronger. Braver and more faithful. Tears because the quiver in my bottom lip comes more often than I would like it to. Tears because I am so blessed.

Tonight, I tucked my little girl into bed. Sent my husband home to hug my little boy and then I wrapped myself up in my blanket, curled up on the couch looking out the window at the lights of the city and listened to the silence around the sound of her now familiar beeping machines. As I sat there, I noticed movement one floor up on the left in a dimly lit window. I moved closer to the window, rubbed my tired eyes and looked again. He waved. He was so small, just a little silhouette in the dark. Our two windows were two of the very few with lights still on at this hour. I waved back and smiled. My heart felt a little leap of joy. I watched him as he turned around and grabbed something. Then he held it to the window…..

“Hi”

He had written those two letters in black on a white piece of paper and held it to the window.

I jumped to my feet and ran to the sink where I grabbed a handful of paper towels and the box of markers sitting on Savannah’s table.

“Hi friend”, I held it up to my cold window. He smiled

He bent down again, then held up the next one….

“I’m Billy”

My turn again……. “Juli” and then another….. “Savannah”

We continued on for a few minutes. Some of our other signs read…

Billy: “9”

Me: “6”

Billy: “Wyoming”

Me: “Utah”

Billy: “Brain Tumor”

Me: “Tumor”

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sat there having this priceless paper towel conversation with the little boy who was alone one floor up on this cold night.

Me: “Be Strong”

Me: “You are not alone”

Billy: “Jesus is here”

Billy: “Hug 4 Savannah”

Me: “Jesus Loves You”

Our conversation ended with a nurse helping him into bed and closing his blinds. I sit here now, moved to the depths of my soul with the power of the gift of the Holy Ghost answering my prayers and surrounding me with peace tonight.

To the darling girl two doors down who is here alone, ‘Jesus is here’. To the mother of the crying toddler across the hall, ‘Jesus is here’. To the parents who had to walk their scared little boy into his chemo infusion today, “Jesus is here’.

To my aching, weary, waiting soul….. ‘Jesus is here’

Thank you, God, for my sweet, precious little Savannah who feels the presence of angels in these halls. And Thank you, God, for my faith filled new friend one floor up who despite being alone, fighting for his life, knows that ‘Jesus is here’. I feel you! I hear you! I see you!

Savannah, we love you. Billy, we love you and pray for you.