A Miracle, Every time

My wife was not prone to excessive displays of emotion and said bluntly, “The baby died.”

We’d gathered the kids to tell them about their sibling dying in utero. Because she was pregnant for sixteen weeks she would have to give birth. On the appointed day one of the grandma’s stayed with our kids while we went to the hospital.

Our room was at the end of a dark hallway on the maternity floor. Someone had turned off the hallway lights at that end. My wife’s sister-in-law came to the hospital so I was free to wander.

The nurse, a skittish, middle aged lady would check on us. Her voice quavered when she asked my wife how she was. When she’d done her duty she would look at my wife and wring her hands until I touched her elbow and said it was okay to leave.

Later, standing in the hall I saw our nurse make her way to our room. In her quavering whisper she asked my wife how she was doing. She went about checking my wife’s vital signs. She lifted the covers to check the pad under my wife’s bottom.

She lifted the blanket and burst into tears. She cried, “it’s happened.”

On the pad was a still, perfectly formed, tiny little boy. It would have fit in the palm of my hand.

Dry eyed, my wife asked the nurse to hand it to her. She and her sister-in-law stared at it. My wife touched its limbs gingerly with the tip of a finger.

I patted the nurse on the back and told her it would be okay. “There there,” I said.

I followed the nurse out as she stumbled towards the well lit end of the floor. I leaned against the wall and gathered myself before getting a cup of coffee.

As I poured coffee a well dressed young man came in. I felt small and shabby in faded jeans and concert t-shirt, but he greeted me effusively, bubbling over with joy.

“Oh man,” he said, “I just can’t believe . . . it’s so beautiful! Man, I know it just, I mean, it happens thousands of times a day, but it’s a miracle every time!”

His joy blew through me. Blood pulsed in my veins. I saw my children playing and their grandma getting them snacks. I was embarrassed to be so sad in the presence of such joy.

I smiled and allowed tears to well up, thinking he would see them as a reaction to his joy. I put out my hand and he shook it.

I said, “It is a miracle. Every time.”