She was our first, and Lisa and I were just giddy. But the joy of Melody’s arrival was quickly tempered.
I still remember the day we sat in the doctor’s office and were told something was wrong with our daughter. Wrong? Only a week old and something was wrong? Didn’t they know she was God’s gift to us? Perhaps, but the baby wasn’t growing; she was losing weight way too fast. They would have to admit her to the hospital and start running tests. Lisa and I sat together, holding hands, crying, as the nurses whisked our first child into the sterile, pitiless halls of medicine.
Welcome to parenthood.
So they put Melody in isolation — she was such a little thing — and took a spinal tap to test for meningitis. We stood helplessly outside the glass watching her wail. Next, they shaved her head — two rectangular patches around her temples where they inserted an IV. At that age, the easiest place to find a vein is the scalp. Surrounded by all the gadgets, they tucked her in an incubator. . . so far away from her mother’s breast.
Eventually, we were allowed to visit. Gown. Cap. Gloves. Booties. Mask. We waddled into the isolation room looking like something out of Star Wars. Lisa and I stood on opposite sides, reaching into the incubator, to caress someone we’d barely met. Melody slept fitfully, unaware of her anxious parents. We prayed, and cried, and prayed some more. And in the end, there was only one thing we could do: Trust Him and let go. . .
* * *
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. So true and so awfully hard to concede.
Several years ago, Melody came out of a very hard time in her life. Are the teenage years anything but hard? She was 19 or 20 and went with a mission team from our church to Thailand. It was a HUGE step of faith for her, but God provided and protected, as He did way back when. She took with her a stack of letters from friends and relatives, which she would open only after takeoff. I wrote her a short letter and reminded her of that story — of how she was poised on the edge of eternity and we stood there powerless, with only one option: we must let her go and trust God. And as she flew across the ocean, it felt just like another letting go. . .
* * *
Life is a series of letting go’s. We watch a loved one wheeled into the hospital. . . and we must let them go. We pack our baby’s lunch, straighten their collar, drop them at the kindergarten doorstep for the first day of school. . . and let them go. We stand and applaud as they mount the stage for that diploma. . . and we let them go. We watch as they are pronounced husband or wife, and aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. . . because they are leaving. It’s all so bittersweet.
We want to possess, to cradle, to control. But do we ever advance without letting go?
The doctors didn’t find anything. Nope. No meningitis, no exotic virus. They poked and probed and scratched their heads. She just wasn’t eating right, hadn’t learned to “latch on,” as Lisa called it. But, believe me, she figured it out. Now Melody has a child of her own — a joyous, cuddly bundle, indeed! We’ve all come so far, but I can’t help thinking about all the letting go’s in between. . .
Good story, Mike. And a good lesson to learn.
I can only imagine the anguish my parents went through. I had a brother who was stillborn. I had a sister who only lived a day.
My father had it worse. My mother died when I was three in a car fire. My dad was only 36 and my mother was 31 I believe. He and all three of his kids (including me of course) were in the hospital for months with burns. My sister endured operations for years.
But he never fretted over it. He never wallowed in self-pity, at least not in front of us. I’m not sure if he knew how important that was. But, because of his example, I never wallowed about it either.
It’s a different kind of letting go than you’re talking about. He had to let go of all the tragedies for the good of his children and his soul. Not to mention his sanity.
I pray that God continues to watch over your family. Especially when the next tragedy strikes.
-dayle
Thank you for this, for the tears, for the truth.
Thank your for sharing your story, too, Dayle.
Lovely and true.
Okay … I’m choking on my tears. It seems it’s never ending … letting go. Having children teaches us how little control we have over life. We had times with both our kids when they were babies. I don’t think we, as parents, are ever ready. What a gift you are, Mike, to your children. I wish I’d have had a dad like you!!!
Thanks Dad