For S....

You and your husband were sleeping when I left this morning...you in the bed you gave birth in a few hours ago, sweat- dampened hair askew on the pillow, your arm thrown over your face in a posture of total exhaustion...your sweet husband curled up on the hard vinyl couch of the birthing room, tightly bound in a thin white hospital blanket...as if attempting to comfort and protect himself from the pain the both of you hand just endured...and have yet to endure.

Your beautiful little boy lies wrapped in the too large gown (the closest one we had to his size), and a hand-knit cap and blanket, and placed as respectfully as we can place him in such an inadequate situation, in the clinical refrigerator on the unit, to preserve his tiny body until you ask to hold him again, perhaps for the last time, in your aching, tear-streaked arms.

I wanted so much to say goodbye to you, but I dared not wake you from your hard won sleep. I wanted so much to hug you, to tell you how strong you are, to reassure you, once again, that you will come through this...not without scars, and certainly not without seemingly unbearable sorrow for a time; but that you will survive this; that your son's life, all 26 precious minutes of it, had tremendous value; that that value will increase over time in ways that you cannot even imagine now; that this perfect, tiny, precious, all too short life will have an impact on you and those around you that will forever make you a better person, and this world a better place to be.

The night before he was born, while you still clung desperately to the "one percent" chance that a well meaning physician held out for his survival, while at the same time you grieved in anticipation of his all but inevitable death, I told you this...that your son, no matter how long or short his life, has a reason to be here; that God did not make this happen, but if it had to happen, then He would see to it that this child, this Beloved of His, would achieve his purpose on this earth, regardless of the time in which he had to accomplish it; that I believed this with all my heart. This so loved, so wanted child did live his purpose in those 26 minutes, and as time relentlessly pulls you forward, turning this painful memory into one hopefully more sweet than bitter, as your body and spirit slowly heal, you will begin to realize what that purpose was.

But I can already tell you something that together, you, your son, and your son's father accomplished...and perhaps that can be part of your son's legacy, as it is certainly yours. You helped me to believe in myself again. You reminded me that I have a purpose too...that I am where I am supposed to be; that I am strong and resilient; and that no cold administrative rule, no heartless management agenda can ever, will ever change that. In a time when my department seems to be being systematically redefined by management that gives lip-service to "customer service", but whose actions seem to placing the very lives of those we "serve" in potential jeopardy born of cost-cutting attempts and the tyrannical pressure of overzealous, under researched regulation, you all reminded me that it's worth it to stick it out; to bloom where I'm planted; to let the roots that have grown deep within this rocky soil hold me firm in the winds that are trying so hard to uproot me and my coworkers in the name of...what??? Making an example out of us? Reminding all of us nurses...the ones who really keep this place going, the ones who really protect you, advocate for you, keep you as safe as possible...that we are expendable, not important, replaceable? WRONG!

Because of you, S., and other women like you, I have a purpose in this life; part of that purpose is my work, my employment, my vocation that is also my avocation; that purpose fulfills me and brings me joy (even the painful bittersweet joy of caring for you and your sisters in such sorrow), even when the world around my workplace is in such turmoil; even when that turmoil threatens to destroy my soul, the souls of my sister (and yes, brother) nurses.

We won't succumb to the threat. We'll above this useless struggle. Those who pride themselves on being in a position to decide will soon learn that their decisions that nearly brought disaster to this place, brought about instead, their own downfall; and while I do not wish them that downfall, if it protects those I am called to serve, I will not object to it.

S., I am blessed to have served you and your sisters. I am humbled by the opportunity to be so blessed. I am without adequate words to thank you for your gift.

My prayer for you is that you will, over time, experience the same gift of perspective that I had all but lost, but that you returned to me. I will be forever grateful; and I will forever hold you and your family in my heart.