A Pilgrimage, An Offering

Amelia and I made a trek to The Children's Hospital on Wednesday to drop off some toys as a Christmas donation. Instead of exchanging gifts, our (very generous and wonderful) playgroup donated gifts for the hospital at a little playgroup holiday party Amelia and I hosted on Tuesday. We ended up with four big bags of toys, books, art supplies, DVDs and even a mini-DVD player to donate. While we were there, I also wanted to buy some Wagon Blend coffee to give as gifts this year.

I was a little worried about returning to Children's. If you don't know the story of our experience there, you can read about it here (scroll down to "Hospital Story Part 1 to start from the beginning). I woke up at 4:30 in the morning on Wednesday reliving a lot of the experience; then I wondered why I had it on my mind--funny. I was thinking it was kind of crazy to voluntarily return to the hospital. But I wanted to make an offering, however small, to the hospital for Christmas, in honor of all the great care Amelia received while she was there.


Amelia on her last day in the hospital

Amelia and I loaded up and left for Aurora around noon. She happily ate a special treat--a Wendy's Kids meal--on the way. The girl loves her hamburgers. When we arrived, we parked and walked into the lobby.

It's hard to describe how I felt. I did of course remember being in that lobby was a worried parent, and I could see the worry (and exhaustion) in several other parents' faces as soon as I walked in. But mainly I felt like what I was--a visitor. Amelia and I found the room where there were collecting donations, then found a little red wagon to take back out to the car and return with the rest of the gifts. Amelia enjoyed the wagon ride, the sticker she got, and the little toys they have in the lobby. After we dropped off the toys, we took the elevator to the 9th floor with a basket of chocolates and candy for the wonderful nurses who took care of Amelia. As I had expected, we didn't get to see any of them, but we left it in the hands of a kind hospital worker who promised to find the right people. On the way off the elevator, Amelia got her fingers caught and smooshed in the opening door. As she cried (mostly with rage) and I comforted her, it really hit me how much of a visitor to the hospital I really was. My perfectly healthy and stubborn child, who tried again to touch the elevator doors the very next time we got on the elevator, is just that--wonderfully, blessedly, healthy. And the primary emotion I felt throughout our pilgrimage to the hospital was gratitude. I feel so incredibly lucky that my and Dean's experience with a very sick child was so short. I am infinitely grateful for Amelia's health and infinitely grateful for Amelia.


Our happy, healthy 2-year-old

There is something that happened while we were in the hospital that I have not mentioned to many people, and never to anyone in full. It's a very small moment but also a very big one. While we where there, they were doing one of those radio fundraisers for the hospital. The lobby was often full of DJs and music and parents and patients telling their stories on the air. Once when I was leaving the hospital for some reason, a mother was with talking to the DJ. She was telling the story of her child's illness. It was an illness her child did not recover from, and she was describing the moment the doctor's told her that there was nothing more they could do for the child. I can't tell the whole story because I pretty much ran from the lobby in tears, but what I remember, what was hard to comprehend at the time and honestly, still is, is that she was speaking about how grateful she was--for all that the doctors and nurses did do for her child, for the time she had left with her child, and for the person her child still was. I am sorry to be writing about this stuff--it's brutal. But I will always remember that mother's voice, and her gratitude.

One of the scariest things to me about parenthood--and life--is that we don't know what's going to happen next. For now, I have a beautiful, healthy, vibrant, fun-loving daughter. Having her is the most challenging, the most interesting, the most wonder-full thing I have ever experienced. This Christmas season, I offer a heart filled with love and gratitude to all of the other wonderful people my life, to the friends and family and neighbors who make my rich life even better. I love you all, and I hope your holiday season and new year are as filled with blessings as my own life has been so far.


Merry Christmas from all of us