Madeline Alice Spohr

When I read about babies or young children dying, it sears my heart in a way that nothing else can.  It has always been a heart-wrenching thing to read but that pain twists in a new way when you become a parent. All of a sudden you can anticipate that loss, and feel, in the tiniest way, how you would die inside if that were to happen to you.

When Pudding was in the emergency room 2 months ago, slowly getting worse due to their incompetence and/or negligence, I felt that fear.  I had brought in an alert toddler whose breathing was slightly labored, only to watch him deteriorate to the point where he lay motionless, not responding to the sticks of IV needles, breathing as though the effort required superhuman strength.  I thought I was watching him die in my arms, and it was that thought that spurred me to take him out of the room and shove him in the doctors faces and ask if this was what they called emergency care for respiratory distress.  He had only been given two nebulizer treatments in 5 hours.  I thought my son was dying, and I was frightened beyond belief – so frightened that at that point, I would not voice the thought for fear of giving it strength.

Today I read that a fellow blogger had lost her 17-month old daughter.

I don’t even know what to say.  I can imagine what she went through as she took her daughter to the hospital, but I cannot imagine what she is feeling now, with her daughter quickly and unexpectedly gone.  It is way too early to wish her peace, too ridiculous to talk about “better places” and downright insensitive to say “she’ll always be with you” – because she won’t be with her, not in the way she wants her to be.

I can only lift up a prayer to the universe that all of them, Maddie, her mother, her father, her family, will be comforted and healed in whatever ways they need in the days, weeks, months, years to come.

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