The Empty Bassinet

I stare down the egg carton, a package of hot dogs, and a bag of conveniently shredded cheese. It's 4:30 am - I am committed to the cheddar, but have yet to determine it's partner. The fridge and I share an indecisive sigh, as cold air briskly escapes its confinement. Circadian rhythms and a "regular" diet are mere hypotheses proven false by this walking science experiment.

Decisions ultimately get made, and a cheese dog comforts me in these early hours. Thoughts spin around my sleep-deprived mind, and I find that darkness and the still of dawn make for a good time to talk to God.

I have not seen it, but my mind envisions as the neonatal ICU nurse had described: a man, intimidating in height and absent emotion, pushes an empty bassinet with a neatly folded, white blanket atop a fitted sheet. The blanket is coarse; I know the texture too well. The 3 lb figure is clothed in a onesie chosen by his mother. He wants it naked, but the nurses refuse. They advocate for his cold body, he need not be made cooler. Decency must be given in credit to his difficult battle. A tent is made with that neatly folded white blanket, the coarse one. I am pleased to hear he is covered as the tall man pushes him away. Apparently, the wheels squeak. Like nails on a chalkboard, I assume.

The nurses helped her bathe him for the first time. She needed rest, so they took pictures. He was posed lovingly in the infant poses that should have been. They smiled as they snapped dozens of mementos for her, just as she had requested. He existed now without tubes attached; his perfect face was unobstructed.

Sorrow for the early born, who fought hard.

For the heartbroken mother, who could not spend each second by his side.

For the weary nurse, who labored for his health.

For the tall man, who by necessity, voided all human emotion for the task at hand.

I eat the cheese dog as I talk to God.

For a moment, King David sat across from me, nodding in shared understanding of the stinging pain and raw despair that can characterize the human experience. No easy answers to the unfair string of questions, but the Lord listened. I acknowledge that it is by common grace that we can even express sympathy, loss, hope, and love; reflections of what is extended to us by a good Creator and Father.

Nevertheless, momentary comfort is not granted as tears fall upon my plate. Sorrow overwhelms, but the mere fact that I speak to God in prayer illuminates the necessary faith and hope required to persevere within this fallen world. So, at the end, I thank him as I rinse the dishes.