Why am I so surprised on bright sunny, happy days to find shadows? Isn't it that there are always more shadows in the sun?
They still take me by surprise at times.
This week was one of those. I was happily going about my business - normal, routine life - and I got a phone call. I knew it would come sometime, but sometime is a broad range.
"The baby is coming."
One of my varied jobs here is acting as a birth coach or companion to some of our immigrant friends, team members, and anyone else who needs it. With a nursing background, five of my own deliveries, and years of nursing babies, I'm good at helping births and breastfeeding.
I was excited. I had on casual clothes, money in my pocket, a good night's sleep behind me, and I was ready to go. The day went by slowly as we walked the halls trying to get things moving. Later on in the evening, things got moving, and after a few hours of hard work, the little boy made his appearance 11 minutes before midnight.
A few minutes after midnight, when a sleeping baby was resting on his mother's chest, a new dad was on the phone to relatives around the world, and a tired mom's eyes were closing, I stepped out in the hall, leaned up against the wall and cried.
What were the chances? Eleven years ago, I was in a hospital delivering my daughter. She was born only fifteen minutes after this baby. What were the chances that this night, this very night, I would be in the hospital with another baby? The emotions got a bit too much last night as I watched a very alive, very pink baby nursing, and I remembered eleven years ago when they carried my daughter away from me. I walked out in the hall with my quiet tears, took few minutes, and then shook myself, found a smile, and walked in to minster to this new family. It is their day. They didn't know that it was also my day.
Today, I'm tired. Tired from only two hours sleep in thirty-two. Tired from the quiet sadness. I miss my daughter today.