A memoir

     I have had a lot on my mind lately...as always. But in particular, I have been thinking about some former patients. Technically, they are not MY patients, but I like to call them that because I spent a lot of time with each of these babies and feel some sort of connection to them. Most of them were regulars in the icu where I work--staying for months or years at a time. My heart is full of sadness today, because one of those regulars passed away a few days ago. His name was JoJo, and he was incredible. 

     That little two year old had so much life in him, yet he was inches from death for most of his life. He spent his days in the hospital--in a bed, on a breathing machine, hooked up to IVs, fed through a tube in his little belly. Everyone knew JoJo.  Everyone loved JoJo. I remember the day I started work and found myself in JoJo's room. He was sitting upright in his bed, surrounded by all his stuffed animals, books, and toys, and he had a mischievous grin on his little face. I instantly fell in love with that tiny toddler. He had a fascination with Blue's Clues and would let you know, with much demanding, when he wanted to watch it. Because of the trach in his neck, he could not talk very well so he signed what he wanted to say. That only made him more precious. You couldn't deny him what he wanted. It was next to impossible. 

     I remember that I found relief in JoJo's room. Starting my job was stressful and incredibly intimidating. I was constantly being fearful of screwing things up or being yelled at by the multiple doctors or attendings that wander the unit. It was a tough transition. If I was having a bad day, I would go into JoJo's room and my mood was instantly lifted. You couldn't help but smile. He loved attention. He hated it when people left his room. He was such a joy and delight to be around and he brought so much life to the unit. 

    My heart is heavy today, not for myself, but for the wonderful family and friends he left behind. I know they wanted more time with JoJo. I know their hearts are aching and broken right now. I know they are confused and upset and hurt and angry. I know they are asking why. I know they are looking for answers. I know they wish they could turn back time and cherish every moment. I know because I have been through it. Not anything to the degree that JoJo's family is going through, but I have been around and experienced enough loss to know that it sucks. It's painful. It's ugly. It's awful. Christ never promises that life will be easy. Ugh. So true. He only promises that he will never leave. He only promises that he will be there to hold us when we are broken, to listen when we're angry, to wipe our tears when we cry. He promises peace and healing to those that call on Him. 

     The only light or hope I see in this devastating situation is this: JoJo is no longer in any more pain. He can walk, he can talk, he can breathe, he can laugh. JoJo is free. Free from the ventilator, free from tubes and lines and wires. JoJo is in heaven, in his complete and perfect form. He is home at last, even though it probably doesn't feel like it down here on earth. :(