Amidst the busyness of the day, with doctors, nurses and techs in and out of the room. It is quiet.
The monitors beep. There is a light whoosh as oxygen travels from the meter on the wall, along the tubing to the canula that sits at the edge of Peyton's nose, and the bubbling of the water that humidifies this life-giving air. There is the hum of the suction unit in the background, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Carts roll down the hallways and doors open and close. But it is quiet.
I sit in this room with all the sounds and distractions and it is still too quiet.
I'm spoken to in medical language that I wish I had no business knowing. I know far too much. More than I want to know. And in the quiet I am left with questions that race around my brain begging for answers. Yet there aren't any.
In this quiet, I am simply left wondering. There are no answers. Only God knows the answers. Everything, after all, is in His hands and is working out according to His plan.
Life on the outside is going on as it should. Families doing family things. Vacations being planned and taken. Play dates being held. Outings. Events. Life. Things that escape our family most of the time because of the situation we are in. And though we are often held at a distance because of a life that can't be comprehended by most, we are also being lifted up because of this life that is so far from "normal".
Though it is quiet and still here in this room that can be so very isolating, I know that on the outside there are so many people who are with us, praying for us, pleading to God on our behalf, and asking Him for healing, hope, guidance, wisdom, and all those things that I seek in the quiet of this room.
I am grateful because this is not something which can be borne alone. This is bigger than us. Bigger than our little family to bear alone. And I am grateful to those who willingly step up to help ease the load.