…is going to be fine. He should be coming home tomorrow. It’s been a harrowing week for everyone, but he is a strong, brave boy surrounded by love and good medicine. Maybe it was asthma or an ear infection run amok – we don’t know. He’s breathing beautifully tonight and the best team of nurses in the land hover over him.
His Mama is holding up well and I’m proud of her. Nothing prepares young mothers for this kind of fear. I guess nothing could. Emily has become the rock she always thought I was. She knows how to cry behind a door now and that’s how it works. Parenting in critical times is mostly smoke and mirrors and shaky bravado. She’s learned to compartmentalize in the moment and that’s not something they teach in college.
The Perfect Grandson braved all manner of poking and procedures without a tear. He’s the light and joy of everyone at the hospital and they worked tirelessly to make him well. He is better, and tomorrow he’ll be home. Four days is a long time for a little guy to keep still and be good, but he’s done it.
Tonight he’ll sleep and breathe without assistance. Em will curl herself around him in that skinny hospital bed, and her gentleman friend will sleep in the lounge chair beside them – just as he’s done every night this week. He’s a keeper and she knows this.
This is what a happy ending looks like.