Rendering Rapture

Well that was the original title of this poem. I am not certain it fits, but I have not yet thought of one I like better. I have added St. Jude's story to a list of links for those of you who read that post a few days ago. And related to those events, I share with you the poem (published in the Auburn University Sunsource 1991) in which I attempted to describe a single moment. The photo was made a year before the surgery. My son was in PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) for three days after a 12 hour surgery on March 29, 1989 to remove a tumor located in the center of his head. His surgeon met with my husband and me immediately after the operation to explain what she had accomplished. When she finished, I folded her hands inside mine and and gave a prayer of thanks for for her gifts as a surgeon and her dedication to the children she served. She put her arms around me and said, "God is my co-pilot."

Today, I dedicate this poem to Dr. Patricia Aronin, who --along with her Co-pilot--made this moment possible.

True, I held you as a newborn and
marvelled at your hands and tiny fingers

curling 'round my thumb.

Through baby years and kindergarten tears

and many times over

you were in my arms.

But never, never, never had I held you...

Eyes swollen and bruised

Swelled out from white gauze

Swathed 'round your skull,

Your every vital organ attached

To monitor, catheter, EEG, IV.

Three days I watched the screens and fluids.
The needles and nurses came and went.

Your only words through week tears

And whispering, quivering mouth,

"I'm so unhappy."

A hospital is the singular, most inhospitable place

Especially in P I C U

Where tiny infants and young children

Are wheeled in, struggle, and sometimes die.

But beside your bed, amid the cold and sterile scene

A warmly varnished reminder

Of contented nursing during newborn nights:

A spacious, cradling rocking chair held me.

Hour after cavernous hour, I watched and rocked

And waited with arms useless,

Needing only your slender, little form

To come against my aching soul.

Stable. Making progress. Everything came off.
No tubes, no wires, nothing attached.
"Would you like me to hold you?"
Your heavy, bandaged head could just move

A determined, nodding "Yes."

I pushed my arms under your neck and body
Guiding every move with care and grace

Far beyond any ventured on the newborn you seven years before.

Careful. Careful. Caution upon caution,

For I was reclaiming the most priceless

Treasure I would ever touch.

As I gathered you into my embrace,

Every nerve and sinew in my being burst into

A rapture of the purest form.

And if I should live through all Eternity,

Never will there be such an unattended,

Permanently suspended moment

As when the rockers curved themselves against the world

And made us something holy.

Sunsource 1991