Someone Stronger Than I Was

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

—Matthew 6:8

When Mac was ten days old, he developed a high fever and was admitted to the PICU. The first night, because Henry was also sick, I ended up staying at the hospital alone with Mac.

That night was bleak—I felt insubstantial, like my bones and blood were gone and I was vapor. I felt profoundly, deeply alone. I could have asked for company, and my friends and family would have come. But I didn’t know what I needed, let alone how to say it.

The next morning, Aaron was at the pediatrician with Henry, my mom was trying to get home from out of town, and my dad had a day full of meetings. My dad stopped over before his first meeting. It was clear to him that I was hanging by a filament, dazed and worn-out. “I think I’ll stay,” he said calmly. He called his assistant and told her his meetings needed to be rescheduled.

That act registers to me as one of his finest parenting moments. I don’t know what was written on my face that morning, but I needed to not be alone, in the most desperate of ways. I needed someone to be stronger than I was that day.