I was the first non-parent, non-medical staff person to meet Aly, my newborn niece. She needed to spend some time in the nursery for monitoring after she was born. But the nurse wheeled her over in the baby bassinette, and tears filled my eyes at this… perfect, tiny little girl.
More family members filled the room that day–the new grandparents, the uncle and other aunt, the great-grandma. We took turns holding her.
This was the second long day my mom and I spent at the hospital. The day before, we sat with my sister as she experienced a long, excruciating, 40-hour induced labor. Then we got news when the doctor finally decided on a C-section, as the excruciating labor made very little progress.
The day after Aly was born, we got news again, this time of an emergency. I’ll spare the details, but my sister went through a scary complication. So our spirits went from joy to tearful worry as we sat in the waiting room, and then the hospital room, way past visiting hours. We didn’t leave until the wee hours of the night, when my sister was done with emergency surgery and in post-op. The first person she wanted to see was our mom. In that moment, she was as vulnerable and little as the little girl she had just birthed. She was just a baby who wanted her mom.
This week has been an emotional rollercoaster, for a lot of reasons. I have personal grief I’m working through, which is so small in comparison to the harrowing journey my sister has been on in her body, mind, and heart. But I’m still allowing grief for myself, and I’m grateful for a trusted mentor who reached out and asked how I’m doing. My heart is very tired.
But as I looked around, these layers of joy, grief, fear, and relief have a place in a hospital room. That’s what makes this space so sacred. These rooms have seen all the tears and excruciating pain of new life, and the end of life. Their lights have witnessed concerning conditions on physical bodies, fervent prayers of loved ones, and the bloody messes of healing.
Tear jars in ancient Israel were used to collect the tears of those who mourned over loved ones. They symbolize a surrounding of love, that a life mattered. Hospital rooms are tear jars. We’re not meant to live our lives in hospital rooms, even if we work there. But they are places that remind us of our humanity.
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