My Little Teacher

Thank you for being my teacher, Little Man.

I rocked you, you know. The chair and your feet, Little Man, we all noticed the same curve. I wonder if God made you that way because He knew only strangers would ever hold you. Your mom was too young and sad and scared to see you, but we looked upon each other and rocked.

You held my hand, Little Man, as you passed through this world. Your fingers crossed, one over the other, over another. You clenched your fist when you tried to breathe, and squeezed my finger with each momentous struggle.

You made me laugh. The pediatrician had to examine you and, like all little boys, you peed, with gusto, in the cold air. Your sense of timing, Little Man, is like that of all men and I’m glad you got to share in that experience, even at the expense of a pair of scrubs.

At first you were silent, and then you finally cried. And when you cried I couldn’t help but shed the tears you couldn’t form. I closed my eyes, Little Man, as you struggled to bring your lids together about your solitary eye.

I watched you gasp for breath, Little Man. And I counted the seconds between each moment of agony. Your little chest caved in as you finally opened your mouth, sucking in life prolonging air. It was so hard for you; your nose never completed its journey and rested useless, like a brand, on your forehead.

I prayed for you, Little Man, as your lips slowly turned blue. I know each moment of your life was a struggle and I asked God to help you. Your parents were so young and scared. I asked that they be able to find the grace to understand you. After we said “Amen” your father came to say goodbye and to give you a name. It was a sweet name, Little Man.

Your heart beat so valiantly against your ribcage. I watched it closely, so closely, Little Man. And finally when it was still and I laid two fingers on your chest I couldn’t tell my own heartbeat from yours. But you had finished your struggle.

I catalogued your imperfections, Little Man, and for that I’m sorry. But I forgot to mention how your shoulders had a beautiful curve, and that each tiny fingernail was perfect. You had a soft, round belly and adorable knock knees. Your lips were a Cupid’s bow; your skin was soft and smooth. You were beautiful.

I am so sorry, Little Man, that I could not do anything more for you. I sat and watched while you lost your struggle with life. I know we both agreed to be brave, but I think you’re braver than me, Little Man. I wish I could have made your single hour on earth better.

You didn’t realize perhaps, Little Man, but you were a teacher. Thank you, Little Man, my Little Teacher.


For more please check out my journal where I initially posted this story.