The boys and I just returned home from delivering a congratulations card, balloon and small floral arrangement to their teacher whose first baby arrived yesterday. It was our first non-emergency visit to the hospital together ever.
As we left the building, we talked about when they could meet the baby (we dropped everything at the nurses' desk at the ward, not wanting to disturb her) and that they had to be healthy so their good health could protect the baby, etc. As we drive out of the parking garage, Tucker asked, "Does everyone who dies come to the hospital?"
No, I said. Not everyone. When Connor died, they brought him here. They wanted to know why. So as I drove home in the blinding late afternoon sun, I tried to explain about resuscitation, and why their brother was brought to the hospital. They seemed to understand immediately why the EMTs took him straightaway, which was a relief. But I had to explain to them why their father and I had decided years prior to not resuscitate their brother should he suffer a lack of oxygen. To their eternal credit, they seemed to understand. They both said, how sad it would be if he could have done less than he did.
And then Tucker, who cannot be pessimistic it seems unless it relates to me being "the worst", said, wouldn't it have been amazing if they HAD resuscitated him, and he was all fixed and could do everything?
Yes, my man. It would be, in fact, miraculous.
They were both on board with this miracle, and much of the rest of this ride home was a discussion of how cool it would have been to have Connor come home and be the most amazing big brother.
Good Lord, they try me most days, but my kids are pretty amazing. I'm a lucky Mom to have them here with me.
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