Letting in the Light

I posted this story on facebook a few months back, so if you've already heard this you have my permission to x out :)

But it is my absolute favorite story from our NICU days, and I really want to share its profound effect on our family.

Lenay left the hospital after 6 weeks, and thats when a new chapter began.

The Chapter is called Stagnation.

Up until this point, it seemed that for the most part everyone was moving forward.  Getting better.  Coming home.

Until now.

See, Campbell wasn't really getting any worse. 
But she wasn't really getting any better either. 

Stagnation.

She had been there so long that the nurse practitioner lovingly referred to her as the "room supervisor."

Oy.

Why didn't she want to get better?

Why wasn't she fighting to get home?

Weeks had gone by since Lenay went home.  And yet still here Campbell lay.

At this point in the game, having one baby at home and one in the hospital made it very difficult for Eric and I to visit Campbell together.  But on this particular night, we did. 

We had lots of questions for our little girl, and she just wasn't doling out any answers.  We were at a point where we couldn't see past today.  She wasn't coming home anytime soon.  I had lost my vision. Getting bigger, walking, talking?  It just didn't seem possible anymore.

It was a very dark moment.  A darkness that words cannot describe.

All Eric and I could do was sit in silence feeling sorry for ourselves and stare at our sweet, sleeping baby.

Darkness.

Miraculously, right then a family came onto the unit.

They were visiting the nurses station, which was just outside the open door to Campbell's room.

Amid the constant muted beeps of the monitors that over time we had learned to tune out, we couldn't help but overhear the conversation.

They were a nice looking family, with 3 beautiful daughters: triplets, who looked to be about 2 years old.

The mom and dad were taking turns telling the nurses their story. 

My ears perked up.

It sounded so familiar.

The mom had stayed on antepartum.

The babies were born at a similar gestation to our girls.

The babies' birthweights were about the same as ours.

They were telling our story.

I looked at this family.  Their girls.  They were big.  They were healthy. 
They were beautiful.

A window filled with light suddenly appeared in this dark place.

God knew we needed this family right now.  We needed to hear their story.

This too shall pass.

I looked up at Eric.  His eyes met mine with tears. 
We did not speak but we had the same thoughts.

Could this be our future?

Could we be this family, visiting the NICU down the road.  Telling our story. 

Opening a window and letting in the light for others.

As they walked away, we just sat back and breathed.

We're gonna be okay.

The most amazing part of this story is that the family had no idea that we were listening in.

Absolutely no idea what effect their story was having on us. 

They thought they were just sharing their story with the nurses. 

But in fact, they were providing us, a family in need, with a pivotal moment that we would never ever forget.