Remember the little boy I told you about, O Best Beloved, with the skull fractures and the ventilator? It was a few days later in the middle of the night when the intensivist extubated him. I glanced over and saw two tiny arms waving in the air, swaying back and forth. "Is that my boy?" I walked over to the crib. There was this tiny infant, waving his arms in the air and looking at me. And he was up all night, not crying, just waving his arms and stretching and smiling.
He's home now. His real father sat by his bedside for endless nights, watching over him. After being shut out of his son's life for those pivotal first months, he'll be taking his baby boy home.
Trauma rounds the other day brought him up. The reports from therapy are looking good. "It's amazing how brains heal in little ones." His name is written in my mind, like so many others. I wonder sometimes what will happen, if I'll ever know what his nebulous future becomes. I can always hope.