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“The surgery went well,” she announced, and Josh let out a sob that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his soul.
“She’s stable. The operation was successful. She’ll need time to heal, but the prognosis is good.”
“Can I see her?”
“Soon. She’s in recovery. Give us another hour.”
Lila spent five days in the pediatric ICU.
Josh was there every single day, from visiting hours until security made him leave at night. He’d hold her tiny hand through the incubator openings.
“We’re going to go to the park,” he’d say. “And I’ll push you on the swings.
And Mason’s going to try to steal your toys, but I won’t let him.”
During one of those visits, I got a call from the hospital’s social services department. It was about Sylvia. She’d passed away that morning.
The infection had spread to her bloodstream.
“Josh showed me what family really means.
Please take care of my babies. Tell them their mama loved them. Tell them Josh saved their lives.”
I sat in the hospital cafeteria and cried.
For Sylvia, for those babies, and for the impossible situation we’d been thrown into.
When I told Josh, he didn’t say anything for a long time. He just held Mason a little tighter and whispered, “We’re going to be okay. All of us.”
Three months later, the call came about Derek.
Car accident on Interstate 75.
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