The Hospital's Yellow Flower

Dusty and I were walking back to our room from the NICU after enjoying time with Kanon & Remington and as we approached our door, I glanced down the hallway to the last door down that hall, the room next to ours.  When I laid my eyes on the yellow flower taped to the door, my heart broke in two.  I stopped in my tracks and grabbed Dusty's arm and nodded towards the door.  I didn't have to say a word, and in that moment, Dusty's heart broke as well.  

You see, in October 2014, that same yellow flower was taped on our door.  The door to room 38.  That yellow flower is used to signify to hospital staff that the baby, or babies, have passed away.  The yellow flower prevents workers, whether nurses, cleaning crew, kitchen staff, whomever, from going into the room with a smile on their face, congratulating the new family.  Although so small and subtle, that yellow flower has so much significance.  

As Dusty and I went into our room, we were somber, and our hearts were so heavy for the family in the room next to us.  I thanked God that our babies weren't in our room so that momma wouldn't overhear their cries, knowing she may have never heard her baby cry, and if she did, she would never hear it again.  From that moment on, I vowed as long as they were in the room next to us, I wouldn't laugh too loud, or allow visitors to sound too cheerful loud enough to seep through the walls.  When it was my room with the yellow flower, I remembered how angry I was that everyone could just carry on when my babies died.  I didn't want to hurt that family any more than they were already hurting.

Later that evening, Dust went into the hallway to the ice machine to get a refill for me.  Of all times that he could have went into the hallway, he went when our friend and photographer, Lisa Mac, was walking down the hallway.  See, we met Lisa Mac when she edited our Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep photos.  She didn't take them, but provided the editing services to the photographers that did.  Dust said hi to her, and Lisa came in and said hello to me.  As we hugged, she mentioned that she wasn't actually in the hospital to see me.  I told her I knew, I saw the yellow flower, and my heart was breaking.  She asked me to pray for the family, which, of course, Dust and I would do.  And then she went to take the only pictures of that sweet baby the family will ever have.

I saw the family in the waiting area outside of the room the next day.  I wanted to walk up to them and tell them I understood, that the pain will eventually get better, that it isn't fair, that it is ok to be angry, and all of these other things that were running through my head, but I couldn't.  I could not walk up to them, knowing I had two blessings upstairs in the NICU and justify saying a word to that family, even though I had stood in their shoes and knew the heartbreak better than anyone.  I still have two living, breathing babies, and couldn't talk to them without feeling guilty and worried I would cause pain.  My heart broke for them, I understood their pain, yet I felt paralyzed when I desperately wanted to help.  

A couple of weeks passed and it was the night before Kanon & Remington's newborn pictures and that family had still been heavy on my mind.  I had a few extra copies of 
the book, Mother of All Mother's, and at that moment, it occurred to me what I could do for that momma.  I grabbed one of the books and a notepad and stuck it in my bag that I was taking with me to the photoshoot the next day.  The next day, I asked Lisa if she would see that family again, or be in contact with them, and she told me she would, so I wrote a note to the momma, and left the note and book with Lisa.  

I'm having lunch with that momma on Friday.  I hope it helps her as much as I know it will help me.