25 of the 50 initial Project Seahorse Packets don the Roberts guest bed and await their distribution
Late Night Thoughts from an Amateur Bag-Stuffer
I don't have the right physique to be a bag-stuffer, I thought to myself as I tried to ignore my aching back and continued stuffing bags.
Lisa had gone to bed exhausted at 9:30, and I was tempted to join her, but the long-awaited bags for our Seahorse packets had finally arrived earlier today, and so I decided that I would stuff some of the bags. My buffet line conduct should be enough to convince anyone that it is not my nature to go halfway with anything. I continued stuffing the bags until they were all completed. around 11:00 p.m.
Kenny Loggins joined me in the project and put me in a pretty good mood for some reflection.
I thought about how, in the next few days, these 50 bags will split into two groups, with half of them going to Memorial Health University Medical Center in nearby Savannah. The other half will catch a UPS plane for Phoenix and will wind up at the Phoenix Children's Hospital.
I thought about how long it has been since we said goodbye to our precious Emily--nine months ago next week. And I thought about how happy it truly makes me, as a daddy, to do something special in her memory. I thought about how excited I hope her mommy will be tomorrow when she sees 50 bags ready to go. And I hope that what we are doing makes her proud. And I think it does.
I thought about how blessed we are with Ashley and Benjamin and Casey and Danielle. Tired most of the time, blessed all of the time. Lisa works like a madwoman, and even with many wonderful helpers it often seems like she barely gets through the day. As for me, my workload pales in comparison to Lisa's. When I come home from work these days, it's as if I'm immediately submerged into some kind of "second shift" job. While it may be no less work than some kind of second job, I can't imagine any kind of job that would be as rewarding and satisfying as being the daddy of these four, and of enjoying truly peaceful times amidst the chaos.
I thought about Project Seahorse and its humble beginnings. Will it be a huge success that spreads like wildfire? Or will it be a small subtle help to a well-worth-it handful? And will it always be a late-at-night, bending-over-intensive project that we somehow manage to squeeze into the end of our busy days?
I thought about Casey and his two MRIs and his feeding tube surgery, all of which will take place next week. I thought about Danielle and all of her neurological question marks, and of Benjamin and his reflux, and of the way Ashley is suddenly scared to death of people that she has always known and loved. Each of these little ones has areas of uncertainty that are as concerning as we allow them be. We want to be alert for signs of something that is truly wrong, but we don't want to be so alert that we miss the big picture.
And the big picture before us is a beautiful one. We thank God that we have left behind the tubes and wires and machinery and beeps and trauma and stress and camaraderie that is the NICU. What we are facing now seems so paltry compared to all that we faced then. Thank you, God, that we have exited the NICU experience.
And thank you, God, that we have the opportunity to reach out to those who are entering it.
A slightly strained back is a small price to pay to be a part of something like this.
--by Phil Roberts, written August 15, 2006 at 11:42 p.m.