joy

It was two weeks ago - to the minute - that this little boy fell out the window. And tonight, I was in his room in the hospital, interacting with him.
During the first few days of the crisis, when it was still likely that he would not evade death, I sat with his mom and played with his brother, and brought the family meals, I forbade myself the indulgence of emotion. This was not my tragedy. If I was sad or overly-upset for this little boy, perhaps I would distract attention (even within my own soul) from the people who were really suffering.
Tonight, I spent a few minutes in his room. I held his hand, ran my fingers gently up his arm, and stroked his leg and foot. I called him by name, and I told him my name in French because he cannot understand English. He held my gaze for several minutes. Solemn little face. And I smiled and talked to him. I told him (in English, because my French is too poor) that we were all so worried for him, and that I was so happy to see that he was strong. I was so proud of him, I said, for fighting so hard. He was a little superhero.
And I felt, to my great surprise, a joy that completely overwhelmed me. I began to cry because of this relief and joy. I quickly turned away and found Kleenex, but I couldn't stop the tears. What a miracle. I have been elated and full of gratitude and joy all evening.