Yesterday my son was born. (and I am definitely one of those proud dads thats always talking about my son and probably will be talking about it him for more than a little while) During the birth the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and the hospital staff oh so calmly cut the chord, pumped some air into his lungs and he was perfectly fine. Just to be sure, they took little Aodhan (pronounced Aiden) to the neonatal intensive care unit (nicu) to make sure everything was ok. Monday morning I was waiting for this boy at 1:34am and having finally seen him there I was at 9pm the same day waiting for him again.
Now I knew he was fine. I went and saw him in the nicu and saw how well he was doing got reassured by three doctors (including the midwife who delivered) four nurses and a partridge in a pear tree. But still I stood in the recovery room waiting for him with a kind of desperation I have not known before.
Desperation as applied to waiting is not something I have ever understood until now.
Ten virgins waiting for the bridgegroom in the night made no sense to me before this week. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand it to be honest. But I do understand the difference between the five wise brides and the five foolish ones. I understand the servant who waits by the door for the master to return. I understand why Jesus says “no one mourns while the bridgegroom is among you.”
And I understand the father waiting for the son who left to come home. Today I understand what it means to wait in desperation.

And yes, Aodhan is perfectly fine and healthy.

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