He’s states away from me, my grandson.

My daughter video-chatted with me this morning. She knew he was not himself, but didn’t know what was going on. She wanted my nursing opinion.

As I watched him, limp and lethargic, my gut wrenched, and caught, and dove.

I didn’t know what was going on, but he needed to be seen by a doctor.

I’m not a pediatric nurse, but two year old and lethargic do not go together.

She scooped him up and took him to the ER, leaving her husband to stay with the baby’s twin brother, and the seven month old baby boy.

I feel like I’m in the waiting room.

It’s a helpless feeling.

As a grandmother, or Nana as I am called, I am wildly in love with my grandsons. I am even more protective of them than I am of my own children, if that is even possible.

I went on long walks, praying and crying and pleading for this dear sweet grandson.

Some thing is not right. I don’t want to know but I WANT TO KNOW!! What is going on?

Diagnoses have been ruled out.

Terrifying diagnosis I cannot speak into the air are tormenting me.

An update: it might be a passing neurological disorder…but it’s just on the differential diagnosis list. I’m tempted to look up this disease, but I don’t want to freak out.

I resume my pacing, now on the front porch. I see the sun peeking through the overcast sky, and I want it to be a sign that he is going to be alright.

I just need to know that he’s going to be alright.

Nothing is known. His MRI is being bumped for a more critical situation. I say a prayer for that unknown child.

It’s a week later…labs are trickling in. My grandson was sent home after a couple of days, only to be rushed back to the ER today.

You would trade places with your child in a minute. You would trade places with your grandchild in a second.

As I try to keep busy hundreds of miles away, I pray continuously for this little family of mine, so far away, yet so dear to my heart.

I sat on my porch this morning, and the little house wrens eyed me closely. I was sitting close to a fern they are using for nest making. I say perfectly still, hoping they would continue their industrious nest building.

His eye is on the sparrow. And the wren. And my little grandson. And his family.

I remain in the waiting room.