Last fall, I watched as my daughter-in-law’s third pregnancy turned into a high-risk one that she had to be hospitalized for. I watched as my son had to make many decisions alone and commute for hours a day for work and school and visits to the hospital, all while caring for their two preschool daughters.
Those little girls couldn’t understand why they had to visit Mommy in the hospital and why she couldn’t go home with them. My son once had to just hold his four-year-old in the middle of the hospital lobby as she melted down into screams and tears and anger while people stared. He said he kept answering these well-meaning strangers when they asked to help: “No, thank you. I’m her dad. I’m handling it.”
I watched as my son, with all the pressure on him, never once lost his temper with the girls. And when my little grandson was born, my son and daughter-in-law held him for his brief life, instilling all the love they had for him, speaking their hearts into him, and saying good-bye.
It was the hardest thing they, as a young family, had ever experienced. I watched as my son was truly fearless. In his case, fearless wasn’t the absence of fear. It was the courage to keep going in spite of the fear—all for the sake of his family.