She was too exhausted to care anymore. Her son had been admitted two days ago with a severe respiratory infection.
The hospital environment, the treatments, the fear—it had overwhelmed him completely.
“His name is Emmett,” Jessica said, her voice breaking. “He’s two and a half. He’s terrified of this place. Of the doctors. Of everything. And I can’t… I can’t help him anymore.”
Dale approached slowly, letting Emmett see him. The boy was still screaming, but his eyes tracked this new person. Dale knelt down—his knees protesting—to get on the child’s level.
“Hey there, little man,” Dale said in a low, rumbling voice. “You having a real bad day, huh?”
Emmett screamed louder, reaching for his mother.
“I get it,” Dale continued, not trying to touch him yet. “This place is scary. Lots of strangers poking you. Bright lights. Beeping machines. Your mama’s scared too, I bet. Your daddy. Everyone’s scared. And that’s a lot for a little guy to handle.”
Something in Dale’s voice—the low rumble, the calmness—made Emmett pause for just a second. Still crying, but listening.
“I’m scared too,” Dale said honestly. “I’m real sick. That’s why I’m here getting medicine. It makes me feel yucky. But you know what helps me? My brothers. They sit with me. Hold my hand. Make me feel less alone. You think maybe I could sit with you? Make you feel less alone?”Continue reading…
