Last week I asked your prayers for Patrick Coffin’s newborn daughter, Naomi Rose, who was to be born last Thursday with some serious medical problems. Alas, it seems the problems were worse than originally feared. Her life span, like all of ours, is finite, but hers will be very short.
Life sometimes includes some “It Must Be Done, Period” moments. This is one of them, God help us. We now face the impossible task of deciding when to finesse the end of her little life—an event we’re told would be peaceful, and well medicated throughout. Yet, we believe her true Father will give us the signs that it’s time to help him greet her, as we helped him make her.
We’re not talking about euthanasia. (I had the same questions myself when the hard facts of her very poor prognosis were given us.) We’re talking about an extension of the comfort care she’s already receiving. With no discernably good outcome, coupled with needless and steadily increasing suffering—not to mention staggering NICU costs—Naomi deserves the enjoyment of eternal rest. As brutally tough for us as it is, a quasi-orchestrated good-bye would allow her to fly non-stop direct from our weak arms to the Lord’s strong ones.
How we’ll do this, I have no idea. We want to keep visiting her; singing into her ear; stroking her hair (which, by the way, has hilarious-looking blond highlights—who is this Fifth Avenue salon customer?); telling her we love her, and so on. But is that the best for Naomi?