Today, I want to cry. I wish the tears would just come and yet they won't.
I read a headline describing the Japanese people using the term "disaster weary". I am in no way comparing my situation to theirs, but in the context of my own circumstance, I understand the sentiment. I am disaster weary today. So very tired of illness.
Nothing is different. Abby isn't any sicker. Emily had her neurology appointment and I feel optimistic about the changes we decided to make. There isn't any good reason to wish that I could just sit down and let go for a bit, but I do. I need to. I even found myself looking at the sky wishing for rain. Let the heavens shed the tears that aren't there for me.
All that we've been through the last
I gently ran my hands over Abby's distended, tender belly today and wished some of the hurt I feel for her could leave my heart, even if only for a short time. I change the dressing on her central line and see the hole that opens her chest to dangers of the outside world and can still feel the weight of the pen in my hand as I pressed it to paper to consent to it. I ask her if she's afraid and she consistently answers "yeah". I'm afraid too, but as I look into her eyes I want her to see hope shining back from mine. I can't allow her to look at me and see the tears I feel. If the first tear would actually fall, maybe they wouldn't stop. Maybe I just can't right now, even if I want to.
Oh how I desire in the depths of my soul for my girls to be alright. I wish Emily never knew the fear or confusion of a seizure. I can't stand that Abby has endured months of pain as we've worked to save her life. I grieve for the uncertainty of their futures and the pain they will likely know. I ache because sometimes it feels like I lose them one piece at a time until nothing is left.
As I'm writing, the words of my very first blog are coming to mind:
Their lives have asked me to bear witness to suffering, to do what I can to change it, and when I can't, to hold their hand. They have asked me without words to speak for them. They have asked me to feed and dress them when they can't. To patiently wait for them to do what they can for themselves. To encourage them when they try. They ask me to believe in them when no one else does. To carry them through, and to walk beside. They have asked me to be Christ-like. They have reminded me of what He did for me.
When the time is right, I'm sure I will have the tears and the words to help ease some of this hurt. Tonight, I have this blog and a prayer.
Dear Jesus,
Thank you for loving me and my girls. Thank you for consistently showing me that you are with me. Help me to lay all of this down when I need to, and give me your strength to walk the path before me. Give me the grace to be what I am not. Above all, help me to honor you with my life. I pray you grant us all rest and peace and when I need them, tears.
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