Do you ever feel like it’s just one thing after another?
Much of the last two weeks have been a blur to me. I woke up a week ago and was dazed and confused, trying to grasp what day it was and where time had gone. I almost questioned whether the several days prior had even happened.
But, I remembered all too clearly I was not imagining anything.
It was all real.
Several moments and events from the previous five days were all too vivid in my mind. Imagining the flames that overtook my son, the smell of his burnt hair, the blisters and burns on his arms, his face, his hand, layers of his skin missing, the ambulance, the pain, the tears, and the fear buried in the back of my mind since the day his dad was diagnosed with cancer.
It was all TOO real.
When hubby got sick I had no control over it, no say. Faced with reality, heartbreak, and the realization I cannot save him, I got this feeling of panic that overwhelmed me. It’s as if my life took a plunge, and drowning in reality I was trying to grab and hold onto everything, everyone. I was clutching to my children with fear in my heart.
Fear of losing control, fear of losing them, fear of losing everything.
And, on that Wednesday afternoon, with one simple phone call, that fear was my reality. When something bad happens I know how easily my mind begins to wander and imagines the worst. This time was no different.
I was worried about that sweet face. There was concern about my other children, and how they were going to handle something else.
Every doctor said he was lucky, said he could have been on a ventilator.
In spite of that, I wanted to know, Why?
Why did this have to happen and how much more can we take?
More doctor visits, more medical bills, more stress, more anxiety, more, more, more!
I felt numb. Beaten.
There was guilt. Pain.
But, I knew the Lord was looking out for him that day. He was lucky.
Then, 14 hours after his accident, at 5 in the morning, I sat next to his bedside at the burn center in Chapel Hill, inches from his face, and watched while he endured more pain than I suffered with him coming into this world. As a mother, it was the most horrible thing to watch my child go through, and it is forever embedded in my memory.
I wanted to hold his hand, but I couldn’t. I wanted to place my hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t tolerate my touch. So, I just closed my eyes and prayed for him that morning to withstand the pain and get through the torture.
And, he did.
In the days after, I held back my tears, only allowing myself to cry with the recovery room nurse as she listened to my sorrows. I sat in his room for six hours after surgery waiting for him to wake up. I walked around tired and drained, napping when exhaustion took over.
When we came home I was restless, plagued with sleeplessness, nightmares that forced me upright and wide awake with an uneasiness in my heart.
There is no pain in the world like a mother’s ailing heart. The helpless feeling eating at me, not wanting him out of my sight, the protectiveness I want to wrap him in forever. I could have prevented the whole mishap. Maybe.
If only we could change all the “maybes” and “what ifs.” How would life be different?
The days are getting better and so is he, but this distraction is losing its focus. If nothing else my son has preoccupied my mind from the uncertainty of the quickly approaching visit to the cancer center. A costly silver lining, but one nonetheless.
God works in mysterious ways. Sometimes it’s best we have our eyes wide shut.
Lose sight and just have faith.
8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. 9 For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Isaiah 55:8-9
grace love biscuits 