Monday, September 02, 2013
During the darkest moments of the spring, there was little time to think about what summer might look like. It was a daily, sometime half a day at a time, battle with Thomas and his pain. It seemed as if the waves of anxiety and fear were pummeling us, day after day. In the lowest times, it wasn't forward that I could look and to allow myself to glance back was to be haunted by what used to be.
Now, I find that I am holding my breath, afraid to become too comfortable in what has turned out to be a huge and powerful change for Thomas. A new med, a new hope, a possible calm on the road to what was turning into a very beastly disability for my sweet boy. This summer found us able to live somewhat of a "normal" summer life, full of days of swimming, tubing, and learning to wakeboard behind grandpa's boat. Piling our overpacked bags into the sailboat I had moments of absolute amazement that we were even able to pull off such an adventure! To be able to leave, when at times I had questioned whether or not we could ever leave our home again? What an amazing blessing it was to sail away, to have the freedom to leave the confines of our home, the only safety we'd had all spring, to once again be able to seek out the unknowns and new adventures that I'd almost given up on. Still, though, there is an ever present lurking in my mind, a voice that threatens to steal my joy at the blessings of this summer. A day when I have almost put the voice away, only for a headache to appear, to show its nasty, snarling head, and once again I feel the growing waves lapping at the shore, pulling for me. How desperately I want him to be free of this, to live life without the pain and the worry. How many times has he cried out that he doesn't want this pain, why must they come again and again to steal his time of play, his hours of precious activities. Each time is like a slice to my body, pain that will scab over, but is jarred fresh time and time again. We are in counseling, and I would love to say that it's for Thomas, and Thomas only, but I know that I am in turmoil, too. I have felt waves of anger wash over me when someone has dared complain about a mundane issue in their life. I want to rage and throw my hands up, imploring them to cherish their healthy children, to not waste a moment of their lives on such trivial matters. Instead, I must remind myself that this is the road that the Lord has placed in front of me. It is not the road that I would chose. I would be lying if I said I do not beg and plead for some assurance that it will end, that there will be some time when this road will turn once again peaceful. But for now, it is the journey we are on. I believe that God is bigger than any of this. I must believe that Thomas will come out a stronger man because of his experience. I pray that John and I can guide him through this so that he may see himself more powerful and stronger because the journey was not easy, but it was beautiful and blessed nonetheless.