Tuesday, March 15, 2011
And Time Goes On...
No matter how much I might like the world to stand still and hold it's breath with me while I wait for Liam. It just won't. Every loss mom, or parent who's been scared to death for their child knows exactly what I'm talking about. It turns out that every day I'm expected to get up and do normal things like make breakfast, wash clothes, or go to the meeting at Reagan's school to discuss his IEP and making the transition to High School.
Now here's the moment in my day where I take a time-out from my mini emotional time-out to have that thought. I think it's the thought every mother has when her child is about to do something totally new, like High School. I wondered how this all could have gone so fast. 20 years ago, it was me getting ready to start High School. Where has the time gone? How can I help him succeed? Is there any way to slow it all down a bit? If I stack books on his head, will he stop getting taller? Maybe that last thought is all mine.
The moment passed, of course (without my attempting to stunt the growth of my firstborn, yay me!), and I came home to continue my day while trying hard not to think about the countdown to our Pediatric Neurosurgical consult tomorrow morning, first thing. I haven't been at all successful. Could you tell? So, I distracted myself with my latest calling: learning all about encephaloceles. Unfortunately, I am actually not capable of cramming an entire neurological education into a few days. Go figure.
What I know is this: The Neuro tomorrow may give us more reasons to hope, may tell us that there is no hope to be had, or may give us the worst-case-scenario in the hopes that we'll be pleasantly surprised when things go better than his dire prediction. Which ever he does, we'll go forward somehow with hope. I know that somehow, no matter what happens, the world will keep turning, and I will keep putting one foot in front of the other, and I will take care of all of my children to the best of my ability, Liam included.
What I hope is that he tells us that all of our reasons to be hopeful right now are accurate. That Liam's prognosis is good. And I hope that whatever they tell me, I'll be able to keep going in a way that's healthy. Doing things like smiling at my kids, or laughing at how Brennan gets more spaghetti sauce on his face than in his mouth. Hey, it's the little things, right?
We're still grateful for prayer, good thoughts, medicine dances, whatever you've got. And of course I will update with whatever news we get.