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Wednesday, November 14, 2012


Fear.  Let's talk about fear.  I used to think I "feared" many things.  I didn't necessarily like taking my kids to get vaccinations because I didn't want them to hurt.  I hate elevators, and will take the stairs every chance I get whether I'm headed to the first or fifty-first floor.  I'm afraid of heights in some instances.  Every person has a certain amount of fear in becoming a mother, I suppose I did too.  But what I'm currently experiencing is so far beyond any definition of fear that I've ever considered.

Each time I wake up, I'm reminded of where I am.  Lights flashing, machines beeping, parents crying.  These are the sounds of our world.  Certain machine noises can send my stomach lurching to my throat in an instant.  When that happens I have to grab hold of anything near me and keep myself on my feet.  I have to put my hand to my mouth to keep from vomiting.  This happens approximately once an hour.  I've learned to eat as much food as I can when my body is allowing me to swallow, because I have no idea if I'll have that function an hour from now.  Sometimes it's just gone.

When I've left the bedside for any amount of time, I feel as though walking back is like walking to your own execution.  Although they never actually finish the job.  It's like someone is saying, "hurry up and get back to the place where you're blindfolded and someone gets to freely punch you in the gut every 20-30 minutes."  You get beaten to within an inch of your life every single day, but are left with just enough to make you come back for more the next day.  And you do it, because you have to.  Because failure to show up and hold a hand is not an option.  Because your fear is not as important as his life, or his possible fear.  Because even though it turns you inside out and upside down, you know that you're going to be right there, standing on two feet for whatever comes next.  Because that's what you promised him the day he was born.  You promised to love him and to BE there.  And so that's what you do.  Each day, you breathe in and you breathe out.  You put one foot in front of the other, and show up.

1 comment:

  1. I completely empathize. That little room, is so much like a prison cell at times, stay too long and you feel you might never leave. Leave and you feel like you shouldn't have left. Somewhere amidst it all, you find life again, whether you are whole or fractured ,and you make the best of the worst because it is not within you to do any other thing. Strength is a burden and blessing. With you in spirit!