I swore to myself that I’d never ask The Question. My ability to remain hopeful was stronger if I didn’t know. But after a particularly disappointing heart cath, well……I had to know. And so I found myself Popping The Question. The question where I ask how long a Brave Hero with disappointing cath results could be expected to live.
The answer I was given was both reassuring and heart breaking. After another heart cath, more hopeful heart results were shared and I thought that perhaps, considering how well Parker has been doing, that a few years might be allowed to be added to the original estimate we were given.
Reed and I had made a pact though. Neither one of us would ever ask another medical professional how long they thought our child might live. It was simply more reality than either one of us were prepared to assimilate into hearts already beat up beyond recognition.
I broke that pact at our last Cardio visit. I’ve been struggling so much lately, and I thought that maybe…….just maybe I might get a good word and that would help to pull me out of this funk I’ve been in since the end of summer.
The moment I asked I wished I hadn’t. Reed even looked at me and exclaimed that we had both promised never, ever to ask THAT question again.
And yet I did.
I can be such an idiot sometimes.
Recently, as I was spending some time on my knees, I remember thinking that with all the medical bills we have paid, are paying, and will be paying, Parker should be allowed to live forever. Then I immediately remembered that for a kid that wasn’t supposed to make it to his first birthday, he’s done pretty damn good. And that’s just ONE of the miracles we’ve seen in this Hero’s life.
I refuse to believe that there aren’t more miracles in store for this littlest Hodson boy of ours.
Is it unrealistic to want to be able to live your life without the worry of an expiration date having been stamped on the bottom of one of your children’s feet? Is it greedy to want to regain a time when life, even with it’s problems, felt carefree compared to now? I find myself wondering if this could be Parker’s last Christmas and will I have enough time to expose him to all the magic of the season while keeping him safe from illness.
I want to feel happy again. Excited again. I need to get over this hump. I’m determined to get over this hump. I will get over this hump.
I’ll be stronger in my faith because of it. It will be hard work, conquering this challenge, but the rewards will follow me into eternity.
When I allow myself to be still and I open my heart to the Spirit, I glimpse bits of peace and joy that are right there within my grasp. All I have to do is drop down the walls of fear I’ve built up and reach out and take hold of these precious gifts. It’s then that my heart fills with gratitude so encompassing the only word I have to describe this feeling is hopeful. I can’t think of a better gift. The ability to have hope. To have faith. To have courage. To have enough of all three that you have the power to make something wonderful happen. When my hope slips, my spirit withers. I can’t imagine anyone in more need of being able to feel the spirit of our Father in Heaven than parents of medically fragile children with special needs.