Today, at church, I started to cry. Tears welled in my eyes as the words, "My Jesus Saves" were shown on the screen. I was holding Samuel. His little head was nestled in my shoulder. Safe.
It was too close.
I don't know if I was running on adrenaline or what, but all of a sudden today I find myself completely exhausted. Every cell seems to scream for rest. But, when I sit still I find my mind racing.
Did it really happen?
Yet, in my purse, there in a tiny medical Ziploc bag, is a pink star. A reminder. I need to let it go. Not the star -- I'm saving that for him -- but the worry and fear. It's like my mind is wrestling with the what-if's when he's upstairs sleeping soundly. I wonder why our minds do that. Is is just a part of dealing with things? Wondering? Reliving the days?
I just need to move forward.
But, I feel stuck. Every cough, every wheeze (he's still wheezing -- especially when he rests), every bit of drool causes me to worry.
Maybe I need to actually deal with this.
I'm such a person who likes to push through things -- move on -- you know, pull up my boot-straps -- toughen up. Yet, I'm beginning to suspect that I need to remember. To process. To let go. And in the release there is praise. Samuel is safe. The Lord has his life etched on His palm. I am blessed and honored to be his mother. In all times -- good and bad. Honestly, when I was attempting to rest with him at the first hospital I kept thinking about how I was so grateful that I could be with him. That I could comfort him, rub his back, and sing to him. When the nurses brought him back after his surgery he reached for me. That was the first time he's ever done that -- and I ran to him. Literally. I scooped him in my arms and let his sweet little head burrow into my chest. And I held him. Close.
So today I write. I write about how I'm feeling weepy despite the goodness. I write about feeling stuck on what happened last week despite it being Sunday. I am so grateful for Samuel. I am so grateful for his life. I am so grateful. I write today, not because of not being grateful, but just because of those emotions that simply cannot seem to settle. And in that writing -- I slowly am finding freedom. A freedom to be real, to process and to move forward. Maybe dealing with it allows me to heal. To keep walking.
