Perspective

As I sit here, attempting to read the last of the Epic of Gilgamesh, holding my breath that R doesn't wake up screaming in terror from not breathing, and planning my bed time for about three hours earlier than usual, I can remember being younger and saying "I'm so tired, you really cannot understand how tired I am." I can hear the young freshman at college complaining about their exhaustion, or rambling about how much work their classes are. Each one proclaims that they are in fact more "spent" than the other, and they don't know how they will go on.

When I think about this, and how I was "tired" when I was younger, I long to have those days back. I now know what tired is. I would venture to in fact say that I now know tired more or at least much differently than I did a year ago when R was a newborn.

Tired is the mom or dad who sits with their sick child listening to every breath, counting respirations, and administering breathing treatments. Tired is that parent who God forbid has to sit in the hospital trying to entertain their bored little one who despite being sick is still determined to leave their room with tornado level destruction. Tired is my friend who I read about driving hundreds of miles to care for her son and give him the best life she could ever hope for. Tired is the parent who faces the unimaginable pain of having a sick little one, and the exhaustion that comes with caring for them.

These small trials we have faced the past few weeks are minuscule compared to those of parents who have children with much more serious issues. I do, however, now know a much deeper level of exhaustion than I ever knew before. Maybe its the worry that comes with having a sick child that makes you feel numb, or maybe its the wakeful nights. Maybe its listening to the beautiful small person who carries around a piece of your soul be so uncomfortable that makes you want to scream for the world to listen so someone will come running with a miracle cure. Maybe it is a combination of all of those things, and the stress that accompanies them that makes you feel as if you are living in a video game, trying to find the right exit to get out of the underworld.

I pray for those parents who deal with illness of any kind on a continual basis. I would say they are stronger than I could ever be, but in this tiny trial I have learned this... I am as strong as I want to be. In the face of adversity I am given a choice, I can let go and bow out, or I can overcome thresholds I never thought I would be able to. By choosing the latter I learn more about myself as a wife, a mother, and a believer.  (This in retrospect to while A and I held R down I watched the nurse dig in his tiny arm with that evil needle trying to get blood, I stood there wanting to pass out, getting the hot tingly I'm going to pass out feeling, but pushing through it and focusing on the task at hand....big steps for me...)

My friend, the one who drives her son so far for medical care put this on my facebook, I thought it was beautiful...
"I always say God gives us EXACTLY what we can handle, never more, and rarely less. In the hardest times I remind myself that God sent "K" to us because we're the best parents for him. The same is true for you and never forget it!"

Such a trooper through his latest treatment. he kept his mask on the whole time! Of course, the Backyardigans made for a great distraction.