The past few weeks have been tough. It’s tough getting over having to save your child, it’s tough getting over watching him slowly heal, it’s tough seeing him get a stomach virus that completely dehydrated him, it’s tough staying in the hospital, it’s tough missing your kiddos and husband, and it’s tough having to continue with life like nothing has happened. I have always considered myself a positive, glass half full, optimistic person, but the last few weeks have been difficult to overcome.
I feel selfish for feeling down, especially since Benjamin is still with us, but sometimes I just want to be sad, angry, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I want my husband to automatically know when his non-emotional wife needs to be emotional. I want just a few mornings in a row where I don’t have to listen to alarms going off while watching the nurse suction him repeatedly. I want my son to breathe.
Sometimes, we need a good reminder that we are not alone, and I can’t focus on things that “I want.”
Sunday we had a beautiful Mass. It was the day when the men returned from a retreat full of energy and faith. The music was upbeat, and the kids and I were able to sing many verses without looking at the words since we sing many of them in the car. It was an emotional service, and not just for me. I wasn’t the only one with tears. I was completely fine and composed throughout mass until Communion, and the chorus sang, “It’s Your breath, in our lungs.” I sat down in the pew and cried. (The ugly cry). This chorus may not normally seem to be so touching, but to a Mom who watched her son struggle for a breath, these words were healing. These words reminded me that even when I watch Benjamin fight, he is not fighting alone. It reminds me that Benjamin belongs to God, and that his weakened body is given to me temporarily, before Benjamin returns to run to Him. Though this moment was a moment of healing, if I allow it, the healing lasts only briefly, and I am once again swallowed with sadness the next morning when the alarms are blaring and the suction machine sounds like a construction zone.
So, for now, I take a moment at a time, my husbands listens and consoles, and I try to remember how blessed I am. KC continues to remind me that no matter what happens in the future, Benjamin is here today because of the excellent care he has been given. He has already exceeded many people’s expectations. I WILL be thankful for every moment we have, and I WILL fight the selfish feelings that can consume me. I am so thankful for what God has taught me through my children, and will continue to rely on His breath in our lungs.