Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Parent (11/16/06)
TITLE: Less Than Six Weeks
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They have to put you under, with a gas mask. But the doctor says the paperwork takes longer than the procedure. I’m terrified something will go wrong. I don’t want to lose you.
I keep having morbid thoughts, like burying you with your favorite toys, just doing the wake one night... Is it just my neurotic mind or mother’s intuition? I’m <i>so</i> tempted to cancel your surgery. But I also had ideas for your half-birthday and even your big-girl bedroom, which is a long way off. So there’s hope.
We say “I love you” more often now. That’s the most important thing I can do, love you.
I read the title of your devotional and knew it was about death. And I immediately thought of you. The blessing said God is there to lift us up in tough times. But I got teary, again. What do parents of seriously ill children do? How on earth do they manage?
I wonder about death. If I cancelled your surgery, would something else happen at that time, if that’s your fate?
One of your little security blankets is in the pocket of my coat. How will I feel when I find it next fall?
Before I booked your surgery I read about a special statue of the Virgin Mary. Should I ask her to intercede? There have been miracles associated with that statue. Could you be cured? I was teary when I tried to tell Daddy about it. I just held up the tour schedule for the statue and pointed to the newspaper article.
We saw The Pilgrim Virgin Statue. We attended mass and listened to the talk afterwards, impressive, but we didn’t stay for the adoration which requires quiet. I started saying the rosary that night, but I had to find instructions, and I kept falling asleep. Now I bumble my way through the rosary early each morning, fighting sleep and distracting thoughts.
Time is running out. Now I praying more for you get through the surgery without complications (before, during and after), instead of just for you to be miraculously cured.
I’m learning the Rosary prayers I wasn’t familiar with, and amazingly, though it takes at least thirty minutes, each day I finish before you wake.
Are my morbid thoughts becoming less frequent? Has praying more helped or am I just getting used to the idea of surgery? But I’m still hoping for a miracle. I still want to cancel.
A book about the loss of a child jumped out at me at the store. When you said, “I’m done with my Life.” I knew you were just talking about your cereal. I didn’t freak.
The wind snatched away your party balloon before I could catch it. I hope you won’t be snatched away from me.
Your devotional on Surgery Day is about tears and heaven. That made <i>me</i> teary. I was seriously thinking of canceling again. But I woke with a song in my head: “…and I will give you hope… I love you and you are mine…” The lyrics I found online made me teary: “…and I will bring you home.” I want you home with me, not with God, not yet, not anytime soon, please.
We can ask you if you want surgery, but you’re only two. You don’t understand. It doesn’t seem right to cancel because of <i>my</i> fears.
Should we have you anointed?
Would I bury you in your Easter dress which is your favorite color?
After I wished for some sign to tell me what to do, your sister said, “Maybe Jesus will grab your balloon and bring it back to you… …If she’s still alive by then.” Where did that come from?
You did very well and were quite attentive when Father anointed you. I cried. I couldn’t help it. Someone told us to pray to Saint Lucy, patron saint of eyes. I found two prayers on the computer that sounded good. I say them a lot.
All those prayers helped! Your incredibly minor tear duct surgery was successful and quick. Your Surgery Day blessing was actually “No More Tears” -- in your case, <i>no</i> crying and no more <i>overflow</i> tears.
Now your goopy eye is just a memory. But I still pray the rosary each morning. And I’m still reading at least a little bit of the Bible each night. You were meant to have surgery. – I was meant to deepen my faith.
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