Why?

It was 4:00, I prepared myself.  I knew that the nurse said I could ask whatever questions I had.  But I didn’t even know what to ask.  She gave me all the details of the appointment in KC.  Our appointment would be May 9th with a pediatric craino/facial reconstructive/plastic surgeon.  I had read that if surgery was needed this is the type of doctor one needed to see.  So I was relieved.  We continued to talk about the details of the appointment, what I needed to take to the appointment, a contact from the doctor’s office and then at the very end she said “Also, the doctor here told me to tell you that she just doesn’t feel comfortable answering any questions about this since she has never experienced this before so if you have any questions don’t call here just call up to KC.” What?  I too was new to all of this.  I too had never experienced this.  This was my baby, I wanted an advocate, someone who I could talk to about it, but don’t call her?  Okay?  We ended the call and then came the rush of tears, the rush of the reality of the situation and the fear.

I cried.

I cried so hard I thought I might be sick, I couldn’t breathe.  I was still at work but the kiddos were gone.  Then like angels my best friend and my friend from earlier came in.  They both knew words were not needed.  They were just quiet.   I stopped the broken dam of tears long enough to have them both share comfort.  At least I had someone.  I had someone who had gone through this before.  Someone who could relate to this insane unheard of situation.  I would survive; maybe.

I left.

On the drive to pick up the boys I just kept replaying all the events like some awful dream.  Surely that’s what this was.  So many peopled prayed, were still praying, we had prayed, we were still praying.  I didn’t understand.  I couldn’t understand.  It didn’t make sense.  I didn’t know what the surgery would entail, but I knew that any operation on your precious beloved one especially a precious innocent baby who had no idea what was going on except that he was so dearly loved and cared for was awful.  He was happy and cheerful.  He rarely cried.  He would have to endure a major operation to fix something that shouldn’t have happened.  I arrived to pick up the boys and again I broke. 

I didn’t want to talk. 

I didn’t have words. 

I couldn’t talk. 

All I could do was cry. 

Fortunately, there were so many others there to pick up their kiddos that I didn’t have to.  I knew that our daycare provider knew but she didn’t push.  I squeezed both my boys so tight.  I didn’t want to let go.  If I could just hold them forever in that moment then everything could just stop and I wouldn’t have to face reality.  After all I thought I was strong.  I thought I was capable.  I had faith.  I had God on my side.  Then there was this...this swift kick to reality that not everything could be perfect.  Not everything could be so smooth.  There had been a pastor once preaching on storms in life.  He had said that if you’re not in a storm now then you were on the edge.  If you weren’t on the edge then somewhere in the horizon there was a storm brewing.  It was up to us, to our strong faith as to how we entered the storm and how we would survive the storm, however, right in that moment I just wanted to close my eyes and make it all go away.  How could I go on knowing and waiting for what was to come?

I questioned everything.

We got home and I collapsed literally into tears.  Chase was there.  We just stood for a long time embracing each other, not needing words, not needing to talk just needing to hold each other up.  Then we were back to our reality.  Cooking dinner, bathing the boys, feeding Cannon, reading bedtime stories, nighttime prayers, tucking Chandler in, feeding Cannon and falling into bed with exhaustion all the while tears were in my eyes, questions were storming my brain and my calm was gone.  In one phone call, in a few spoken words all of it was gone.