Rainy Day Reflections

House is quiet.

I can’t help but get wrapped up in my thoughts this blustery morning.

Jill’s therapist just left.

Andy is on his way back from Henry’s cardiologist appointment.

It’s a strange feeling to know without a shadow of a doubt that I live a blessed life…but still feel sad inside too.

When little girls dream about their grown up lives, their husbands, their homes, their children…they never think they’ll be “that” mom.

You know, the mom whose son has a cardiologist and whose daughter has a neurologist.

2 out of 3.

You never think you’ll ever need to visit a Children’s Hospital.

Or keep appointments with physical therapists.

Or quarterly echocardiograms.

The kids are fine. Don’t get me wrong.

Henry’s heart looks even better than it did at the last appointment. Jill is meeting all of her milestones. Lucy…well, she’s just focusing on outweighing each of her siblings. :)

I really try to not worry about my kids. I honestly don’t want to expend a single ounce of energy worrying about things that may never happen…but the fact is, I do.

And I hate it.

I don’t want to make mountains out of molehills, but I also don’t want to be the ostrich with its head in the sand either. It’s a weird balance.

I’m not gonna lie. Every. single. day. I worry for my little Jill.

Some days worse than others.

She is fine and not showing any major issues at this point.

But the reality is that it’s all a big, huge, fat, awful waiting game.

We know that she had brain trauma. What we don’t know is if there are any lasting effects and/or what their severity may be.

We just have to wait and see how she progresses. Does she crawl? Does she walk? Does she speak?

The answers will all come in time.

But no sooner.

And that’s hard.

My conversation with the physical therapist:

“So, do you see any reason to believe that she might not walk?” “No, it’s too early.” “So, you mean that it’s possible that she might not be able to walk?” “Yes it is possible.” “Is it possible that she might be perfectly fine?” “Yes.” “Do you have a guess either way?” “No, it is too early to tell anything at this point. We just have to wait.” “So you have no idea?” “No.”

Clearly she’s been trained to deal with parents like me. Parents who desparately want an answer sooner than it is feasible.

Now.

I had a bit of a panic attack the other day. Thinking that “ohmygosh, if Jill can’t walk, we’ll have to move! we can’t live in a 2 story! but we can’t afford to move! and then we’ll have to retrofit the house and widen all the doorways and make an accessible bathroom and get a different car with a lift…“

Silly I know. Worrying about tomorrow’s problems that may never come.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
-Matthew 6:34

My brain knows these things. But my mama’s heart can’t help it.

I guess it’s just surreal to not be *guaranteed* that your little girl will one day be tearing around the house like a wild banshee.

She may be perfectly fine, but my reality is that that isn’t a given. She may not. I don’t know.

Only God does.

And I know that He has great plans for her. And Henry. And LuLu. And our little crazy family.

For now, I just love on my littlest girl and do what I can to keep up.

But I won’t lie.

With every twitch and every little grimace, my heart sinks into my stomach and I cringe. Oh how I wish those little glimpses and reminders that everything isn’t *quite* normal would just go away. She doesn’t do it nearly as much as she once did, but they are still there. They haven’t gone away completely.

And it makes me sad.

And while I hate not knowing what life will bring for us, it gives me hope. I have hope that this will all just be a phase we look back on.

Like I told the therpist the other day:

“I really hope this is just a giant waste of your time.”

“I do too.”

And if not, we’ll keep on keeping on. Because regardless, I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t understand it all, but I know that there is purpose.

And when I find stories like these, I just think:

“If SHE can do it…surely I can.”