I'm pretty sure nobody reads my babble anyway, so I suppose it makes no difference how often, or if I get anything written. Today, I've decided, that it's okay.
In June last year, I went from a place of creative, calm, near bliss, to having my world spin through a vortex of fear, I hoped both would and would not end.
My (grown) daughter suddenly became very sick. A stone...a pea sized gall stone passed, but lodged in the pancreas duct. Pancreatitis. Then...everything that 'could' go wrong, stop working, swell or react, did. There are technical terms, medical explanations and the like, but all I understood was that there was no control. none.
She spent the better part of the summer in ICU.
While in the city hospital, she was on life support, the doctors & nurses doing everything to troubleshoot and keep her alive. Her husband & I became mere observers as she fought for her life. Then, and it seems, still now, I was unable to write how I felt, what was going on, or how we were managing. It seemed too important to keep the truth, or negative energy from being solidified in writing; that somehow the Universe would see it as fact and the fear of her dying, would be so.
I 'had' to let family & friends know what was going on...not all...and now, I wish less, because of the severity of the situation. It was BAD. They needed to know. I needed help.
Very little came in physical form, but there was much in prayer. Much. There was more than one night, but one in particular, where I could feel, see and hear the prayers throughout that restless night. I didn't sleep very much and seemed not to need to either. I coped.
It was almost the last day of school when she was taken to the ICU in Toronto, and nearly the first day of school when she left the hospital in Barrie, and returned home. There has been a lot of healing between then and now...Nurses, first daily, to now, where they still see her three days a week. In the first months home, there was another panicked trip by ambulance to the hospital when a simple cold turned quickly to pneumonia. She has come such a long way, yet the journey is far from over. There is a surgery that needs to be done where she will be weeks again healing. This surgery is to repair the damage from the life saving measures that were needed. What had to be done to keep her alive has it's own ugliness and time will not be it's healer.
Her husband & I struggle with other things these days. Unexplained tears, depression and secret fears...coping...perhaps normal, but having travelled through the unchartered waters I don't even know what 'normal' is supposed to look like. I don't know what is MY normal & what is residual. Truth is, I don't think it matters. No matter what I am feeling, what is happening in my life, my moments, or whatever...SHE nearly died last summer. No matter what else...its nothing by comparison, and so 'whatever' gets buried, tucked away, unsaid, unacknowledged...I think only Blake & I 'get it', even though we (or at least 'I') can't figure out a way to explain it.
So....with that now written, (though probably not enough) maybe I can get back to my simple writings, little joys, and plain everyday stuff, without feeling it all unimportant & insignificant. maybe.
