I didn't know before Griffin my heart could ache like this. That it could withstand months and months of near-constant supreme highs and lows, and every kind of hope and loss there is. That it could be squeezed, broken, torn, stomped on, fractured, yanked at, feel like it grew three sizes in an instant just to then be ripped out of your chest in the next....and yet, somehow, could keep thumping away without ever skipping a beat.
I don't know what I thought happened. I guess I didn't, really. Things like this happen to other people, and I stood in awe of them and their strength - but that would never happen to me because I wouldn't be able to bear it, and God doesn't give us more than we can handle, right? My weakness would ensure I would never have to endure the unendurable.
Obviously, none of that was consciously considered or thought; but in hindsight, I think that was how I reasoned with all of it in the back of my mind. It's like how people always say to me, "God only gives special kids to special people," and I inwardly cringe at the sheer preposterousness of that (albeit well-intentioned) ridiculous statement. Let me assure you right here and now, God doesn't hand out special, super patient, gracious, understanding, unbreakable superpowers when He hands you a special kid. That is conscious, constant choice you're seeing, despite a really hurting heart.
But, no matter how bad it hurts, we carry on. We keep doing the next best thing we can, even with the boulder sitting on our chest, and it's hard.
I thought we were going home, I thought he would get a moment of life outside of the hospital to grow and thrive, play, and really live. Five times we were told we were going home, and five times our transfer home was canceled.
Then, they tell us he is going to need another surgery, possibly more, and soon.
I waffle between numb, purposefully plugging away at the day like I do every day, muscle memory doing most of the work, to then catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window or a mirror, and it's like an explosion goes off. Like a tidal wave, it hits me:
"This is really life - this is real life....this is our life."
It takes all my willpower in those moments to stay standing, to keep breathing - to do the next thing, and not just crumple in a pile on the floor and drown in my own tears. "How is this happening, again, so soon? How is my little boy so sick? How did this happen? How do I keep going?"
We are so programmed to believe we get sick, the doctors always know what to do, we'll get the solution, get better, and carry on with life as usual. Nothing prepares you for this ambiguous and loaded marathon.
But, God doesn't give us more than we can handle, right?
I guess the answer is really that He doesn't give us anything more than we can handle when we let Him handle it. We have to trust Him. I just don't know what that means down the road - I don't know where that leaves my heart. But I guess none of us know that.
I just know my heart, like my baby boy's heart, really hurts right now. But, if enduring and fighting through my heartache in any way will help heal his, I'll do it all a million times more.
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