My friend Bea and her family are struggling so hard right now. Her son was born with a serious congenital problem, and he's already had the first of many surgeries and been hospitalized several times. I remember the day he was born, and I called Corbin, excited to tell him the name and measurements and all of that first day stuff. Later, I came into the room with tears in my eyes, and said, "Something is wrong with Bea's baby. He has surgery tomorrow", and Corbin just sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and said, "Come ON". I knew just what he meant. It seems lately, nothing comes easy.
About a year ago, Jonah and my friend Lisa's son got their diagnoses around the same time. Jonah was diagnosed with autism, and Lisa's son was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. She had had trouble with infertility, lost twins at 20 weeks, and finally had a beautiful family of four. And then this. It put our diagnosis into sharp perspective. We might be fighting for Jonah's education, for his happiness, but we were not fighting for his life. Lisa's son is finished with treatment now, and has passed the last two screenings without incident, but really, will his parents every sleep easy again?
My friend Ashley finally brought her babies home from Ethiopia a few weeks ago, after trudging through six years of infertility hell. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see such joy on her face, but I know that after what she's been through, she'll carry a stone in her heart forever, no matter how much love builds around it.
Honestly, I'm so grateful for the blessings in my life. In many ways, I have had things pretty easy. I never had trouble conceiving, my children are all physically healthy, and Jonah is learning and improving every day. But. Lately, it is so hard. Everything feels like a struggle. Each time I change Jonah's diaper, he either fights me with all his strength, or runs, giggling (and naked) around the kitchen island. Note: my island is about 9 feet long and 5 feet wide, so I can't just grab him (and he knows it). It' sort of funny, but not. I do have to get kids to school on time, and when everything is a fight or a chase, it's just exhausting. And absolutely everything can be this way: meals, bath time, getting dressed, getting into car seats, going to bed, getting into the building at school, grocery shopping, therapy appointments, everything. He screams for his iPad, then immediately starts screaming in frustration. If he hurts himself, or gets too frustrated, his response is to lash out at one of the girls, hitting and kicking. It's relentless. Relentless.
The real issue for me is that there is no end in sight, not even any break. Maybe Jonah will improve enough with his therapies to make it through mainstream school without incident. But, maybe his aggression will worsen, and get us kicked out. Maybe, when he's a teenager, and strong, he will be a physical danger to all of us. Maybe he will never go to college or be married or have children or be happy. Or maybe he will do all of those things, and I am worrying for nothing as usual. The maybes keep me up at night, break me down, make my blood run cold.
I guess I just want it to be okay to sometimes say- this is so, so hard. It's too much. It's unfair and it sucks, and I wish things were different. When my mother was going through treatment for breast cancer, absolutely everyone told her how tough she was, what a trooper she was, how impressively she was handling everything. It was true, but eventually, she did get sick of hearing it. She was sick, and she just wanted this terrible thing to be over. She didn't want to be a "rock" or a "tough old broad". She wanted this bad thing never to have happened, and what's wrong with that?
There's this pressure to feel constantly inspired and motivated and grateful. To feel the grace, and learn the lessons God has for us, and you know what? I do feel that, nearly all the time. But it can be heavy load for all of us, each in our own way, and sometimes I just want to say- enough. I need five minutes or five hours or five days to just cry and be angry, and I need that to be okay.
School starts next week. All three of my kids are on different schedules, but there are tiny windows (two hours on Tuesday, and two on Thursday) when they are all at school at the same time. Four hours a week. All to myself. Chances are, I will spend those hours cleaning or grocery shopping, but it's four hours of possibility. Rest and respite. For now, it's enough.
