Yeah. Me too.
My heart has been so weary and heavy lately.
I’ve seen all these Thankful Lists floating around everywhere. FaceBook. Blogs. Forums.
And to be quite honest…I don’t read them. In fact, I deliberately click away from them.
I’ve even randomly contemplated writing a Crab List alternative.
Because I’m tired and feeling sad. I’ve been calling it the Post MMR Blues. I held my breath and had Trevy vaccinated (not without biting the nurse’s head off when she asked if I wanted to just get him all caught up though). Now I get to freak out on the inside for the next two weeks.
Of course, I’ve been feeling sappy for weeks now so blaming in on yesterday’s vaccination drama doesn’t really work. And I know it’s a good thing to count your blessings. I also know that I am blessed. Very. But knowing your blessed doesn’t anesthetize the pain of heartbreak. I know too…that Trevy is a miracle in so many ways. But sometimes even miracles aren’t without heartbreak. Trevor is a heartbreaking miracle. And even the parts of me that have (somewhat) healed still ache at times. Phantom pains. That sneak and squeeze sadness up when I least expect it.
I was remembering the other day how four years ago we spent Thanksgiving in the hospital. During Trevy’s first round of ACTH.
The four years since that Thanksgiving have been such a roller coaster. Of events. And emotions. And everything in between.
Most of the time now…I’m okay. My puddle on the floor days are so rare any more that it’s always surprising when I feel the need to just cry my little heart out. Tears that used to fall at the drop the hat…now slowly build up inside until one day the dam that I didn’t know was even there – breaks. And I have a puddle day.
Most of the time…I really don’t notice how baby-like he still is. I mean, of course I know how very dependent he is on me. For everything. He weighs 43 pounds now after all. But most of the time…it’s okay. So what if he needs my help to eat? Brush his teeth? Go potty? Play safely? Get dressed? When out of nowhere exhaustion will hit. And I have the urge to lock him in a room with a pile of his clothes and not go back in until he has learned how to get himself dressed. Or by God…just to put his own pants on. Or shirt. Or socks. Most of the time…it’s okay if I have to help him get dressed forever. Most of the time…I remind myself there are others out there with deeper cares. But sometimes…my heart is selfishly weary. And exhaustion is oh so saturating.
Most of the time…I’m okay seeing a little seizure here – a little seizure there. My heart accepted long ago that Trevy’s path will always be strewn with seizures. And most of the time it’s okay. I’ve learned how to survive and even feel blessed as a Seizure Mommy. I’ve learned how to live with a broken heart. But sometimes…it feels like more than I can bear. Like the weight of worry I’m going to carry until we’re well past the two week strong MMR danger zone. Or the unspeakable heartache I feel every time I think about Sophie.
How is it possible to love someone so deeply that you’ve only hugged once? To feel so deeply that tears spring up every time you let your heart think about what this month holds for her. And her family. Sophie is scheduled for a second brain surgery the beginning of December with Dr. Rockstar because the first only worked for so long. Not long enough.
My heart just feels so heavy. So bleh. So in need of a puddle on the floor day.
What a paradox. To include things like brain surgery or at least it was just a little seizure in your blessing list.
I’ll probably be sappy like this for a while. Until Sophie is safely on the Healing Side again. And Trevy has made it through two weeks without any vaccination complications.
Unless of course, Trevy somehow miraculously learns how to dress himself and comes prancing down the stairs ready for school like a big boy. I’d even be okay if everything was on backwards. That would probably perk me up a little.
:: smile ::