Thursday, November 5

Sometimes, my heart aches.

This morning I took my youngest to an appointment at a satelite of our children's hospital. There, in the waiting room with us, was a little girl who clearly was asian.

I struck up a conversation with the girl's mother because I first noticed her little girl looked like mine and then secondly because I recognized a familiar scenario. Mom was telling the little one to "fix her feet" as she W sat, and helped her to wave to Norah and another little one running circles around the waiting area.

I quickly realized that the girl's mother didn't know her little one was developmentally delayed before she brought her home. Yes, she knew medical issues were present, but the extent of this child's needs was clearly not apparent before she came home.

My heart ached for this mother. I know what it is like to be at that exact point....trying to process all of the information that is bombarding you at the same time you are trying so desperately to mend a broken heart.

I found myself on the other side today. This time, I had only my littlest one with me. She's able bodied and bright, talking and exploring the world around her. I watched as the girl's mother took careful note of Norah's age and her actions. I saw the look on her face.

Before I could tell her anything else, her daughter's name was called, and she was gone. I wanted so much to tell her about Will, to tell her that things will get better and that life will be okay.

But how do you really tell someone this? And will they listen? I had people try back when Will was younger and newly diagnosed. At that particular moment, it fell on deaf ears. Like anything else in life, it is a process. A process that involves many ups and many downs.

I'm in a better place now. Just as quickly as the sadness came five years ago, it vanished. Life is really okay. There is peace and happiness and gratitude, where there was once only sadness and worry.

As I left this morning, I did the only thing I could do for her. As I bent down to kiss my youngest daughter, I prayed for the girl's mother and asked that her process be quick and her lows be few.

Thank you, Lord, for the blessings you have shown in my own life. I am forever humbled and grateful.

1 comment:

  1. Life is so a process. Sometimes we must endure, other times we may celebrate. It's just good to know you never stay in the same place. Just keep processing.