cath.

It’s go time for us.  Admitted last night when Halloween costumes had been stripped off and thrown in the washer.  Candy bulging the sides of their bags, most to be thrown away in the coming weeks.  Cheeks rosy from the cold and pups exhausted from running with the hay wagon.  I pulled soft pjs on Abe and bundled him in the car, pillow pet and star blanket in bag, along with my blanket and pillow because I don’t mess.

Abe’s heart catheterization today determines how severe the blockage to his pulmonary artery is and therefor, how quickly he’ll need open heart surgery.  This boy, his heart is such a mess.  Picture a Mr. Potato Head.  Then picture random body parts sticking out of every orifice.  That’s about it.  Dude has a bum heart.  But he is miraculously healthy.  Like docs coming from all corners of the office when we visit so they can see this boy who has it hooked up all wrong and is still running us ragged with his activity level.  We thought surgery was years off, but this blockage is a big deal and as long as they are going to open him up, our surgeon wants a shot a fixing some of Abe’s issues.  And so we adjust a calendar we never actually had any control over anyway and in doing so, we remind ourselves that it’s better when Jesus runs our ical.  And we adjust expectations that were probably never realistic in the first place, and in doing so we remind ourselves that we are to have no cards on the table to begin with.  Empty handed we enter the world, empty handed we’re to live in it and empty handed we will leave it.  We own nothing.

And this evening when I drive away from here, sleepy boy in the backseat wrapped in prayers and star blanket, I will cry silent tears just like every time.  For the mamas and daddies who visit after work every blessed day as their beloved fights terrible diseases in  teeny body.  For the mamas and daddies who pull away from this beautiful hospital with an empty backseat and a broken heart.  Who must surely feel like they will never be whole again and who probably are right.  I will cry a little for the lavish gift of this hospital and the incredible people who staff it, knowing that around the world at this very second thousands and thousands of kids are dying as helpless parents stand by and watch.  I can’t even imagine.

Today, Lord willing, I will head home with my boy.  Home to 5 healthy kids and a husband who will surely be nearly dead by now.  I will bundle Abe into the house, surrounded by pups who will act as if I’ve been gone for days.  There will be a dishwasher to unload and lunch boxes to empty out and ready for the next day.  Everything I normally do during the day will not have been done and it will be ok, but my OCD will direct me to catch up before I can hit the hay.  Starting each morning with a clean slate is life to me.  And even these minutiae (a word I love but can NEVER spell) of my life are gift.  Grace upon grace upon grace.  Bless everything.

this is me being real.

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