Finding words to write how I am feeling currently would prove to be inadequate. There are so many variables of anger, helplessness and even hopelessness. Anger that the virus invaded our lives again this time with a category 6 storm wave. Helpless as I watch my innocent child work to breathe with machines running full throttle and dread amongst all those in the room. And lastly the hopelessness one feels when they think God has abandoned their cries.
Hard.
Then there’s all the other medical PTSD that follows from past hospitalizations. The smells that trigger deep anxieties. The machine sounds that remind you of babies who passed away in the bay next to your child. The coffee that is warming yet chilling as it hits you in the gut with replays of surgeons and nurses rushing to your child bedside, pulling a curtain and pushing you out. The returning uncertainty is absolutely paralyzing. I am a ball of numb. Yesterday, as I gazed into the eyes of my son, I prayed with every fiber of my being that the love I had inside me somehow was flowing through that look right into his fears and melting them away. As I am trying to remove the pains for him, I am desperately crying/screaming on the inside for someone to hear my own.
Tonight, I write as a means to free some of my insanity through the keyboard. My heart is fat as a tick fixing to burst with all of this mounting second by second. My eyes are swollen and sunken. This hair is unwashed, and for more days that I would like to share. I refuse to leave the room for a simple shower, even though it is long overdue. My faith is in a crisis one minute and the next repentant in fear of upsetting the Lord more. This is the playground I am on this week. Or rollercoaster. Or battlefield?
Like I said, hard.