Journal entry today. Isaiah is still not feeling well.
I know, I know. I didn’t really expect him to get better in a matter of a day and a half, but Mommy can dream.
It’s just that I can actually feel my heart breaking. My little man will cough and cough, and then immediately whimper into tears. I don’t think even Rambo himself would be able to hold it together after seeing that. Maybe Dirty Harry.
It comforts Isaiah to hold my hand, or really… my finger since that’s all his little hands can wrap around. So I sit on the floor by his swing with my arm hanging in the air, swaying back and forth, as he holds on tightly while falling asleep. Last night it took about 45 minutes. On the bright side, maybe I’ll finally get some arm muscles out of the deal.
As I sat there smiling at him, six little words floated across my mind.
“This is going to be hard.”
I felt the tears welling up.
This is just his first cold. He’s going to get Croup someday, then Strep Throat, then he’ll break his arm, or get tackled too hard in football practice. Even worse he’ll get picked on or some little girl is going to break his heart.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
I hate watching him hurt now, and I fear – no, I know – that it will only get harder.
I still have a lot of “residue” as I call it. Left over anxiety from his chromosome scare. I will never forget those weeks and it’s something I will always struggle with. More importantly, it’s something I will always have to work on, and I know that.
If it’s not nightmares then it’s just plain fear. Fear of losing him. Fear of having no control. I’m only human and I know in my heart that God understands that. He understands me.
What brings me comfort is remembering that God knows what it’s like to worry over your own son, and what it’s like to watch him hurt. That thought alone helps me take a deep breath, and trust – trust that as I hold onto Isaiah’s hand, God is surely holding onto mine.