I don’t know how they do it.
The parents of children who are chronically ill.
The parents of children who hold their babies hands while they are put under an aesthetic for surgery after surgery.
The parents who sit in waiting rooms waiting for surgeons and updates and answers.
The parents who fight and pray, and hope.
I don’t know how they do it.
Tomorrow Bridie will have her Tympanoplasty. The hole in her eardrum will be grafted over with some skin from the outside of her ear. It will hopefully be the end of her dramas. After this, hopefully, there will be no more infections.
It is a good thing. It is the solution we wanted.
I’m dramatic I know that. I know that sometimes I expect the worst, while I hope for the best. I play scenarios and outcomes in my mind, and I pray they don’t come to pass.
I know this is just an ear. I know that.
It is not cancer. It is not a growth, or a heart that needs fixing, or a bleed on the brain.
It is a hole in an ear drum. An outpatient procedure. A blip on the radar of a busy ENT.
But this is my baby.
And I am scared.
I hate statistics; I don’t believe in statistics. I refuse to have my life ruled by them.
they haunt me.
Cancer statistics haunt me: one in two they say.
There are six in my family.
Mathematically that increases our odds. Statistically, we should fall prey.
This will be the 6th time I have seen one of my kids go into surgery; the 4th with Bridie. I know it is probably irrational, but it scares me more because it’s her. Because if there ever was anything bad; if anything ever did happen, it would be her.
It’s always her.
The intolerances, the ear thing, even a simple cold hits Bridie worst.
She suffers more than the others. It’s not fair. It shouldn’t be this way.
Yet it is.
She is a fighter my Bridie. I’m sure that’s why. She has been contrary from the moment of delivery. She can battle like the others can’t; but that doesn’t mean she should have to.
I read this verse, and sometimes I don’t understand it. I don’t fear punishment; I don’t think God would hurt my baby because I did something wrong. I don’t believe he hurts anyone’s babies.
Perfect love it says. Perfect love casts our fear.
What is perfect love?
How do you define it?
Well if perfect love casts out fear, it has to be strong enough to beat the thing I fear the most.
But rather, Being left behind.
So perfect love….
Is Grace. It’s understanding that I love these little people so fiercely, that I cannot bear to be without them.
It’s compassion. It’s the heart of God speaking to my heart, and whispering, ‘I know. I lost my Son remember?’
It’s mercy. It’s a man on a cross offering His blood as a payment for my shortcomings. It’s a perfect sacrifice. It’s holes in His hands and on His feet. It’s scars in His back. It’s ‘by His wounds we are healed. ‘ (1 Peter 2:24)
It’s understanding. It’s the Son of God looking from His place in the cross into the eyes of Mary, and seeing her pain. It’s action; it’s Him making provision for her, in His final moments.
It’s patience and kindness. It’s thick skinned and forgiving. It’s what is left at the end of the day when faith and hope have all but given up and backed out of the arena.
But stronger than fear. Greater than fear. The things that holds me together through fear…
Is perfect love.