Detours

I don't talk a whole lot about my faith journey. It's big, it's central to my life, and I'm really excited about it. I'm bringing friends to church. I bought a Bible. I will talk about it with people who will listen. But tonight, I had a big moment with it that I want to remember.

You see, I'm really walking this road of faith. I'm putting one foot in front of the other. I'm doing it.

Except for when I hit the detours.

And when my kids are sick, those detours are filled with road blocks.

Tonight, L has been coughing. And coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing. Coughing triggers something PTSD-esque in this mama bear. I remember the days, pre-allergy diagnosis, when we rushed L to the ER when he couldn't stop coughing. When he couldn't breathe and therefore, neither could I. Now, when he coughs, and I can't help him, I become weak. I become weak emotionally. Mentally. And spiritually.

After L had been coughing, almost literally nonstop, for several consecutive hours, and his strong little spirit was starting to break, he started to whimper in his sleep. The whimpers turned into tears, and I joined him, feeling my own cheeks become wet.

I fell to my knees and I said, "Why did God make him like this? Why didn't he give him a decent immune system? Why does He think I can handle it? Brian, I can't. Why doesn't He know that?"

Look. I know what you are thinking. My kid doesn't have cancer. He is typically developing. In the grand scheme of things, some might say I'm overreacting.

But I know what it's like to have a weak immune system. To get sick all the damn time. To not be able to breathe, and to not be able to stop coughing for one stinkin' minute. I know how it hurts so badly. And just like a gazillion other things that L has inherited from me, this is just another thing that makes him so much like me. But unlike his love of chattering with strangers or singing show tunes in the car, this thing sucks. Plain and simple.

And as I knelt in front of the couch, my hand on my little boy's face, crying, B reminded me that L will be all right. That he's strong. That he's smart. That he's athletic.

B walked away to get L a drink and I sat down on the couch next to him, taking his little hand in mine. I looked at him, and I promised him that he was going to feel better soon. Between wheezing coughs, he said "okay," and "I know, Mommy."

I asked him if he wanted to say a prayer.

"You say the words, Mommy," he whispered.

I stammered through a prayer, still gripping his hands. With tears falling down his cheeks, he looked in my own tear-filled eyes and listened as I prayed that God would make him better. That we knew it wasn't going to happen right this second, but that He'd heal my L. That in the meantime, He'd come in close. That He'd be here with us as we waited for God to make him better. We thanked God for everything He'd given us and told him we loved Him.

Oh, this road. It's rocky. It's messy. It's full of detours and road blocks and ditches.

But as L perked up a bit, ate a snack and requested to watch Iron Man, I dusted myself off and retied my shoes.

And I started back on the journey.

Namaste.