Friday, November 2, 2012

Our Superstorm.

This past week our region of the country was hit with one of the largest storms ever to be recorded.   Our eastern coast has been radically transformed – left unrecognizable after the storm passed through and left its mark.  The few days before the storm hit chaos and fear was in the air all across our area.  The unknown was so difficult to swallow.  All across the television stations we were told to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.   Thankfully my specific area was spared. Besides wide spread power outages our lives are still in tact – not true for many others.

Even after the storm has passed my mind keeps playing those words, prepare for the worst and hope for the best, over and over.  I guess those words are difficult for someone like myself to swallow.  I find it interesting that three years ago at this time my heart and mind was in a complete opposite train of thought.  Three years ago in the midst of my own personal storm my soul was desperately clinging to hope and denying reality.  

I went back into old posts from three years ago, which I often do around this time of year and I read over my entry from Nov 2, 2009, less than one week before our little boy would die... 


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"This morning Gavin was showing some signs of improvement.  After the addition of Albumin and lasix last night his swelling seemed to go down a little bit.  He was a little more alert and even watched tv for a short amount of time before falling back asleep.  This afternoon however he wasn't looking so great.  Throughout the day his third spacing or swelling came back with a vengeance.  I hardly recognize my little boy.  His skin is so stretched it looks painful.

Early this evening they rewired a new line into Gavin's groin as they didn't think he has stable enough to endure a new broviac placement.  He did well in the OR and they managed to use the least amount of sedation in order to prevent intubation with the fear that they would not be able to extubate him.  Tonight he will be receiving blood and more lasix, again to try to pull the massive amounts of fluid out of his skin.

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We are going home tomorrow.  I guess I'm happy but it's a bitter sweet time.  I still have hope but it's so hard to hang on to that hope when our doctors are preparing us for the worst, which seems like it is becoming more and more reality.  Today was a difficult day emotionally.  One hour I was a crying fool and the next I felt so detached from the situation.  I guess that's all normal.

It was so amazing to watch Madison and Gavin have some time together.  If I could go back and change one thing it would be to have allowed Madi to have more interaction with Gavin.  I plan on making up for some lost time and giving her some really special time with him.  There is still hope.  If he can get over this respiratory hump then we will be back to our original plan and taking him home with his last line and just waiting until be got an infection we could not treat and then peacefully letting him go.  Our plan is now all messed up and I'm just praying things will quiet down once we get him home.

After all home is the best place to heal."



Ugh.  The pain slaps me right across the face.   I look at the photos of Madison and I just can’t get past her clenched jaw and obvious lump in her throat fighting back tears of confusion and sadness.  Madison was four years old here.  Four years old.  Yet she wears the face of an aged adult.  Somehow in her mind she knew that she was saying goodbye, despite the fact that I was living in an alter reality where I was going to take my son home and live happily ever after.

This was our superstorm.  

It’s so easy to get caught up on my words that can be hard to swallow.  But truth is there is so much more happening in these pictures – more than I will ever understand.  Just what if He was there?  Like really there, not just in spirit and thought but really there with my babies.  

I mentioned this before but after Gavin’s death one of the ways God gave me the most comfort was in this concept that just maybe while we laid at Gavin’s bedside watching him suffer a horrible death, somehow God had lifted our little boy – his thinking and feeling – out of his physical body and just simply held him tight.  That while we saw suffering Gavin was actually experiencing peace and joy.

I can’t help but think the same thing happened on this day three years ago and on many other days such as this.  That just maybe while Madison’s physical body was touching that of her dying brother’s, somehow God took them both for just a bit and held them close – together, in a beautiful moment of connection, a chance for their souls to bond in a way that was difficult to do here on Earth.

As difficult as it is, it’s also so nice to look back.  I can look back with a fresh perspective, having full confidence and hope that the earlier chapters of our story are given more and more clarity as our novel plays out.

Thank God for hope, it makes preparing for and dealing with the worst a whole lot easier.

Never lose hope.

2 comments:

Nicole said...

I don't know what to say Karen but I too am so thankful for the hope we have in Jesus! I am praying for you and your family!

JayCee said...

So thankful for the hope we have in Christ and for those like you who remind us of that reality!

P.S...We are also praying for those affected on the East Coast.

You are a living example of how it is possible to live through a super-storm.