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Thursday, April 30, 2015

It seems strange

Saturday morning was my third "normal" day home this month. My third morning where I could get up and make breakfast and know that kids would be getting up and nobody was sick. So I got out the plates...no, the plate. I got out the food scale...then I put it back...I opened the medicine cabinet...and closed it again. The counter seemed empty, no glucometer or glucose sensor. It didn't matter how many carbs Capper and Evelyn ate for breakfast because there wouldn't be anyone who was limited. Heck, we could have JUICE if we wanted! Suddenly juice had become a beverage instead of a medical treatment.

I thought about my night. How I had slept well due to sheer exhaustion...and that no beeps had woken me up. No hospital alarms- IV pumps, oxygen sensors, ventilator. No glucose monitor alarms saying her blood sugar was too high or too low or changing rapidly. I hadn't set an alarm to recheck Anellah's blood sugar in order to fine tune it. For the first time in YEARS I didn't think about how her blood sugar during the night was going to affect her future. You see I made the mistake of reading some studies a few years ago. Studies about how severe low blood sugars during childhood may affect cognitive functioning later in life. And we all know that high blood sugar affects the body's organs. So for the last 4 years I have thought about these things when I should be sleeping. I have worried about how that night's blood sugar will affect her the next day or in years to come. I have lost hours of sleep either thinking about these things or waiting until 2 hours had gone by so that I could check her blood sugar and treat it. It's strange, realizing all my concerns for the future are now irrelevant.

It seems strange that the world keeps turning, that the days keep coming, when it feels like they should be standing still. I don't want to stand in this grief forever but I don't want to move farther from her. Each day I wake up thinking it's one more day since I last saw her.

Even in the middle of all of this. Even in the middle of sorting out what is relevant and what is not. Even in the middle of planning my kindergartener's memorial service and allowing the truth to sink in that she is gone...I keep returning to the verse God gave me on the night we made the decision to let her go. And I believe it, it's not just words, it is the truth when I say, "I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living." Psalm 27:13

In the end, maybe I'm not moving farther. I guess we are actually moving closer. We are moving closer to seeing her again, in her new body without her pump and without discomfort and DANCING. As my father in law says, "She is looking forward to being reunited with us and to her it is just the blink of an eye."

2 comments:

  1. Tears. Oh how I understand these emotions, and yet I think what you're going through is infinitely harder than the journey we walked. I love you and standing with you in the grief.

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    1. Shannon- I've thought the same about you. That what you went through was "infinitely harder" because you had all of the anticipation. All of the questions for so long. Our questions about what the future held and what "might be" lasted less than 24 hours but those hours were BY FAR the hardest part of the journey so far.

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