As I attempt to muddle through my normal routine, I am endlessly interrupted by my emotions. My darling Dania is scheduled for her adenoid-/tonsillectomy next week (Thursday, April 2nd at 8am) and I am consumed with what cannot really be called fear; it is actually grief. It makes no sense in the physical world, but I have been walking constantly through the misery of losing my daughter in surgery. It comes to me more frequently now than when it first began more than a week ago, and it is now a perpetual companion, this Grief. It perches upon my shoulders to accompany me on my chores, it waits for me upon my pillow to remind me before sleep can come, and it haunts me during quiet times (of which there are thankfully few).
Last night, when my husband returned from his workout to find me with tired, red eyes, he inquired about my condition. Yes, I had been crying. I cannot seem to escape the crying. When I explained how I had been feeling, rather than comforting me or placating me as others would try to do, he commiserated! He acknowledged having similar feelings and fears, and my knees almost gave out! HE IS NOT A WORRIER! For him to admit to being fearful almost did me in, for it gave new life to my concern for our daughter's welfare. He rationalized that we are worried because it is a scary situation with real risks and a feeling of being out of control. It makes sense, but it doesn't make the grief go away.
In fact, nothing seems to help the grief... I pray about it, offering it to the Father ["Casting all your cares upon Him; for He careth for you." 1 Peter 5:7]; I cast out evil spirits to rid myself of their influence; and yes, I beg and plead with God to spare my child ["The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him..." Lamentations 3:25].
I have not had to bury a child, THANK GOD, but I can almost feel the pain of parents who have... almost. I hope I can get through this with just the "almost."