Being Held
There’s nothing quite as hopeful as a blank document. Every possibility is still available, and no mistakes have been made yet.
I feel as though I am in a constant cycle of healing, growing, evolving, breaking and healing again. I close my eyes and my thoughts scatter me into the universe like a wish on a dandelion and I’m floating, flying, landing. But I always land back right here.
My “right here” is different than your right here. Mine looks like an angel, the kind you see in renaissance paintings with chubby bodies and full lips and crowns of curls. It feels like uncertainty, like walking a rickety bridge to get from one side of the cavern to the next, knowing the bridge is older than you are and as strong as your fears.
I can’t forget. It has been 359 days since my daughter almost died and returned to me. She survived after it all, so I don’t have a right to be so traumatized. That is what I say to myself, as I push the feelings down down down. I am lucky, I say. After sixteen minutes without oxygen, a week in a coma, and a month in the hospital, I still have her in my arms. Even though she is different than she was before that day, she is mine and I would do anything to keep her happy and safe. For some reason I just still feel afraid. I’m not afraid that she might almost die again, I am afraid of how vulnerable and raw and unspeakably terrified I was when I almost lost her the first time. I am scared of being scared like that again. My life turned upside down. I questioned everything I knew about myself, my motherhood, my relationships, my God. I came to the conclusion that I am desperately in need of God’s grace. I need it to fortify the rickety bridges in my life and give me the peace to not walk in a constant state of mental torment. I need His peace, the kind that surpasses all understanding. (Phil 4:6–7)
Over the last year, I have struggled to live in the present. I made myself a slave to the “what ifs” and “should haves.” But that type of thinking did nothing to propel me forward. I realized that anything that keeps me down and trapped, tangled in the bramble, is not healthy for my daughter either. I spent months unintentionally punishing myself with isolation, overeating, guilt, not sleeping and not practicing any self care. I felt like it was easier to blame myself for what happened to her than to live in a world with seemingly no rhyme or reason, where things like this just happen. But you know what? It wasn’t my fault. Truly. I can see now that I did the best I could, in a daunting situation, that I put myself into out of unconditional love. I have nothing to punish myself for anymore. If I truly want to protect my baby, I need to give her the best mommy I can, which means being the best version of myself.
I feel like for the first time in a long time, I am reflecting and realizing that I am that blank document, the one that is full of hope and possibility. Each day is a chance to make things a little better than the day before. It didn’t happen overnight, things were stitched back together thread by thread through hours of vision and occupational therapy sessions, silent prayers and cathartic tears, spontaneous laughter and countless hours of snuggles. We healed each other. I hadn’t even realized until now, as my daughter is lying on a blanket beside me, laughing at nothing in particular, that she has really come a long way to recovery. We both have.
And all of those events that led us to right here, that seemed to have no rhyme or reason, were all part of God’s perfect plan. I needed to feel despair to know I needed to be rescued. I needed to feel overwhelmed to have a reason to cry out to Him. I needed to feel terrified of the future so that I could put my faith in His hands, and learn to trust Him.
Today, I am grateful. Every day is a gift, not a guarantee. On days when I feel overwhelmed and under qualified for the title of ‘Mom’, I remember that God chose me. Of all the women in the world, He chose to give me to her and her to me. He fills in the gaps where I fall short and gives me permission to make mistakes. I am a better Mom, a better Me, when I accept that I need only be present and not perfect. My job is not to hold up the world, it is only to hold her hand.
