I was thinking about battles today. About fighting and perseverance. I was thinking about the Hebrew people, marching around Jericho, shouting praise, waiting for the walls to tumble down. I was wondering if they ever got tired. If they ever wanted to put down their instruments and drink some water and just...quit.
I. Am. So. Tired.
I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to spend more time at the hospital. I don't want to make more phone calls trying to figure out our insurance issues. I don't want to get in the car, again, coming back to the Ronald McDonald house. I don't want to hear people tell how strong I am, I don't want to hear how much people care. I want to go home. I want Ellie back. I want to learn how to comfort my son. I want to stop feeling guilty that I'm not with him at nights. I want to stop face timing my not even two year old daughter as a way of seeing her.
The pressure builds as we talk more about going home. I feel like I've done this all wrong. Kicked myself for not asking the right questions and making the right phone calls. Blamed myself for the fiasco that we are in right now.
From the start I've said this was a battle. This was a journey, a fight. From the start I prayed for the right armor, of hope and peace and joy and love. From the start I prayed for the grace to get through this without sinning, without complaining, while glorifying the Lord.
So what happens when the armor is cracked? When I just want to scream at the injustice of this? When my shoulders tense up at the thought of asking anything else of my parents? What happens when I don't want to fight anymore?
All I can offer God right now is praise and my throat is hoarse. No sound comes out and I'd rather lay in the grass and curl up and sleep than walk around the walls again.
Blair and I spent the night with our son two nights in a row and we struggled. It's like we didn't know him. It's like we forgot everything we'd learned after we had Ellie. It's like jumping in and drowning. So we came back tonight to the house and this incredible guilt has invaded. I ate about half a cake because I didn't want to think about this anymore.
I can't even really articulate what's happening in my head. I can't explain it. I can't talk to my Mom, can't explain it to Blair. Here is it. The time that I knew would come, when I want to forget that people care and shut down.
I sit and rock Dean all the time. He loves to be held. Sometimes. He is so...stiff still. So...grumpy. I can't blame him, he's been through so much. He is still coming off medications and weaning down and going through withdrawal symptoms. He still sweats. He still cries like he's in pain. He still runs fevers every now and again. We are still learning how to love him and love him well. And it is hard.
My Mama heart feels weak. Worn out. Too long. This has been too long and maybe if I hadn't been so selfish, we could have been home sooner. Maybe if I were more organized we would have been home sooner. I feel this deep incessant nagging in my head that I didn't do a good enough job. I should have...I don't know. I should have done more. I should have gotten more done.
People are so excited about the prospect of us coming home and I want to scream. But at the same time I want people to believe that I can do this. What a double standard I am setting...
I don't know, right now, what I need. I don't know, right now, what to ask for. I don't know, right now, how to fight. I don't know, right now, how to see the light at the end of this tunnel, because it's not a spotlight it's a candle and it's flickering. Dim, subject to the wind and the storms and it is just so very far away...
This battle feels like the walls of Jericho, and we're on the sixth lap around and I just can't imagine getting to the seventh lap. I can't imaging praising anymore. Can't fathom these walls tumbling down.
My "one more day" has turned into ten weeks.
It's gotten harder to be patient, to be away from Ellie, to communicate well with my family and with Blair and with God. To be positive and joyful and hopeful.
Please God, please, after this...please just give me half a moment to breathe without being afraid. Half a moment to repair the cracks in my armor...half a moment to rest my voice.
And I will keep pressing on towards that candle, flickering in the distance.
One more step.
Just one more.
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