It’s 12:15 am and I’m wide awake. My husband lays in bed next to me, sound asleep. How is it that men can sleep through anything? I find myself not wanting to go to bed because there are so many unfinished things to do. But in the morning I’m dragging myself out of bed, just wanting to stay under the covers a little while longer.
I’m anxious because I feel like I have work to do. Not only do I have dishes and laundry, but I want to find my direction with Owen’s memorial. How ironic that after I have the answers to my questions – will Owen live? Is he brain-dead? – I feel foggy and a little lost. I had such clear purpose when this was all happening. Now it’s a little foggy and I’m uncertain if I’m doing the ‘right’ thing.
I need more patience. I learned that a few times during this process. Just when I was ticked off at God about the tubes having to stay, he shook his head and showed me what a little time can do. They fell out, I didn’t need to be angry at all. Is this the same? Is he shaking his head at me saying “Child, just give it a little time. You’ll be just fine.” Why do I want to take off running?
Is it that I’m scared of? When life quiets down? You know the ‘sound’ you can hear in the dead of night. There is that humming in the air that you can only hear if you concentrate really hard. It scares me. When the cards stop, the emails end and the blog stats go back down to 50 per day. What then? Who will I be? What will I feel? Will I still wear orange? Will I want to wear orange even more?
I find it ironic when people call me strong. It’s certainly NOT a word I would use to describe myself. I’m just someone who has a whole lot of weird and sad things happen to her. I live in hope because it’s a lot easier than reality. The real-ness of mortality and the end of a 6 month old is hard to comprehend let alone accept. Hope, is light and sunshine, rainbows and unicorns. It’s the belief in something good. Sounds a lot easier to me!
The day after we found Owen, my pastor asked me how I was doing. I said “Owen is gone. He’s not coming back to us. But Doug was still fighting.” He believed Owen was in there and fighting to come back. I didn’t know what to tell him when he asked me if I thought Owen would be ok. I felt like I was horrible for giving up on my son. I wasn’t fighting for him, rather I was just laying down and accepting what God allowed to happen. Does that make me a faithful Christian or a horrible mother?
Pastor answered to let him live in the hope just a little longer, the truth would be told all too soon, and it didn’t hurt to let him stay in the shred of hope. I thought … heck if he can stay there, why can’t I? You know what? it is easier to live in the prayers, acceptance of an answered prayer even if it’s not what you were hoping for, and the possibilities. Dreams are way better than reality.
So I’m not strong, I’m taking the easy way out. There has to be something good. If there isn’t, then that means Owen’s life would have been a waste. I just don’t buy it. I’ve heard so many stories of how far Owen has touched. I’m floored and so proud of my little man.