Every parent has a lot they could worry about. Our children, all of us, are surrounded by potential beasts. But we trust odds and try not to think about worst case scenarios: the car crashes, the accidents, the unexpected illnesses. Because life would be miserable if we lived in fear. Because, probably, everything will be fine. And, still, that worry can consume us. We can linger on the What Ifs and feel the air in our lungs turn sharp and thin. Or we can make informed decisions based on the scope of likelihood; we can’t focus on the outlying few possible tragic catastrophes. But when your baby -your BABY!- is anticipating another open heart surgery, the worry is bigger than that. It’s no longer a case of improbable maybes. Such a serious surgery isn’t a distant made-up beast. Early tomorrow morning, I have to lower my baby into the belly of a terrifying beast. I have to give my permission for something violent and frightening to happen to him. I have to willingly hand him over, and pray that I get him back.
I cannot make my words pretty enough to help you feel comfortable with the heft of my dread. I am so worried.
Do you know what a delightful baby Ulysses is? Curious and amused, quick to grin, he is a tiny charming elf of a baby and I would do unspeakable things to save him from enduring this next week.
I wish your collective good thoughts could be cashed in for rest, because I know that will be in short supply for a while (has been already). But do know that if you’re reading this, and if you’re thinking something kind about that sweet smiling blondie of mine, I do appreciate you being here in this quiet space with me.