As I was driving home alone the other night to spend the evening with the girls, I found myself contemplating the day. We had just been told that Beckett would be listed to receive a new liver, that there were no other options. Our doctor was out of ideas and Beckett just wasn’t responding to any of them. I had handled the day well, processed what was happening and hadn’t cried much. It was dark outside. I was focused on driving, the cars around me, the lights. But then my thoughts drifted to that morning when we had gone to pick Beckett up from interventional radiology where he had gotten his belly drained. When we arrived, he was limp, and unresponsive. His blood pressure was lower than I’ve ever seen it. The nurse was trying everything to wake him up. To stabilize his blood pressure. I’ve never felt so scared or so helpless.
My eyes welled with tears in the car as I recalled our morning. Then as I continued to reflect on Beckett being listed and what that entailed for him, getting really sick, major surgery, possible complications, life long medications, blood draws and doctors, I started to feel so small and I began to weep. Furiously brushing the tears from my eyes so I could focus on the road. But they wouldn’t stop. Then came the sobbing. I started to pray out loud, to express my frustration, my fear, my relief. As I was praying I said, “He is yours. Heavenly Father, he is yours. Please take care of him. I will do my part. I will love him and take care of him to the best of my ability, but ultimately he is in your hands.”
He is yours. Liberating words. I can’t do all of this alone. I don’t know what will happen to my son. But I know God has a plan and I trust him, no matter the direction.
I see Addie struggling. I hear her cry because she loves her brother. All she wants is for him to come home. “She is yours.”
I see Rae regressing. Throwing tantrums. Trying to control the situation around her while her life feels out of control. “She is yours.”
I see Shawn. He is so strong. But then I see the slow tears run down his face or he gets real quiet and shuts down. I don’t know how to help him. “He is yours.”
And I know where I am at. Trying to hold it together for everyone. Trying to make sure everyone is loved and taken care of. That no one is forgotten. Trying to swim and not drown. Trying to stay positive. “I am yours. Please take care of me.”