Today is going to be rough. One of my heart mom friends is living my worst nightmare this morning. Oh how I wish she could wake up and it would have all been a bad dream.
Yesterday her sweet little boy was here. He was home and playing and living. He was winning his battle against his congenital heart defect.
This morning, he is gone. He has gone to be with Jesus and his mother is faced with what every heart parent dreads: saying goodbye to your child. Our group of heart moms banded with her last night; praying and crying and hoping. Making phone calls, emailing cardiologists, trying fervently to help. And it was not enough.
This horrible limbo in which we live is the cruelest form of torture. There is no cure for Savannah’s heart. There is no permanent fix that is guaranteed to work and provide a long and happy life. There is hope. But there is also this: a momma saying goodbye to her little boy, for whom she did all she could, who fought so hard to live. With no warning, with none heart symptoms we watch for with an eagle’s eye, he has gone from earth to heaven in matter of hours.
My heart is broken this morning. My friend must bury her son. So I hug Savannah tighter and kiss her more and cry while I watch her sleep, because today, she is here. And she is smiling and laughing and living. Today, she is winning her battle. And I pray with every fiber of my being that she continues to be victorious in to adulthood.
But today I am reminded that things can change in an instant; that no one is promised tomorrow and that I may not have her as long as I would like. And so I pray harder and cling to hope. Because I could not bear to be where she is, even though I know it is a very real possibility some day. I plead with The Lord to heal Savannah, to give her strength, to give her a long and happy life. Because no mama should outlive her child. Because my heart is torn in two at the thought.
And now, I must take a deep breath. I must continue to fight for Savannah. I must figure out how to get her to Boston and put her in the hands of the very best doctors. I must find the money to afford the travel and the food and the lodging to stay with her as she fights. I must find strength I do not have to get through all this.
Because one little boy can no longer fight. Because some day that could be us. Because hope is all we have.
Praying hard today for my friend and her family as she mourns. Praying hard for my little girl. And asking The Lord to wrap his arms around all of us who live and love in this limbo called the Heartland.