Bandaids. Ripping.

Comments 5 Standard

Gentle Reader,

Daddy’s sick.  And back in the hospital.

There.  Said it.

For some of you, this isn’t news.  For others, it is.  I’m not really ready to talk much about it, options are being discussed, and as are most options sixteen years post-transplant, they are all suboptimal.  He is fine, well-cared for, loved, and awake and in the best hands that one could want.  Mama is well-cared for, loved, semi-alert, and in the best hands one could want.

I’m here.  Looking for grace, looking for Grace, and terrified.  I am under orders right now to stay here, that he wants me here.

This, if I’m perfectly honest, is the post I hoped I’d never have to write from here.  We’ve discussed my issues with Alone before.  I still have them.  And 6,000 miles away from my people, Alone is an everpresent companion right now.

I don’t do terrified well, I don’t do alone well.  And last night, as I cried out for Grace, searching and “why?”-ing and feeling alone, I heard a familiar song in my head.

“…How precious did that Grace appear, the hour I first Believed…”

So while I look, in my anguish, in my guilt, mired in my feelings of selfishness and confusion, Grace covers me.  It is Sufficient.  I may not recognize it, and it’s not necessarily my place to do so, but for this moment, I have faith that it is there.  Ask me in twenty minutes, I reserve the right to give you a different answer.

Tonight, though, I am truly thankful for the miracle of you.  All of you.  For you being “there”, allows me to be “here”.  For helping me with technical logistics (seriously people, it’s 2014…how freaking hard is it to make a call between Dallas and Moscow for less than a small fortune per minute????), for praying, for thinking, for worrying for me, for being the duly appointed Cousin Representative, for making sure Scout the Ranch Cat/Trained Killer is fed and has a clean ladies’ room, for taking The Boys to the boarders, for offering to pick me up, for sitting with daddy, for taking my mama around to places, for making sure mama eats something.  (Somebody please make sure mama eats something.  You have to watch her.  She’s a sneaky one.  Don’t be fooled by her promises of eating something in a few minutes.  I’m hip to her jive.)  I, we, are blessed.  And I am so very thankful for each of you.  However guilty I may feel, you are never far from my mind, and my heart hurts when I think about how wonderful you are.  I am unworthy.

Meanwhile, I am here:

IMG_0012

I knocked, but I think Lenin was taking a bit of a nap.

With all my love,

Wordie

PS-Please, also, say a prayer or think a lovely thought for our donor family.  It is their gift that even allows this post to happen.  It is the care of their gift that is at the center of every decision we make.

5 thoughts on “Bandaids. Ripping.

  1. Oh Lauren! I am so sorry. Can’t imagine the mixed emotions and sadness you must be feeling. Please take some comfort in knowing that I’ll be praying for you, your dad, your mom and your blessed donor family daily. Your dad sounds like an amazing and spirit-filled man. You honor him by living your adventure to the fullest and touching the lives of others. He knows you are present with him in the only way that truly matters. Much, much love to you from across the sea!

  2. Did you mention to him that if he HAD to do this, he could’ve planned it a little better? If you need anything done on your time schedule (graveyard shift back in the real world), just ring the bell. I’ll be all over it. In the meantime, many happy thoughts, prayers, good vibes, etc going out to everyone involved (Daddy, you, Mama, donor family, and medical staff).

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