There used to be this water slide in West Edmonton Mall called the Cannonball Run. Maybe it's still there. You'd be on a perfectly boring slide, going quickly but essentially in a plastic tube where not a whole lot could happen to you and then suddenly, the slide would dip and then just end in mid-air. You'd drop about eight feet into a tank of water and it was so much scarier than jumping off an eight foot diving board. For one thing, I could never predict where the slide ended. I went on it a bunch of times, but it surprised me every time. Also, when you were in the water, because you dropped straight down, the water coming out of the slide was pouring in on top of you. For a minute under the water, you have no idea which way is up. You just swim blindly and suddenly, you're out. The current is pretty strong, and you have to really swim to get to the side. At least, that's how I remember it. It's been about twelve years since I've been on it, so who knows. Maybe it's nothing.
Last September, I felt like that. I felt like things were fine, fun even, and then the slide just ended and I was underwater not knowing which way to swim to get out. Now, I feel like I'm in the tank, the edge of the pool and the ladder to get out are just beyond my reach and I'm praying that I'm done. I'm praying that I've proven myself in some way and I won't be asked to go again. I'm praying that my prayers get answered how and when I want them to, knowing so many people who haven't been as lucky as that. I want it to be over. I want to breathe a sigh of relief and move on. I know that day is coming, but I'm a details person. I want to mark it on my calendar, and I can't do that. Nobody knows when it is.
My mom and I, on the last trip to Vancouver to see Bella's doctors, were talking about what I needed to know. It's a common ferry conversation. What do I need to know before we leave today? What are my questions? We were talking about how long Bella would have to be off her medication entirely before we could be free from the worry of relapse. I said without thinking, "When are we out of the woods? Would someone please just tell me how long these damned woods go on for?"
I'm an "are-we-there-yet" person. I want to be able to plot something on a grid. I want to deal with problems that have reasonable solutions. I don't like maybe, and I don't like surprises. Just tell me what is going on. Bella has been on a reduced dose of medication for over a week. So far so good. When do I get to let my guard down? November 19th, we go back to do it again. When do I get to stop freaking out when she coughs? I can't not think about it. I'm always thinking about it. And even though right now is a good time, because the doctors think she's ready to go off, it's a terrifying time. This is where the rubber meets the road and the consequences are just too high for me.
People just keep saying I need to trust God. Can I tell you a secret? I trust that God is exactly who He says He is, and I'll believe that if she relapses. I don't know how her situation or being concerned about it has anything to do with trusting God. I believe that He wants her well, but I believe He wants a lot of things that never come to pass on this earth. I know where I live, and it's not a place where everything goes right. This isn't Eden. This is Earth, and on Earth, crap happens, and it doesn't make God different. It just means that I'm not in Heaven yet. I believe that my heartache over my daughter's pain has taught me a little bit more about His heartache over ours, but that doesn't mean He's going to save me from it. It just means that He wishes it wasn't like this either. But it's like this. Adam and Eve ate that stupid fruit and here I am. And I don't have the worst of it, not by far. I have the best, in a lot of ways.
I do know that one day, maybe not in my lifetime, He'll make it right. He'll have collected all my tears in a bottle and show me how much he cared, and for the first time, I'll get it. I know that Bella will get better, and I know how close I came to that being a MUCH more complicated issue. I know I'm lucky, and I know I'm blessed. I know that "gratitude is the essence of trust," as some wise person once said, and I'm grateful. She's incredible and she's getting better and I'm grateful.
Last September, I felt like that. I felt like things were fine, fun even, and then the slide just ended and I was underwater not knowing which way to swim to get out. Now, I feel like I'm in the tank, the edge of the pool and the ladder to get out are just beyond my reach and I'm praying that I'm done. I'm praying that I've proven myself in some way and I won't be asked to go again. I'm praying that my prayers get answered how and when I want them to, knowing so many people who haven't been as lucky as that. I want it to be over. I want to breathe a sigh of relief and move on. I know that day is coming, but I'm a details person. I want to mark it on my calendar, and I can't do that. Nobody knows when it is.
My mom and I, on the last trip to Vancouver to see Bella's doctors, were talking about what I needed to know. It's a common ferry conversation. What do I need to know before we leave today? What are my questions? We were talking about how long Bella would have to be off her medication entirely before we could be free from the worry of relapse. I said without thinking, "When are we out of the woods? Would someone please just tell me how long these damned woods go on for?"
I'm an "are-we-there-yet" person. I want to be able to plot something on a grid. I want to deal with problems that have reasonable solutions. I don't like maybe, and I don't like surprises. Just tell me what is going on. Bella has been on a reduced dose of medication for over a week. So far so good. When do I get to let my guard down? November 19th, we go back to do it again. When do I get to stop freaking out when she coughs? I can't not think about it. I'm always thinking about it. And even though right now is a good time, because the doctors think she's ready to go off, it's a terrifying time. This is where the rubber meets the road and the consequences are just too high for me.
People just keep saying I need to trust God. Can I tell you a secret? I trust that God is exactly who He says He is, and I'll believe that if she relapses. I don't know how her situation or being concerned about it has anything to do with trusting God. I believe that He wants her well, but I believe He wants a lot of things that never come to pass on this earth. I know where I live, and it's not a place where everything goes right. This isn't Eden. This is Earth, and on Earth, crap happens, and it doesn't make God different. It just means that I'm not in Heaven yet. I believe that my heartache over my daughter's pain has taught me a little bit more about His heartache over ours, but that doesn't mean He's going to save me from it. It just means that He wishes it wasn't like this either. But it's like this. Adam and Eve ate that stupid fruit and here I am. And I don't have the worst of it, not by far. I have the best, in a lot of ways.
I do know that one day, maybe not in my lifetime, He'll make it right. He'll have collected all my tears in a bottle and show me how much he cared, and for the first time, I'll get it. I know that Bella will get better, and I know how close I came to that being a MUCH more complicated issue. I know I'm lucky, and I know I'm blessed. I know that "gratitude is the essence of trust," as some wise person once said, and I'm grateful. She's incredible and she's getting better and I'm grateful.
