Last night I broke. I lost it, completely. It was past midnight. Still, I could not shut my brain down, and this time it went right back to my son’s seizure.
I had been trying so hard to stay strong ever since. Both my kids were now sick (Pierce shared his fever with his sister). They needed me. I read a beautiful comment from one of my readers, “Hold him close and breathe him in, but remember to take care of his momma too. She’s fragile and he needs her.” Even as I read her words I felt the trembling in my body, that constant shaking which had not left since the incident.
‘I am fine though, my son is fine.
It was nothing serious. It was only a simple febrile seizure.’
Last night, my mind was convinced of my strength no more.
I vividly remembered the details, the way my precious baby’s body took control of him and the horror which griped my being. I wept. I shook. I felt I couldn’t breathe. I somehow cried myself into a pit of exhaustion and slept until I heard my son’s own cries for me. I brought him to myself, nestling him in my arm. There we slept till morning.
We awoke, and I was okay.
The trembling had ceased.
How often I try to stay so strong. To be the rock for my family, the rock for my own self. I bottle away the fears, the pains. As long as they are pushed to the back of my mind I am okay, right? I busy myself with life, with my babies.
I need to cry sometimes. We need to cry sometimes. We need to shake, to gasp for breathe, to throw the pillows at the wall and scream at life itself. We are fragile, we hurt, we tremble, and this is okay.
Then, after the tears have dried, we look up–always look up. We were not made to be strong. We were made to rely on the strength of Someone who is.