6 Nights

It took six nights.

What I would have written off as an impossibility took six nights to complete.

In six nights we were blessed with $6000 to help take care of my mom.  I wish I could express with the 26 letters of the alphabet what this means to us, but I really feel like my words will not do it justice.

My words cannot describe the tears that streamed down my mom's skinny face as that last donation came in and my cousin messaged me that we met our goal.  My words cannot really describe the burning in my chest as I tried to hold back my own tears because I have been sick with a stuffy nose and I just didn't really want to go down that ugly cry road.

So instead, I waited.  I waited until I was in the shower, because that is my favorite place to cry, both happy and sad tears.  I love that the spray of the shower and the steam make it impossible to differentiate between your own snot and tears, and the clean water streaming down you face.  I love that I can be alone if I want, but that if Jon is home, he knows this is where I go to melt down, and he will come check on me. There is safety for me in that small space.  I meet God in the shower.

This weekend I was able to cry thankful tears.  We are so thankful.  For the money, for the outpouring of love, for the time, for the words.  We truly cannot say it enough, nor can we believe that it only took six nights.

There is a huge part of me that wishes we didn't need it.  I wish this wasn't our heart break and our road.  I wish my mom could be here to celebrate not just the birth of my child, but the birthdays to come.  I wish she could be here for the many more monumental moments of my sister's lives.

But all these wishes won't necessarily change anything.  While I believe in miracles and the power of prayer, I also trust, that if this is the road that we are meant to walk, that there is a reason.  I trust that there is a reason for our story to be written this way.  I trust that the same God that was with me when my life appeared so stable in the beginning of June, is with me now.

And I continue to learn that we will be OK.

"Thank you" is a drastic understatement.  But regardless, thank you for being a part of our story.  It may not be all rainbows and unicorns, but it is deep and rich and filled with immense joy and hope that is constantly created by those walking alongside us.  Thank you for allowing my mom to have peace in these upcoming weeks about all things financial, so that we can focus on living.  It is a gift beyond our wildest dreams.

While the pumpkin farm was wonderful, we do the majority of our living in the sacred place of my mom's bedroom.  Next to the meds and the puke bucket, is where we take in every ounce of life my mom has left.

My moms ability to connect with people, especially kids, never ceases to amaze me.  Gav knows the instant he walked in the hospital room that it was ok to climb right in bed with her.  No anxiety about the wires or the tubes.  To him it was just his nanny, and he continues to run right to her bed the instant he walks in the door.  

So we will keep snuggling and cuddling, and doing as much living as possible.  Thank you for this gift.