Bereft

It's that time of year when the days are shorter and the leaves change and when Annabelle coughs until she vomits. And tonight, after a rousing game of hot potato, where everyone's antics had us all screaming with laughter, she started coughing. And then her face got all red and her stomach puffed out like it does when this happens and then we were in the bathroom, with me holding her hair back while she threw up. We are pros at this. The other night, we were able to get just a small amount on our bed before she made it to the bathroom. There were a couple of years where we weren't so lucky.

It's asthma, it's allergies. It's whatever. It doesn't mater really. It will go away by April and she will run around and ride her bike and perfect her boogie boating skills over the summer before it come back again in September.

It's still no fun to watch and so, in the way of vain people everywhere, I turned my attention to studying myself in the mirror, at my elbows specifically and how terribly wrinkly they are. My face may seem youthful to some, but my elbows? Pushing 50, not 40 . I started to draw the bath water, and stared at my daughters' perfect skin, smooth, peaches and cream. Milky. milky is the word my friend, a woman from my church, used to describe her baby's skin. My mind has been drifting toward her for the past week or two, ever since her baby was rushed to the hospital after he almost aspirated at home. What was wrong with him is too complicated for me to explain, but it involves early infantile seizures, an underdeveloped trachea and jaw, and an inability of his brain to tell his lungs to breathe.

Was wrong. He is gone now.

She was generous enough to post his journey home on caringbridge. You can see it here http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/ourtinymystery. The part that got me the most was when a minister from Dallas, who had been following her trauma, drove down to comfort her and told her to imagine placing Andrew into Jesus's arms.

I am sad, I am angry, I am grateful, I am being a better mother. It has united us in prayer. That's what we are all saying and it is true, people from all over the world were praying for this child and my neighborhood, my parish, my community, we are all bereft. It is all that anyone is talking about.

But to be honest with you, I wish we weren't united. I wish we were all as self centered as we always are and she were at home with him, swaddling him, changing his diaper and wishing she could get some more sleep, the way mothers of two month old babies are supposed to be doing. I would trade that for united in prayer. I don't feel united. I feel untied.